Mountain Rose

by Cheryl St. John

  “I never thought about it like that,” he said.

  “How many people do you suppose have seen this field?”

  He studied the landscape from beneath the brim of his hat. His jaw was lean and recently shaved, and his lips parted to reply, “Just this season…or in all the years since it’s been here?”

  He turned his gaze back to her as though her reply mattered.

  “In forever.” Was there was an occasional passerby or was Jules the only human to appreciate this beauty?

  “Don’t know,” he said finally. “I’ve thought about building a house right here, just below the crest of this hill, facing the river. Then I’d see the poppies every summer.”

  Olivia couldn’t even wrap her imagination around a home like the one he spoke of.

  “Not a practical idea, though.” He shrugged. “House should be protected from wind and storms, like nearer the foothills, where my barns are. And there are shade trees there. I suppose a person could plant a few trees here, but it would take years until they were sizable.”

  Olivia studied the bank of flowers. “You could always dig up some of these and plant them near your house.”

  He turned and looked at her with a grin. “That’s a smarter idea.”

  Emily leaped through the grass to where they stood and waited politely for Olivia to acknowledge her.

  “What is it, Emily?”

  “Remember the story we read where the family packed their lunch in a basket and ate it in a field of clover?”

  “I do recall that story.”

  “May we do that one day soon? May we pack our lunch and come eat here?”

  “Well, I don’t know.” The idea took her by surprise. She didn’t have the capability to maneuver a horse and wagon to a remote spot like this. She doubted she could even find it on her own.

  “You’ve never been on a picnic?” Jules asked Emily.

  “No, sir. But I’d like to try it this once.”

  He used his thumb to ease his hat brim up and away from his eyes. When the sunlight hit them, Olivia noted how startlingly blue they were. She had never looked directly into his eyes for any length of time because it seemed forward and made her uncomfortable, so now she studied him as if for the first time.

  Men were an oddity. She’d rarely encountered them in Pennsylvania—secluded as she was at the academy—and most she’d seen on their way here had left her unimpressed. They’d been dirty, and some had downright smelled. The way many of them stared at her had been disturbing. She didn’t feel the same revulsion when Jules Parrish looked at her or spoke to her. His voice had a calming effect, and his smile…she couldn’t even put coherent thoughts to the effect of his smile.

  “We’ll pick up a lunch after church tomorrow and come here to eat it,” he promised.

  “What do you mean pick up a lunch?” Emily asked.

  “Buy food at the café or the saloon,” he replied.

  “We bought food on our way here,” Emily told him. “Those was the first times I ever ate anything ’cept what Cook or Miss Rose fixed.”

  “Those were,” Olivia corrected.

  “Did you hear that, Miss Rose?” Emily asked with a bright smile. “We’re going to come back here for a picnic tomorrow!”

  “I heard,” she replied.

  A little later, as Emily made her way up the hill ahead of them, Jules studied her, then turned to Olivia. “Emily has nice dresses and shoes. An adequate supply, would you say?”

  “The academy had an enormous closet of outgrown clothing that the children could select from for their own wardrobes. Many of the students had wealthy parents, and they provided their own children’s clothing and shoes, and then donated the items once they were outgrown.”

  “Good system.” He nodded and settled his hat properly, but looked at her from the corner of his eye. “And yourself?”

  “I’ve made all my own clothing since I was seventeen. Sewing is one of the many skills the academy taught.”

  “What does she need?”

  He looked and sounded as though his interest was sincere, as though he cared about Emily’s welfare, and the significance did her heart good. “She needs a family.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  His expression, which had been one of open concern, swiftly closed, and he drew his eyebrows down to fix her with a hard stare. “I’m a man alone out here. You can see plain as day that this isn’t anyplace for a young girl to stay.”

  Unused to confrontation, or any dialogue with men, she had trouble meeting his direct gaze. She glanced away and back, and her heartbeat sped up. Uncomfortable as a discussion might be, it was her mission to see that Emily had family to care for her. “You said you’re going to build a house.”

