Prairie Rose

by Catherine Palmer

  Rustemeyer stared at Seth. “Was ist los?” he asked, gesturing angrily at the fallen book.

  “You’re not supposed to throw the Bible in the mud,” Chipper said. “Only a nasty ol’ Yankee would do that.”

  “What do you know?” Seth snapped, his own father’s harsh voice echoing in his head. “What do you know about anything?”

  Chipper shrank into himself and buried his face in the puppy’s fur. Rosie sat forlornly on the log, her shoulders sagging, her focus on her lap. Rustemeyer glowered.

  “So much for Deuteronomy,” Seth barked, standing. “So much for the whole worthless Bible. So much for religion and church and a God who doesn’t love people for who they are and not what they came from.”

  Hot, frustrated, confused, he stomped off toward the bridge. At least building was something he knew how to do.

  On the first day of June, Rosie, Chipper, the new puppy, and the entire O’Toole clan gathered to watch Seth drive the last nail into the pontoon bridge that spanned Bluestem Creek. He, Rolf Rustemeyer, and Jimmy had worked on the project every minute that they weren’t plowing, planting, or hoeing. Rosie had used her own spare minutes to sew a flowered scarf that would hold back her hair. But they didn’t have another Bible study, even though two Sundays passed during the building of the bridge.

  Rosie could hardly see the point in forming a group to worship God. The preacher at the church in Kansas City had said that wherever two or three believers were gathered in Christ’s name, he was there among them. But now Rosie knew that God didn’t want her— an illegitimate child—to worship in a gathering of his believers. As far as she could understand the verse in Deuteronomy, it would be just plain wrong for her to bring them all together again like a small church. Her very presence would defile the gathering.

  Since that Sunday morning after the rain, nothing had gone particularly well around the homestead. The harmony had been spoiled. To Rosie, it felt like Satan had used the moment of discord to jump right in and throw everything out of kilter. Seth was so angry about the verse in Deuteronomy he had stopped praying at mealtimes. Chipper crept around like a lost lamb. He seemed half-fearful that Jack Cornwall would jump out from behind a bush and grab him—and half-hoping he would. It was hard to tell what Rolf Rustemeyer was thinking.

  If Rosie and Seth had begun to build a bridge toward accepting and understanding each other, it too had been destroyed the morning of Deuteronomy. Rosie felt that her stubborn insistence on observing the Sabbath had led Seth to reject God—and Seth in turn had rejected her. He worked day and night, and he hardly gave her a second glance. There were no more long midnight conversations, no more teasing compliments, no more dances in the barn. For some reason, Seth’s disinterest in her hurt almost as much as the discovery that God didn’t want her to set foot inside his church.

  “Casimir Laski sent us a message this afternoon,” Sheena O’Toole whispered to Rosie as the two women led everyone who had observed the ceremonial pounding of the last nail across the new bridge for a celebratory evening meal at Seth’s soddy. “Jack Cornwall has been spotted around the Red Vermillion River, so he has. Word is he’s been asking the whereabouts of the Hunter and O’Toole homesteads. He’s working his way closer to us, Rosie. Sure, you and Seth must keep a sharp eye on the wee one. First thing you know, that sherral will kidnap the boy and ride hotfoot back to Missouri.”

  Stopping in the front yard, Rosie dipped a spoon into the large black cauldron that hung on a tripod over the outdoor fire. The stew she had made that morning looked delicious, and it smelled even better. With fresh greens from the prairie, wild onions and carrots, and the very last of the stored potatoes, the concoction would fill hungry stomachs well. Best of all, Sheena had whipped up a batch of Irish dumplings, which floated in the broth like puffy white pillows.

  Rustemeyer, who had ridden over for the celebration, leaned across Rosie’s shoulder. “Fery goot,” he said. “Schmells fery goot.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Rustemeyer. I’m glad you think so,” Rosie replied. She had grown accustomed to Rolf’s awkward attempts at speaking English. He reminded her of the toddlers at the Home— the way they stumbled over words and put sentences together in funny combinations.

  “You are velcome.” He executed a neat bow, which sent Sheena into a fit of giggles. Ignoring her, the German picked up a stack of bowls. “I helpen you, fräulein. Mit der Suppe.”

