Prairie Rose

by Catherine Palmer

  As she walked toward Sheena, Rosie turned over in her mind the amazing fact that she had come to love the prairie. Every spare moment she could carve out of the day, she wandered out across the majestic plains—picking wildflowers for the dinner table, watching the antelope graze, marveling at the glorious sky that rolled overhead in waves of depthless blue. The thought of ever returning to the confines of a brick orphanage, high limestone walls, and air darkened by smoke made her shudder. Yet she had made up her mind to obey God’s direction, no matter where he led.

  “It’s just as I’d hoped,” Sheena called, puffing up the last few yards to the soddy’s front yard. “Better than I’d dreamed! I’ve had a letter from Caitrin. You know my little sister? My beauty? My sweet, precious Caitie?”

  “Yes, you’ve told me about Caitrin,” Rosie said, dragging a bench into the scant shade of the little soddy’s overhanging roof. “Sit down and give me all the news.”

  “Better yet, I’ll read it to you!” Sheena shooed the children off to find Chipper in the fields. Then she set a pair of spectacles on her nose, unfolded the letter, and spread it across her lap. “Sure, it’s taken me all morning to make sense of the writing, but I believe I have it. Listen to this.” She began to read in a slow, halting voice. “‘My dearest Sheena, All is well with the family and me. How are you? How is Jimmy? How are all the wee ones?’”

  Here Sheena paused and took off her spectacles. “Caitie’s never met any of them, you know. Not even Erinn, and she’s already eight years old. Can you imagine? I’ve not clapped eyes on my dear Caitrin for more than eight years.”

  “I know you’ve missed her terribly.”

  “Haven’t I?” Sheena shook her head and went back to the letter. “‘I have made up my mind … not to wed Seamus Sweeney—’” Again Sheena stopped reading. “Seamus Sweeney is a fisherman’s son and a rotter, if I do say so myself,” she confided. Her green eyes flashed. “I never knew what Caitie saw in him. Of course, it was our papa who set the whole thing up, so he did. Papa is the fishmonger in our town, and he thought it would make a good partnership to join with the Sweeney family in business and in marriage. You know, Caitie’s always been such a good girl, Rosie. She’s always done everything she was told, so she has. I feared she would marry that sherral, even if she didn’t want to. But now she hasn’t after all!”

  “Good for Caitrin.”

  “So you say, but can you imagine what my papa thinks about this? Sure, he’ll be in great kinks. At any rate, I’ll read again. Now where was I? Oh yes. ‘Dearest Sheena, I am … com-coming … to see you.’ There you have it! She’s coming to see me, Rosie! Coming here—to America. Can you credit it? I’m sure I can’t. Listen to this. ‘I shall see you in … August.’ Now isn’t that what it says, Rosie? August?”

  Rosie leaned over Sheena’s shoulder and studied the letter. For the difficulty her friend was having in reading it, Rosie had expected a poorly written document. Instead, the handwriting was neat, the words crisp, the message carefully spelled out.

  “Yes, it’s August,” Rosie said, reading quickly through the message. “Caitrin’s coming to Kansas at the start of the month, and she wonders if there might be a teaching position anywhere near you.”

  “Is that what she’s written? Teaching. Well, I couldn’t make out that word at all. Teaching. Why would you put an a in a word like that, Rosie? Sure, it ought to have a double e by all rights. You know I never went to school but a year or two. But Caitie—well, she’s been all the way through, so she has. She’s very smart. Yes, indeed. Our Caitrin is a well-rounded young lady. I suppose she believes she could earn wages as a teacher in America.”

  Rosie considered the situation for a moment. “You have five children, Sheena. As you said, Erinn’s already eight years old, and Will is six. Chipper’s five. Then there are the youngest of the Rippeto children. Mr. and Mrs. LeBlanc have all those daughters, too. Casimir Laski might even want to send his son.”

  “Sure, the boy is seventeen!”

  “But he can’t read a word. At the start of the barn dance, I handed him a list of the guests and asked him to mark off who had come. He couldn’t even read his own name, Sheena. How will he make anything of himself without an education?”