  “That will take time and a lot of work, and even if I had a house, she can’t stay alone while I’m gone every hour of daylight.”

  “There’s a school in town, is there not?”

  He blinked before replying, “There’s a school. But gettin’ her there and back would take precious time. It’s plain that the best place for her is at a school where she can live, where there are other girls around and someone to watch out for her.”

  “Perhaps it’s plain to you, but it’s not plain to me. If you ask Emily, I’d suppose it’s not plain to her, either. I’ve never seen her like this.” She turned her attention to watch Emily pluck a yellow flower and raise it to her nose. “She’s happier than I’ve ever seen her. You might not believe so, but she’s always been a quiet and reserved child.”

  “She’s the best-mannered kid I’ve ever met,” he answered. “Not that I’ve known many. Doesn’t change the fact that she can’t stay here.”

  Olivia’s optimism threatened to deflate somewhat, but she bit her tongue. Arguing with him wasn’t going to change his mind today. There was time before his mother replied or before Olivia really had to help him find a school, and she prayed that during that time he would experience a change of heart.

  Their disagreement put a damper on conversation the rest of the afternoon, but Emily didn’t seem to notice.

  Jules drove to town, and showed Emily the notions counter in the mercantile. Olivia remained near the sewing items to deliberately give them time together, and watched unobtrusively. Jules pointed out hair combs and hand mirrors, gathering a small pile of items to purchase.

  “Miss Rose?” Emily called.

  Olivia joined her where she stood gazing into a flat wooden tray of small silk and velvet flowers.

  Her face lit with fascination. “Did you ever see velvet violets, Miss Rose?”

  “I never have,” Olivia answered with a smile.

  “What’s this one?” Emily asked.

  “Morning glory,” Jules replied.

  “What do you do with them?” Olivia asked.

  “Wear ’em in your hair,” he replied.

  The mercantile owner’s wife who’d been silent until then spoke up. “The larger ones are worn pinned on your dress or collar, miss.”

  “Oh, I see.”

  “I’m getting the forget-me-nots.” Emily showed her the blue flowers she’d selected. She glanced up at her uncle. “Miss Rose should have a rose, don’t you think?”

  He glanced over the tray as though considering. “What color?”

  “This bunch is lovely.” The store owner picked up a delicate pink fabric rose with two tiny buds on a stem. “The leaves are muslin, but they look real, don’t they?”

  “We’ll take that one,” Jules decided.

  “No, I—”

  “What?” Jules asked, turning to her. “Emily’s picking it out for you.”

  But they both knew he was making the purchase.

  “I don’t need it, really,” she objected.

  “Well, nobody needs one.” He gave the other woman a lopsided smile. “Females like frippery and the like, don’t they?”

  “Most do,” she agreed with a warm smile, then introduced herself to Olivia. “We haven’t met yet. I’m Hessie
Bates.”

  “Olivia Rose,” she replied. “Your husband helped me last time I was here.”

  “Henry is my brother. My husband passed on five years ago.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry.”

  “No need to worry, dear.” She stepped around the counter with the silk rose and a straight pin in her hand. “Miss Rose, is it? No wonder the child thought a rose was fitting.” She pinned the artificial flower to Olivia’s collar. “And pink suits you. Fresh and sweet.”

  Olivia blushed.

  Mrs. Bates chatted with her while Emily and Jules finished their shopping and later wished her goodbye at the door.

  The day’s outing had exhausted Emily. On the ride home, she leaned against Olivia’s shoulder and fell asleep. Olivia maneuvered her arm around the girl’s shoulders so she could hold her steady and comfortably, and Emily nestled against her.

  Holding the child near was an unusual experience, foreign and yet pleasant. The sun remained hot overhead, but she didn’t mind the additional warmth against her side.

  As a girl, she’d occasionally held the few babies at the academy while taking her turn in the nursery. When she had, she’d wondered about her own care as an infant. Who had looked after her, changed her and fed her? Had anyone ever rocked her or sung to her? Seeing the minimal attention the babies received, she doubted so.

