Prairie Rose

by Catherine Palmer

  And Rosie. He didn’t want to leave her alone either. Not with Rustemeyer lurking around the place. That country bumpkin German might just figure out a way to tell Rosie he wanted to marry her. In spite of the way she shouted at Seth—in spite of her stubbornness, her bossiness, her irritating, audacious, and downright silly ways—he wasn’t about to let Rustemeyer cart her off.

  No sir.

  As Rosie and Chipper came in sight of the soddy, Rolf Rustemeyer and the entire O’Toole clan rushed out to meet them. Sheena had convinced Jimmy to ferry her and every one of their redheaded children over Bluestem Creek in his flat-bottomed boat. Now they all swarmed the returning wanderers.

  “Rosie, you’ve found Chipper!” Sheena exclaimed. “Glory be to God! The child is safe!”

  “Und Hunter?” Rolf asked. “Wo ist Hunter?”

  “Mr. Hunter is searching his land.” Rosie handed Chipper over to little Will and his sister Erinn. “Stay near the house now, sweetheart. Don’t let him run free, Erinn.”

  As the children scampered to play in the barren front yard, Sheena slipped her arm around Rosie. “I’ve a big pot of Irish stew on my stove at home,” she said gently. “Sure, you must all come for supper. Even the German. Jimmy, don’t say a word about him not talking straight. Rustemeyer does the best he can, so he does. Rosie, do say you’ll come. We must plan what to do if that sherral Cornwall turns up. And Jimmy’s been doing some thinking about Seth’s pontoon bridge. We have that flat-bottomed boat that’ll be all but useless to us. Sure, I do believe he’ll be joining in the building of the bridge, won’t you now, Jimmy?”

  By the time Seth returned to the house, Sheena and Rosie had rounded up the children. Jimmy tried to invite Rolf to dinner, but the German couldn’t understand his rapid speech and wild hand gestures. Finally it was left to Rosie, who pointed toward the O’Toole place across the creek and then to her stomach. At that, Rustemeyer nodded and started walking toward the creek.

  Seth insisted that he didn’t want to leave his house unguarded, but Jimmy convinced him of the need to discuss a plan. It took two trips in Jimmy’s boat to ferry everyone across the water, but as the sun dipped into the prairie grass, the settlers were trekking the half mile to the O’Tooles’ snug soddy.

  “So what do you think of our Seth, now?” Sheena whispered while she and Rosie were setting the long table. “He’s a hardworking man, is he not? And handsome. Have you ever seen a pair of eyes like that on a man?”

  “Seth’s eyes? Hmm. I think they’re blue, aren’t they?” Rosie gave a shrug and walked to the cupboard to fetch some spoons.

  “You think! Sure, my Jimmy’s green eyes put me in mind of the fair Emerald Isle. But I won’t lie to you. That Seth Hunter can turn a woman’s heart with one glance, so he can. Don’t you think so, Rosie? Haven’t you noticed?”

  “I’ve noticed that eyes are not the only thing to a man. It’s his heart that counts with me.”

  “And what man has a better heart than Seth Hunter? Will you tell me that, now?”

  Rosie glanced out the window where the three farmers stood talking and smoking pipes. Moonlight brightened the swirls of white smoke that drifted around their heads. Seth was laughing about something, his head thrown back and his chuckle deep.

  Rosie turned away. “I believe Rolf Rustemeyer has a good heart.”

  “The German!” Sheena squawked. “And what do you know of his heart?”

  “I know he’s a hard worker. He seems kind enough. He’s very smart. Strong, too—you should see how hard he works on the pontoon bridge. And he doesn’t shout at me.”

  “Shout? Does our Seth shout then? Surely not! It would take a mighty great lot of ballyragging to induce that sweet man to shout.”

  Rosie flushed. “I can’t believe any amount of trouble would compel Mr. Rustemeyer to shout. He’s very nice.”

  “Nice is he? And what does Mr. Rustemeyer say about all the hard work you’ve done stitching curtains and tablecloths? Has he paid you compliments? Does he approve of your labors?”

  “I don’t know—”

  “What’s his favorite food then? Does he like rabbit? Or does he prefer squirrel?”

  “Well, I really don’t—”

  “How many children does he want? Does he believe in God? What plans has he made for his homestead?”