  “A man doesn’t need to know how to read and write to plow a field. My Jimmy couldn’t spell his name if he tried. But it’s all the same to me. I love him anyway.” She studied the letter for a moment. “Still, it would be wonderful if our Caitie could teach the children in the winter months, wouldn’t it, Rosie?”

  “Yes, it would. It sounds like she needs some kind of work to do now that she’s not going to marry.”

  “Oh, she’ll marry. Caitie’s a fine, beautiful girl, so she is. She was only fourteen when I left Ireland, but she’s twenty-two now and well into the age where she ought to find a husband. Besides that, she’s a stunning lass. Red hair in grand big curls falling all over the place. And such eyes. Sure, you never saw such pretty green eyes in all your days. I have no doubt the young farmers will scramble to court Caitie the moment she gets here. She won’t have any trouble finding a husband. But no … no, I think teaching would be a nice diversion for her. I believe I’ll send a message to the Rippeto and LeBlanc families. Do you suppose Seth would let us use his barn for the school?”

  Rosie shifted on the rough-hewn bench. The idea of a red-haired, green-eyed beauty charming Seth Hunter into marriage had caused her an uncomfortable pang. Even though Seth had not given many hints as to his feelings about her, Rosie had sensed that things between them had begun to change—soften—ever since the night of the barn dance.

  Now Sheena wanted her beautiful red-haired sister to use Seth’s barn as a schoolhouse? To see him every day? The barn was Rosie’s home, her only place of solitude, her haven of rest. …

  “Sure, you won’t be needing the barn by winter, will you?” Sheena asked. “You’ve told me you might well be wedded to Rolf Rustemeyer by that time. And if you don’t marry the German, Seth means to cart you back to Kansas City—not that I’d want you to go, of course. But the barn would be free, wouldn’t it?”

  “Well, the cows—”

  “Caitie could teach the children in the loft! There’s lots of room up in the loft, so there is. Oh, Rosie, I cannot wait for you to meet my little Caitie. She’s the prettiest thing! A fair flower! I shall have to plan a party to welcome her. Glory be, that reminds me of the second bit of news. There’s to be a picnic on the Fourth of July. An Independence Day celebration—and it’s hardly a week away. LeBlanc is hosting it, so he is. His wife is planning to hold a box-lunch auction for all the unmarried girls. You know the LeBlancs have all those pretty daughters. I’m sure the missus is hoping to hook a husband or two at the picnic. But the box-lunch auction will include you, too! And won’t you be in demand with all the young farmers? Sure you will! Now if Caitie were here, there’d be a fair brawl over her, so there would. I’m half-glad she isn’t, aren’t you?”

  Rosie nodded, her mental image of the young green-eyed Caitrin transforming moment by moment into the most glorious creature who ever walked the earth.

  “The money is going to a very good cause,” Sheena explained. “LeBlanc wants to put up a church, so he does. If we can raise enough to buy the lumber, perhaps the men will build it in the fall.”

  “A church!” Rosie cried. “But where? Will it be beside the mill?”

  “No, no. LeBlanc owns only the land his mill is sitting on and the water rights. It’s not a proper homestead. No, he’s asking someone else to donate an acre or two for the church. Sure, I’m going to press my Jimmy for it. Wouldn’t that be wonderful? A church on our own homestead. Perhaps we’d even have a minister for it one day.”

  Rosie couldn’t imagine the reticent Jimmy O’Toole wanting a church full of people on his property. But if Sheena made her case forcefully enough, it could happen. A church … with hymns and preaching and evening socials. The thought of it fairly transported Rosie.

 
“You’re in a dream world,” Sheena said, elbowing her friend as they sat together. “What do you think of LeBlanc’s proposal? Our very own church, right out here on the prairie.”

  “It would be wonderful, Sheena. And with all the people passing through, the minister could touch so many lives.”

  “Aye, the traffic across our bridge has nearly doubled by my count.”

  “More than doubled in the last two weeks.” Rosie glanced across the fields to see if Seth was coming. Then she leaned closer to her friend. “The storage chest in the barn is already full again, and I’ve traded for two more big trunks. Every time someone wants to trade instead of pay the toll, I have to haul everything out and set it all up. I’d love to leave the merchandise out for view—put up pretty displays and even build counters. But I don’t want to worry Seth. He’s so concerned about Jack Cornwall showing up again, and I don’t want him to think my trading post would draw trouble.”