  “With … the … soup,” she pronounced carefully.

  “Vit … dee … zoop.”

  “All right.” Rosie looked up into the German’s gray eyes as she ladled the bowl full of stew. Rolf had spent a great deal of time at Seth’s homestead in the past weeks, and Rosie was accustomed to his presence. In fact, she hardly noticed him. He worked hard. He was cheerful. He treated Chipper kindly. And he ate like a hungry horse.

  But other than creating a need to calculate extra portions into her meals, Rolf had been invisible to Rosie. She had been so busy setting up the household, weeding the kitchen garden, baking, washing, ironing, and sewing that she hadn’t given a second thought to her plan to marry the big blond German. Now she realized she had only five months to make it happen. She ought to start paying him some heed.

  “You did a good job on the bridge,” she said, handing Rolf a bowl. “Good work.”

  “Ja, ja.” He smiled. “You are velcome.”

  She didn’t think he had understood. Oh well, he certainly fit every item on her list for an ideal marriage partner: strong, honest, hardworking, kind. Rolf was a good man. He didn’t disturb her the way Seth did. He never teased or argued. He never complimented or criticized. He never said anything at all. He just happily went about his work, pausing only to devour grizzly bear–sized portions of whatever she put on the table. Rolf was the perfect mate.

  Seth, on the other hand, was complicated, intelligent, edgy, and a demanding perfectionist. When he looked at Rosie, the blood in her temples began to pound, and her heart jumped into her throat. If he inadvertently brushed her hand, strange fiery tingles raced straight up her arm. She found herself listening for his whistle at dawn when he came across the yard to milk the cows. And at night, when he walked her to the barn to light her path with the lantern, she searched for things to say just so she could hear his deep voice.

  Truth to tell, Seth Hunter had become a constant presence in her thoughts. He made her feel nervous. Challenged. Alive. Very much alive. She couldn’t understand what it meant. Her feelings about him reminded her of the stories she had read to the children at the Home—stories about princes and princesses falling in love.

  “Love?” she said out loud. The very thought of that word in connection with Seth Hunter threw her for a loop.

  Rolf handed her another empty bowl to fill. “Lof,” he repeated. “Was ist lof?”

  “Love? Oh, it’s nothing.” She swallowed hard and waved away the word. “Some people think it has to do with marriage. Husbands and wives. People have a wedding, you see. They marry. They live together and have children. Getting married is—”

  “What are you talking to Rustemeyer about?” Seth demanded.

  He had approached the fire so quietly Rosie hadn’t heard him. When she turned toward Seth’s voice, she saw that his blue eyes were blazing, and the muscles in his jaw flickered with tension. Behind him, a group of travelers—six mounted horsemen—were talking with Jimmy O’Toole some distance from the soddy. “Who are those men?” Rosie asked. “Where did they come from? Is Jack Cornwall among them?”

  “No. They’re all right. Casimir Laski sent them from his station. They were hoping we had finished building the bridge so they could cut a few miles off their trip. They’re cattlemen on their way to Salina to pick up five hundred head and drive them to Kansas City.” Seth eyed the stew. “Do you have enough to feed them?”

  “Of course.”

  “Good. Rustemeyer, see to their horses.” At the man’s blank look, Seth leaned closer and said loudly. “Horses.”

  “
You won’t make him understand by shouting,” Rosie said. She pointed at the lead rider’s horse. “Help, please.”

  “Ja, ja.” Rustemeyer gave Rosie a warm smile and headed off in the direction of the visitors. She watched him go, and she felt happy that with each new word he learned he was fitting in better with prairie society.

  “Mr. Rustemeyer is doing very well with his English, don’t you—”

  “I don’t want you to marry that man,” Seth cut in, his voice hard. “You hear me, Miss Mills? Rosie?”

  At his use of her first name, she glanced at him in surprise. “And why not? I can marry whoever I want to.”

  “No, you can’t. Not him.”

  “Rolf is a good person. He’s kind. He’s hardworking.” She stirred the stew for a moment. “Do you think he wouldn’t have me? If he knew … about Deuteronomy, I mean?”

  “It doesn’t have anything to do with Deuteronomy.”