  “I don’t know!” Rosie said so loudly that the men turned from their conversation and looked at her. She grabbed the ladle and began to dish out the stew. “I don’t know very much about him,” she said to Sheena in a low voice. “He speaks German.”

  “That he does.”

  “But it makes no difference to me. If God allows it, and if Mr. Rustemeyer will have me, I’m going to marry him.”

  Sheena thunked a bowl down on the long table. “Now that I should like to see.”

  “I’m sure we’ll be very happy together.”

  “As my dear mother always said, ‘Marriages are all happy. It’s having breakfast together that causes all the trouble.’”

  Rosie cocked her hands on her hips. “You’re just like Seth. You think I don’t know how to make a good marriage. You think just because I was brought up at the Home, I’m ignorant of what it takes to be a good wife. That’s not true, Sheena! I can sew and cook and wash as well as any woman. I know how to tend children. I would never let the pantry run bare or allow my little ones to run around with holes in their socks. And I can be kind to a husband, too. Even though I sometimes shout—”

  “You shout? I thought it was Seth doing all the shouting.”

  Rosie flushed. “Sometimes … sometimes we shout at each other.”

  “Do you now? Well, that’s a good beginning.” Sheena slipped her arm around Rosie’s stiff shoulder. “Aye, lass, shouting shows you have feelings—and you’re not afraid to show them to each other. Sharing what’s in your heart gives life its purpose. It’s what makes marriage a godly gift. Marriage is much more than darning socks and keeping the pantry stocked, so it is. It’s the two of you together, through thick and thin.”

  “I can go through thick and thin with Mr. Rustemeyer. With any man, for that matter—as long as he’s kind and hardworking.”

  “And what will you say to Rustemeyer when one of your wee ones comes down with the diphtheria? Or cholera? Will you cry on the German’s shoulder then? Will you pour out your heart to his listening ear? And in the long cold days of winter when the snow is piled against the door so nobody can go outside for a week at a time—what will you talk about to Rustemeyer then?”

  Rosie gave the stew a stir. “I could teach him how to speak English.”

  “Perhaps. And then you might learn that he loves none of the things you love, he believes in nothing you’ve given your heart to, he shares none of your dreams.” Sheena let out a deep sigh. “God Almighty tells us that when two marry, they become one flesh. I cannot explain how that is, Rosie. But you must believe me when I tell you ’tis true. Why not set your heart on a man who needs you as Seth needs you? He’s a man you could love with a fire that would carry you through every cold, dark night. Why not love him?”

  Rosie studied the men as they stood talking outside under the stars. Thin as a fence post, Jimmy was speaking animatedly about the pontoon bridge. Rolf Rustemeyer took a deep draw on his pipe and stared up at the moon. Seth—tall, straight-backed, and handsome—glanced into the house for a moment and looked at Rosie. Then he turned away.

  “Sheena,” Rosie said softly, taking her friend’s hand. “A long time ago, Seth became one flesh with his first wife. I don’t believe that bond has ever broken, and I know I don’t have the power to sever it. Look at me, Sheena. I’m skinny, I’m a foundling, and I’m afraid that sometimes I’m very … very silly. Seth’s blue eyes don’t look on me with honor or passion or love. I’m nothing to him. I’m as bad as one of those cutworms—a pest that has invaded his well-ordered life. Sheena, please try to understand. If I’m to have a marriage at all, it will have to be with a man who has no more not
ion of love than I do. A man like Rustemeyer.”

  Sheena’s green eyes sparkled in her round face. “Aye,” she said. “You have no notion of love. And that is why, when your brown eyes meet with Seth Hunter’s blue ones, the two of you turn into a pair of googeens. Sure, the feeling between you is thick enough to cut with a knife.”

  “It is not!”

  “I’ll hold you, it is. But never mind. Marry the German, Rosie. Gaze all winter long into his eyes.” She paused. “What color are Rustemeyer’s eyes, by the way?”

  Rosie swallowed. “Brown.”

  “Are they, now? Well, that’s very nice, I’m sure.” Sheena walked to the door. “Come inside, all of you, and leave your planning until tomorrow. Sure, you’ll never plow a field by turning it over in your mind. Jimmy, please send Erinn after the rest of the brablins. Put out your pipe, Seth. There’s a good man. And, Mr. Rustemeyer, take a chair. That’s right. Well, glory be to God. Rosie, have you noticed what a fine pair of eyes Mr. Rustemeyer has? They’re gray, so they are. As gray as iron.”