  “Your trading post, is it?”

  Rosie shrugged. “Sheena, I could put a stop to it all. And I would—if I thought this might harm Seth or Chipper in any way. But I-I’m afraid I will have to go away one day, and I want to leave them with something. I know Seth doesn’t really like my trading. But it’s what I have to give. If I could get a post office commission, I’d have so much traffic I would have to put up a hotel.”

  “Great ghosts, that reminds me!” Sheena tugged a second letter from her pocket. “LeBlanc brought this along with my letter from Caitie the last time he picked up the mail in Topeka. Look, it’s for you, isn’t it?”

  Rosie stared at the travel-stained white envelope. “It’s from the Christian Home. It’s from Mrs. Jameson.”

  “Well, stop casting sheep’s eyes at the thing and read it.”

  The letter was Rosie’s first contact with the place where she had lived so many years. They had been years of struggle, loneliness, and an aching hunger for love. Half of her heart commanded her to pitch the letter into the stove and burn it up. Destroy that part of her life forever and look forward. Only forward.

  But those years had been good ones, too. She had learned about her heavenly Father. She had gone to school and read the fairy tale book. She had made her way in a world where only the toughest survived.

  Taking a deep breath, she slit open the envelope. “‘Dear Miss Mills,’” she read aloud. It was Mrs. Jameson’s handwriting. “‘Thank you for the iron skillet. By this generous gift, I see you are making something of yourself in the world. I trust that in your efforts to improve yourself you have not strayed from the straight and narrow path—’”

  “What does she mean by that?” Sheena cut in. “Does she think you earned the money for the skillet in some low manner?”

  “Mrs. Jameson is very strict. She wants the best for me.” Rosie read again. “‘I trust that in your efforts to improve yourself you have not strayed from the straight and narrow path that was paved for you at the Christian Home for Orphans and Foundlings. I must tell you that your presence is sorely missed.’” Rosie lifted her head. “They miss me, Sheena!”

  “Of course they do. You’re a wonder, you are.”

  Rosie began to read again. “‘Your presence is sorely missed. The main cook quit her position, and you are needed to fill in, along with Jenny and Pearl. I am counting on your return in the fall, as Mr. Hunter assured me. I do not like to think that we at the Home have given you all these years of care and sustenance only to have you walk away from us in a time of need.’”

  “Of all the—!”

  “‘If you manage to earn any money while you are away,’” Rosie read on, “‘I expect you to bring it when you come. We need a new washtub. Sincerely, Mrs. Jameson.’”

  “Ooo, I should like to get my hands around her neck!” Sheena exclaimed, demonstrating just what she would do to the orphanage director. “She wants your money for a new washtub, does she? She expects you to race back to that dreadful place just because she gave you a bed and a little food all those years? Well, I’ve news for her. You deserve a life better than that, so you do. You’re a good girl, a hardworking girl, a fine Christian girl. You’re going to marry Rolf Rustemeyer and live in his soddy and have yourself a home and a family. And that’s that.” She clapped her hands over her knees. “You won’t give that letter another thought, will you, Rosie? Rosie?”

  Rosie stared down at the sheet of white paper. “Sheena, Mrs. Jameson is right. They do need me at the Home. I did run off and leave them in a difficult position. From the moment we drove away from Kansas City in Seth’s wagon, I sensed I had been willful and selfish. I certainly didn’t pray about coming out to the prairie before I took the first step, and I’m not sure I’ve done a bit of real good for the Lord since I’ve been here.”

  “Of course you have! You’re the best cook, the most caring—”

  “And I don’t think I want to marry Rolf Rustemeyer after all.”

  “Really, now? I can’t say I’m surprised, though I thought you had your mind made up on it. What about Seth then? You know I’ve wanted you to marry him all along.”

  “Sheena, I care about Seth. Truly I do.”

  “You love him.”

  “Maybe I do. But he loves his wife.”

  “She’s dead!”

  “I know that, but it doesn’t make any difference to Seth. No woman can take his wife’s place. I think he’s afraid.”

  “Afraid of what?”