  She vaguely remembered Emily as an infant, and thought it sad that no one had doted on her progress over those months. Her first true recollections of Emily came from the time when Olivia had begun teaching, and Emily had been in the class of beginners. Olivia had been only nineteen at the time, but she’d tried to give special attention to each of her students. She knew what it was like to be overlooked and shuffled about, and she knew, as well, that Emily had no parents to oversee her care.

  Emily’s trust was a sacred thing. Olivia had promised that she would take care of her, and she was determined to do her very best. Emily needed her.

  The warm thought gave her a sense of belonging she’d never known. Even out here in the middle of an unfamiliar land, living with strangers, she and Emily were bound… like family.

  Tears smarted behind her eyelids, and she blinked them away. Getting sentimental wouldn’t prove sensible. Once Emily was settled, and Olivia was certain the child would be safe and loved, she would be finding her own way, taking a position wherever she could find one. After that it was likely she would never see Emily again. She wouldn’t delude herself into thinking she might be able to visit one day in the future.

  She didn’t want to dwell on the inevitable, so she enjoyed Emily’s head resting under her chin and admired the beautiful, wild countryside.

  When they arrived at the cabin, Emily roused, and Olivia helped her down. Jules carried the supplies indoors. He removed items from a crate and handed each of them an object wrapped in brown paper.

  “What is this?” Olivia asked.

  Emily opened hers to find a pair of hair combs studded with seed pearls. “They are my favorites!” She grinned and looked up at him. “Thank you, Uncle Jules.”

  He looked a little taken aback by her address, but he recovered. “You’re welcome. They’re perfect for your pretty, dark hair.” He turned to Olivia and raised a brow in expectation.

  “Oh.” She looked down at the object she held, and slowly peeled away the wrapping, revealing a hand mirror set in smooth polished walnut. The slender handle had been shaped to fit her palm. She caught the reflection of the rafters and lifted the mirror to see herself. Her cheeks were flushed, and tendrils of hair escaped her bonnet. With her other hand, she removed her hat and glanced at her disheveled hair. “Oh, my goodness.”

  She tucked a few strands into her upswept knot.

  Slowly, she lifted her gaze to Jules. He didn’t ogle her the same way those other men had, and right now there was no humor reflected. She couldn’t identify the expression in his blue eyes, but her stomach dipped with disquiet.

  “Only mirror on the place is out where the hands shave,” he said. “Figured ladies should have a mirror.”

  Each year at Christmas, she had received a practical, impersonal gift, such as a book or a handkerchief, from Mrs. Hugh. No one had ever given her anything as thoughtful…and certainly never on a day that wasn’t Christmas. She didn’t know how to react. “I—I don’t know what to say.”

  He grinned. “If you like it, say thank-you.”

  “I do like it. Thank you.”

  Her reactions puzzled Jules. Sometimes he thought her a snob of the highest sort, and other times—like this—she behaved like a child experiencing life for the first time. From her shock at that simple mirror and the way she’d touched its handle, one would have thought he’d given her a diamond mine.

  “I suppose you’ll want to bathe tonight.” He emptied the rest of the crate and stored items away. “After supper, I’ll bring water from the trough. Faster than pumping that much. I’ll make sure you have enough wood to heat it on the stove.”

  Spurred into action by his words, she moved over to the stove. Since she’d been gone all day and hadn’t baked bread, Olivia quickly measured cornmeal and baked corn bread. Wayland provided them with roasted wild turkey and boiled potatoes.

  After bringing in water and asking Coonie to stack wood beside the door, Jules excused himself and carried the dirty dishes out to the cook. During the summer, Wayland set up his outdoor kitchen under a lean-to built against the bunkhouse. Unless it rained, the hands most often ate at a roughly hewn table, sitting on benches made from slabs of tree trunks. Tonight most of them remained at the table, talking over their plans for Sunday, their day off.

  “Wanna join us, boss?” the other man asked Jules.

  “I’ll sit with you for a bit.”

  “We sorely missed Miss Rose’s usual bread t’day,” Lee Crandall told him. “Though the corn bread was mighty fine.”