  Seth straightened in his chair and listened to the sound in the distance. A dull rumble. He glanced across the room. Rosie and Sheena were in one corner putting the littlest ones to bed. Chipper was telling riddles with the other children. Jimmy had gone out to check his stock, and Rustemeyer had fallen asleep by the stove.

  Seth stood and walked to the door. He stepped outside and sniffed the heavy air.

  “Miss Mills,” he called. Rosie lifted her head, and their eyes met. “Storm’s coming. We’d better get home.”

  Without a moment’s hesitation, she rose and took Chipper’s hand. “Come on, sweetheart. Bedtime.”

  Sheena woke Rustemeyer while Rosie tugged on her bonnet and pulled Chipper’s hat over his brow. Seth checked the sky again. The storm was a long way off but moving fast. Like a hundred snakes’ tongues, lightning flickered across the black sky. A strong breeze skittered over the tops of the grass, infusing the air with the sweet scent of cool rain. Wings outstretched, an owl drifted over the face of the moon.

  By the time Seth and the others had said their good-byes and hurried down the half-mile trail to Bluestem Creek, the lightning had crept closer. Wind pulled at Seth’s hat and whipped Rosie’s skirt against her legs. Thunder rolled like a drum across the prairie. Chipper began to cry.

  “Water’s rough,” Seth said. “We’ll have to be careful with the boat. Rustemeyer, help Miss Mills.”

  For some reason, the big German had no trouble understanding the request. As Seth lifted Chipper in his arms, Rustemeyer swept Rosie off her feet and set her in the bottom of Jimmy O’Toole’s boat. She let out a shriek of surprise and clapped her hands over her bonnet. Too late. The scrap of threadbare fabric whipped off her head and sailed across the creek.

  “My bonnet!” she cried. “I’ve lost my bonnet!”

  Rustemeyer began to speak in German, but Rosie was insistent.

  “I don’t know what you’re saying! My bonnet blew away!”

  Seth set Chipper in the boat and pushed off toward the other bank. Within moments, they were across. “Go fetch the lady’s bonnet,” he said to Rolf. “Her hat. Go … and … get … it!”

  “Aber der Sturm!”

  “Forget the storm. Get the bonnet. It’s her only one.”

  As they climbed out onto the bank, rain began to patter across the parched ground. “Let’s run for the house!” Seth said against Rosie’s ear.

  Throwing one arm around Chipper, he lifted the boy to his hip. He circled Rosie with his free arm, and they began to run into the mounting wind. Grass whipped at their legs. Blowing dust stung their skin. Rosie’s hair pulled loose from its pins and billowed to her waist, a whirling, tossing sheet of silk.

  “What about Rolf? I wish he hadn’t gone after my bonnet!”

  “He’ll be fine.” Seth said the words with more confidence than he felt. Lightning cracked across the sky in hissing white bolts. Thunder shook the ground beneath their feet. Chipper’s little arms squeezed tightly around Seth’s neck, and he could feel that his own cheek was wet from the child’s tears.

  Holding Rosie close to protect her from the stinging rain, he raced down the muddy trail toward the vague outline of his soddy roof. They passed the barn. Ran through an open gate. Dashed across the yard. Releasing Rosie for a moment, Seth lifted the bolt across his door and shouldered it open.

  “Dry the boy off by the stove,” he told her. “I’m going to check on my cows.”

  As Seth splashed back across the yard, he could see Rustemeyer in the flashes of lightning. Empty-handed, the man was sprinting toward the soddy. So Rosie’s bonnet had been lost. The only gift she’d ever had.

  If Rustemeyer hadn’t been so bound and determined to scoop Rosie up in his arms, her bonnet would never have blown away. Crazy German. No doubt he’d want to spend the night. And stay for one of Rosie’s breakfasts. And build the bridge all day just so he could be near her.

  Seth gave the barn door a kick. It swung open. Inside, his three cows turned their heads to give him sorrowful stares. Poor gals might as well have been standing outside for all the good that plank roof did them. Rain streamed down in miniature waterfalls. Two hens had huddled up in a pile of dry hay. A narrow cascade dribbled down the loft ladder.