  “Then what? Why wouldn’t he—”

  “It’s not you. It’s … well, it is you. You’re … you’re … you’re mine. My worker, I mean. I brought you from Kansas City, didn’t I? You’re sleeping in my barn. Eating my food. I need you. Need you around the house. You do good work. Chipper likes you. I won’t have you going off to marry Rustemeyer.”

  Rosie stared at Seth. The tips of his ears had gone bright red, and she could see a little vein jumping in his forehead. What on earth had upset him so? The thought of her marrying Rolf Rustemeyer had him fairly steaming. But why? Did he dislike the German so much? Or did he consider Rosie his own personal servant over whom he had absolute power? Or did his concern have something to do with Chipper? Or was there something … something else … behind it?

  Slowly she turned back to the stew and set the lid on the cauldron. The feel of Seth’s eyes on the back of her neck set her skin prickling. She took three deep breaths, and then she straightened.

  “You don’t understand,” she said evenly. “You don’t understand me at all.”

  “I do understand. You think you have to hook onto some man in order for your life to have any meaning. You think your mama rejected you, and you think God rejected you. So the only way you’re going to have a future is if you latch onto a husband. Anybody will do. You don’t think enough of yourself to believe that you could matter to another person.”

  “I don’t matter to anyone.”

  “You matter.” He shifted from one foot to the other. “You matter to Chipper.”

  “You told me not to matter to him. You don’t want me to mean anything in his life. And now you expect me to give up the hope of marriage and a family for a five-year-old child? A child whose father plainly told me to keep my distance from the boy?”

  “Arguing again, are you?” Sheena said, taking the ladle from Rosie’s hand. “Well now, that’s a good sign, so it is. But if the pair of you stand around ballyragging all evening, we’ll none of us have any supper. So come along, and put this nonsense behind you for the time being. You can go at it again later. In private.”

  Sheena gave Seth an exaggerated wink, and Rosie wished she could crawl into a hole. When she glanced around she saw that Jimmy O’Toole, the five O’Toole children, Chipper, Rolf Rustemeyer, and the new visitors were all arranged in a circle, holding their bowls of stew and staring at her and Seth. Even the puppy had squatted near the fire to see what would happen.

  Seth cleared his throat and grabbed his bowl. “Welcome to our guests,” he said. “Thanks to Mrs. O’Toole and Miss Mills for the supper. Thanks to Jimmy and Rolf for their help building the bridge. Let’s eat.”

  “Let’s pray first,” Rosie cut in, brushing past Seth. “It’s only right. I’ll do it.”

  Before she could cower in the presence of so many guests, she stepped into the middle of the circle and bowed her head. She hadn’t prayed in a very long time. Not since the Deuteronomy Sunday. But all that time, she had felt such an aching emptiness inside her heart. Now, though the words seemed difficult to form, she knew it was right to honor this special event with a prayer.

  “Dear Father,” she began. Her next breath caught in the back of her throat. Father. Father! God was her father. Of course. She had believed it for years. She had stated it so boldly: But as many as received him, to them gave he power to become the sons of God.

  Rosenbloom Cotton Mills was not illegitimate. God himself had made her his own child. And because ye are sons, God hath sent forth the Spirit of his Son into your hearts, crying, Abba, Father.

  “Dear Father,” she repeated. But the sudden knowledge of his redeeming love, his unconditional acceptance, his constant grace filled her heart. Overwhelmed her. As a joint heir with Christ, she could walk into any church with her heart full of the assurance of her heavenly Father’s eternal, unchangeable welcome.

  As tears spilled down her cheeks, Rosie turned away and ran sobbing into the twilight.

  CHAPTER 9

  ROSIE? Rosie, where are you?” Sheena’s lilting voice called out.

  Rosie blotted her cheeks with the hem of her skirt. “I’m over here, Sheena. On the big stone near the willow tree.”

  “I see you now!” Puffing a little from her run, the Irishwoman lifted her skirts and clambered down the bank. “You gave us quite a scare, running off the way you did in the middle of your prayer. Sure, Seth wanted to come after you, and Rolf, too. It was all I could do to hold Chipper back. Even my Jimmy was set to hotfoot it across the prairie in search of you. You’ve earned yourself quite a gaggle of lovesick men, so you have.”