  “Afraid to let someone into his life in that way again. He was hurt so badly by what happened. Now all he can think about is keeping Chipper safe from Jack Cornwall and trying to get his crops in. Sheena, I have to accept the truth that Seth is never going to love me. He’s never going to marry me. And my heart … my heart doesn’t want to marry Rolf Rustemeyer.”

  “Your heart? I thought you said the heart had nothing to do with marriage. Didn’t you tell me that all a woman needed to do was find a good, hardworking, honest man?”

  Rosie shrugged. “I think … I think I might have been wrong. There may be more to it than that. I’ve come to believe there’s a certain feeling people sometimes have. It’s like in Mrs. Jameson’s fairy tale book when the story says, ‘The prince took Cinderella in his arms and began to dance with her. The rest of the evening, he had eyes only for the beautiful, mysterious woman.’ And in Beauty and the Beast: ‘though she knew he was outwardly a beast, she saw the good in his heart, and her own heart beat the faster for it.’ You know, Sheena, I always thought eyes gazing at each other and hearts beating too fast were just pretend. Make-believe stories for children. But now I’m not so sure.”

  “Who taught you differently, Rosie?” Sheena took her hand. “Was it Seth?”

  “It wasn’t Rolf, I can tell you that.” She let out a deep sigh. “It’s all beyond me. God knows I’d best be back at the Home, where I’m certain of what I’m supposed to be doing and I can’t get myself into any greater trouble than climbing trees.”

  “Does God know that? How can you be so sure?”

  “He’s been watching what a poor job I’m doing out here. Oh Sheena, I’m such a wreck.” Rosie bent over on the bench and buried her face in her hands. “I do love Seth,” she whispered. “I love him so much I can hardly stand it. I love Chipper, and I want to try to be a mother to him. I want to marry Seth and feel his strong arms holding me close. I want to know what it’s like to kiss … to kiss him. Oh, Sheena, this is just awful.”

  “Fräulein!” Rolf’s booming voice brought Rosie upright in an instant. At the edge of the yard, the big blond German was climbing down from his mule. “Happy lunschtime to you!”

  “Hello, Rolf.” She blotted her cheeks with the corner of her apron. “How are you today?”

  “I komme eaten vit you!”

  “The bread!” Rosie gasped. She hadn’t given a thought to the midday meal since Sheena came traipsing over the bridge. A glance out to the fields confirmed that Seth, Chipper, and all five O’Tooles were trudging toward the soddy. “The bread is pr
obably burned to a cinder. All they’ll have for lunch is ashes. Oh, Sheena!”

  “Go on then, Cinderella. I’ll take my wee brablins home with me whilst you feed your two Prince Charmings.” Sheena gave her friend a squeeze. “You must talk to God about this matter of your love for Seth. He’ll find you a way through it.”

  “Thank you, Sheena,” Rosie said as she left the bench and made for the soddy door.

  Rolf caught her hand just as she stepped inside. “Fräulein, I vill mein money haf. Dollars.”

  “Rolf, my bread is burning. I don’t have time to figure out what you’re trying to say.” She resorted to Seth’s habit of shouting at the German. “The … bread … is … burning!”

  “Dollars,” he repeated. “Britsch money of Hunter, O’Toole, und Rustemeyer. You gif me? Ja, you gif to me mein money?”

  “You’ll have to wait, Rolf. I must get my bread.” Rosie pulled away from him and hurried into the soddy to find black smoke billowing from the oven door. Her bread was ruined. Ruined! There would be nothing for lunch but a few slices of cold salt pork. Everything was a mess. Rolf wanted his money. Sheena’s entrancing sister was coming to Kansas. Jack Cornwall was trying to steal Chipper. And Seth … oh, she had confessed out loud that she loved Seth. Now it was in the open, and she felt as confused and upset as though a hive of bees had taken up residence in her stomach.

  “Rosie?”

  She whirled around, the smoking lump of bread clamped in a hot pad. Seth stood in the doorway, a tall silhouette framed by golden noon sunlight. “Rosie, are you all right?”

  “No! No, I’m not all right.” She thunked the loaf pan on the table and marched toward him through the smoky haze. “You want me to marry Rolf. Rolf wants his money. Sheena’s beautiful sister is coming. Cornwall is trying to take Chipper away. Mrs. Jameson needs a new washtub! And worst of all … I-I’ve burned my bread!”