  Though it sometimes seeped in a heavy rain, there was a lot to be said for a sod roof, Seth thought as he made his way back to the house. It kept the interior cool in summer and warm in winter. A twister could blow right over it without disturbing the people huddled underneath. And a fire was hard put to burn the thing down.

  He was feeling pretty good about his situation until he stepped into the soddy. Rosie was bent over the big bed tucking Chipper beneath the covers. Behind her, Rustemeyer stood gaping at the mass of shiny hair that fell from the top of Rosie’s head to below her waist.

  “Shut your trap, Rustemeyer,” Seth growled as he brushed past the German on the way to the stove. “If you hadn’t lost her bonnet, she wouldn’t be in such a fix.”

  For some reason, Seth didn’t like the idea that Rustemeyer knew about Rosie’s hair. It had been a secret vision, something that Seth realized he had thought about more than once while lying alone in his bed at night. Rosie’s long brown hair mesmerized him, ribbons and streamers of it draping around her shoulders and down her back. He had touched her hair—just that once—and he’d be switched if he would let Rustemeyer get his big paws into it.

  “Better put up your hair,” he said to her, and the words came out more harsh than he intended. “It’s dripping on the floor.”

  She cast him a wounded look as she moved toward a chair at the table. “I’m sorry it bothers you. I don’t have a bonnet now. I lost most of my pins.”

  Seth looked at Chipper. He hadn’t intended his comment to sound as though he disapproved of her hair. Rosie’s hair fascinated him, lured him. The little boy was staring out over the hem of the sheet, his blue eyes fastened on his father.

  “I like Rosie’s hair down,” Chipper whispered. “It’s pretty. Don’t you think so?”

  Seth turned to the stove and cleared his throat. “A woman ought to have a bonnet. It’s not right to go bareheaded in front of strangers.”

  “We’re not strangers. Rosie’s our friend.”

  Seth nodded. “Yes, but a bonnet keeps the sun off.”

  “It’s nighttime now.” Chipper edged up on his elbows. “Rosie, I think your hair looks like maple syrup.”

  Across the room, the young woman laughed. “Wet and sticky?”

  “Long and brown and flowing everywhere. I never saw such long hair. How many years did it take you to grow it?”

  “All my life. I’ve never had reason to cut my hair before. But now that I’ve lost my bonnet and my pins—and since it bothers your father so much—”

  “No,” Seth cut in. He felt hot around the collar at the very idea that she might shear off those long, billowing tresses. Her hair was her glory, the essence of her beauty, the expr
ession of her very soul. How could he tell her so without sounding like a sentimental fool?

  “Leave your hair,” he said, absently fiddling with the stove’s warming oven, as though he might discover a bedtime snack or something hidden inside. “You can tie it up under one of those grain sacks.”

  “If it troubles you—”

  “No, it’s … it’s fine.” He faced her. She was holding the pile of her hair in her hands, looking down at it as though it was somehow separate from her. In the lamplight it shimmered— strands of gold, threads of copper, tendrils of bronze—as her fingers slipped into it. “The boy’s right. You shouldn’t cut it. It suits you.”

  At the admission of approval, Seth glanced at Rustemeyer. Though he couldn’t comprehend the conversation, the German was studying the scene with great interest. Seth didn’t like the way those puppy-dog eyes had fastened onto Rosie. Not at all.

  Rustemeyer didn’t deserve the gift of a look at Rosie’s beautiful hair. He didn’t know her the way Seth did. There were things about Rosie that made her different from other women. Special. The way she had danced with the grain sacks in the barn. The way she tilted her chin when she laughed. The way her arms felt when they slipped around Seth’s chest. No, Rustemeyer didn’t know Rosie, and Seth felt an unbidden urge to set his stamp on her. To somehow set her apart … to make her his.

  But how? And why? Just to keep her away from Rustemeyer? A flash of possessiveness was no reason to toss his whole life into chaos. And admitting he wanted to keep Rosie Mills to himself would certainly create havoc. After all, he didn’t really need her. Or want her. Did he?

  “Are you warming up, Chipper?” Rosie was asking as she ruffled the boy’s damp hair. “I don’t want you to catch cold.”

  “I’m warm … and I’m so sleepy,” Chipper whispered.

  “That’s good. I’m going out to the barn now, sweetie.”

  “Good night, Rosie.”

  “Wait a minute. You can’t sleep in the barn,” Seth said as she started for the door. “Rain’s pouring through the roof. You’ll get wet.”