  “She’ll be occupied tomorrow, too,” Jules replied.

  Wayland stopped scrubbing and looked up from the washtub, where he stood with his arms in suds up to his elbows. “She stayin’?”

  “No. She’ll be leavin’ after we find a place for Emily.”

  Lee glanced up from his whittling. “Miss Rose probably won’t be goin’far once the fellas in town get a gander at her.”

  Jules leveled his gaze in the man. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean she’s the prettiest little gal Corbin’s Bend has seen in a long while. Somebody’s gonna offer to marry her.”

  “If I had my own spread, I’d offer for her,” young Ham Stowe said with a grin.

  “She wouldn’t have your ugly puss,” Judd said.

  The men chuckled, all except Jules.

  Coonie squinted at Jules through the curling smoke of his cigar. “Why is it you’re not askin’ for her hand?”

  Jules picked at a splinter on the corner of the table. “Marriage doesn’t fit into my plans yet. I don’t even have the house built.”

  “Summer’s slow around here.” Lee scratched his stubbled chin. “We could work on that house and have it done afore winter.”

  Jules frowned. “When I need your advice on pickin’ a wife, I’ll let you know.”

  The men chuckled and their conversation picked up another thread. Jules swallowed his irritation, but after a few more minutes, he decided to call it a night. He had enough on his plate without suggestions on how to make his life more complicated. There was nothing wrong with taking things slow and easy, accomplishing the things he’d set out to do in the sensible order.

  That night, disturbing dreams of Meriel calling for help interrupted his sleep. He was wrapped in some sort of cocoon that kept him from going to her, and her voice grew farther and farther away, until he couldn’t hear her at all. The next sound he heard was a child crying. Emily?

  Jules woke with a start and blinked into the darkness. His arm had gone to sleep, so he sat and rubbed feeling back into it. He paused.

  There it was again. The crying hadn’t b
een part of his dream. He stood and crept to the window. Surely Olivia would hear Emily and comfort her. If that happened, Jules wouldn’t want to intrude.

  Stretching upward, he peered into the room. A shaft of moonlight laid an arrow of light across Emily’s peacefully sleeping face. She hadn’t been crying after all. The noise had been so real, he’d been sure he’d heard it.

  He’d almost moved away, when he heard the sound again. A soft muffled sob. But the weeping hadn’t come from Emily.

  Olivia.

  The realization burned through his awareness and stabbed him with empathy. She was of a delicate gender and tender age, a gently bred young woman doing her best to look out for her young charge, yet she had no stability or security of her own. Her composure and confidence had all been for show.

  Softly spoken words drifted to him then, and he strained to make them out. Who was Olivia speaking to? She and Emily were the only two in there, and Emily was sound asleep.

  “…I shall not want,” she said. “You make me to lie down in green pastures. You lead me beside still waters. You restore my soul. You lead me in the paths of righteousness for Your name’s sake. Even when I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil…”

  Jules had never heard anyone personalize a verse of Scripture and say it to God as though God was a person right there in the room with them. But that’s what Olivia was doing.

  “Lord, Your goodness and Your mercy followed me all the way to Montana,” she continued. “And now I’m trusting Jules to do the right thing.”

  He got a hitch in his chest, a sensation more uncomfortable than his prickling arm. Lowering himself away from the window, he moved back to his pallet. Olivia’s talking stopped and so did the crying. Apparently, she’d been comforted by that psalm.

  The night’s silence closed around him. The only sounds were the ordinary ones of the livestock, the wind and the creaking windmill, but he couldn’t forget what he’d heard. And he couldn’t go back to sleep. After lying awake until first light, he got up and started chores.

  * * *

  Sunday morning. Olivia was as pretty as a picture in a pale green striped dress, with the velvet rose pinned to her collar. She wore green silk ribbons threaded through her hair, the ends dangling from the shiny golden knot. She topped her head with a straw hat, hiding most of those shiny curls, and Jules disguised disappointment he shouldn’t have felt.