  “Oh, Sheena.” Rosie scooted over on the flat stone to make room for her friend. “Don’t be silly. For all Seth has tried to accept me, he finds me as frustrating and irritating as a goat-head burr.”

  “Aye, you’ve gotten under his skin, so you have. I’ll warrant the man’s in love.”

  “Sheena! Please don’t tease me.” Rosie swallowed. “Anyway, I’ve seen the error of my thoughts in that direction. I’ve been looking at Seth in a human way—instead of as God sees him. Tonight—just now—my Father spoke to me, Sheena.”

  “Spoke to you? Glory be, but you’re a strange wee thing, Rosie Mills. God in heaven spoke directly to you? I can’t credit it.”

  “Then you’ve never experienced it.” Rosie briefly explained about the Deuteronomy Sunday and its outcome. Then she told Sheena how the moment she had called her heavenly Father by name, the meaning of the cryptic verse had become crystal clear. “When you pray, Sheena, you mustn’t do all the talking. You’ve got to listen, too. Listen to what he’s telling you.”

  “But how can you be sure it’s God speaking—and not some little imp of the devil inside your head?”

  “That’s easy enough. Everything God says is true. He can’t lie. Satan is the father of lies, and he finds great joy in distorting the truth. He confuses us and fills our heads with doubt and despair. But if I take what I believe God has said to me and hold it up to the Bible, it should reflect his Word. In fact, when I hear my Father’s voice, it most often comes in words straight out of the Scriptures.”

  Sheena sat for a moment, pondering. “I don’t know that I’ve ever listened to God, Rosie. But I’ll try. Truly I will. And I’m thankful you’ve seen that scrap of Deuteronomy clear to its rightful meaning.”

  “My greatest flaw is taking the reins of my own life and trying to guide myself. When I do, everything gets twisted, and I go off on the wrong path.”

  “Do you believe God’s path led you out here to the prairie?”

  “I don’t know. But I’m certain he can bring a blessing from it if I continually give myself to him.”

  “Do you plan to ask God which man he wants you to marry, Rosie?”

  “I can’t think about marriage, Sheena. When I do, I get so confused. I can’t see God at all. I just see myself and … and someone else.”

  “Seth Hunter?”

  Rosie twisted her hands together in her lap. “It should be Rolf.”

  “Well now, you’ve certainly set
every man’s heart aflutter with your shenanigans tonight. What do you mean to do about it, Rosie? Which one will you have? Will it be Rolf Rustemeyer? Or Seth Hunter? Or will you wait for some other man to come along?”

  For a long time, Rosie sat in silence, turning the questions over and over in her mind. Finally she laid her hand across Sheena’s. “I only know one thing. I’m going to try to stop listening to my own heart and start listening to God. He knows the plans he has for me. If I care enough to follow him, I’ll find the right path.”

  “You’re a good girl. Seth would do well to put his past behind him and look to his future.”

  “He is thinking of his future. He cares so deeply about Chipper. He told me he didn’t want me to marry Rolf because he knows Chipper needs me right now.”

  Sheena let out a squawk. “By all the goats in Kerry, girl, it’s not Chipper that needs you! It’s Seth himself, so it is.”

  “I don’t see why. I’ve hardly done a thing but sew him a blue shirt and put three meals a day on his table.” Rosie searched her mind, trying to make sense of the messages she had read again and again in Seth’s blue eyes. Yes, he did seem to need her. Every time he caught her eye he seemed to be saying, Don’t go. Don’t leave me.

  “It’s the prairie,” she said finally. “If Seth needs me at all, it’s because he understands that I can make a difference in his life out here. If I can keep the kitchen garden growing, keep Chipper healthy, keep the clothes and the bedding washed and mended, then his days will be easier. He spoke once about all the dangers he faces. Wind. Hail. Prairie fires. Plagues of insects. Cyclones. I should find a way to help … help Seth through all that. Whether he knows it or not, he does need me, Sheena. God can use me in his life.”

  Sheena gave a little chuckle and shook her head. “I’ll warrant the good Lord can use you in Seth’s life—one way or another.” Standing, she gave a stretch. “Now, my sweet lass, we’d better get back to the soddy, or they’ll send a search party after the both of us, so they will.”