The Thorn (The Rose Trilogy)

by Beverly Lewis

  "You've got quite a spread of land here," he said. "I had the hardest time finding your place, until I asked the fellow over on Bridle Path Lane."

  "You came that way?" Rose winced. "You must've talked to Jeb Ulrich."

  "He seemed to know about your family ... said your mother had an accident not but a few yards from his little hut."

  She wished he hadn't brought that up. "At least he steered ya in the right direction."

  Mr. Browning mentioned the stacked rock sculptures found at random up and down Bridle Path Lane. "Have you ever seen them? Flat rocks piled up in graduated sizes from large at the base to very small at the top. They're quite the works of art."

  "I know what you're talking about," she said, though she didn't know who'd created the curious piles.

  "There are even garden turtles and other decorative things set under the large bushes there in the hollow," he said. "Beth might like to see them sometime."

  "I've seen 'em, too," Rose said, then offered to take him around the farm. "How long can ya stay?"

  "Thanks, Rose, but I'm here for Beth." He paused and turned to look at her. "She hasn't stopped asking to meet you since you were at our place Wednesday. It's been a while since she's had her heart so set on something."

  Rose smiled her delight. "I'd love to meet her, too."

  "She asked if I would bring you back with me today." He wore a slight smile of his own. "I don't know if it will suit or not."

  "Right now?"

  "If you have time."

  Rose didn't skip a beat. "Sure, I'll go with ya." She explained that she must let her Mamm and sister know. "Just let me run inside right quick." Oh, she could hardly wait to meet Gilbert Browning's secret daughter!

  Rose took along some freshly baked sticky buns she and Hen had made earlier that morning. Carrying the plate into the Browning house, she was met by Beth, who sat stiffly in the very chair her father always sat in, although it had been moved off to the side, near the lamp table.

  Beth's hair was flax gold and as cropped as any Amish boy's. Her eyes looked as blue as the sky when the wind had swept it clean, framed by thick lashes. The young woman Gilbert Browning had been hiding from her was beautiful. "Are you Rose?" Beth asked hesitantly.

  "Jah, I'm your father's housekeeper and cook. It's nice to meet you." Finally, she mentally added.

  "I'm glad you came with Daddy," Beth said, staring at her.

  Rose realized she must look peculiar to the young woman. She held her breath, hoping Beth wouldn't be upset.

  Beth eyed her Kapp and long dress and apron. "I thought you might be Anne of Green Gables on the porch the other day."

  "My hair does look reddish in the sunlight."

  Beth smiled faintly. "I sometimes wear Amish clothes, too - except britches and a straw hat."

  So that's who Donna Becker saw!

  "Do ya like wearin' boys' clothes?" asked Rose with a glance at Beth's father, who appeared chagrined.

  "They scratch me," Beth said.

  Rose didn't say that she, too, sometimes wore trousers beneath her dress and knew exactly what she meant.

  Mr. Browning looked at his daughter. "Beth, honey, would you like to show Rose your room?"

  "Oh yes!" Beth jumped up and then waved for Rose to follow her. "But wait until I say to come up," she told Rose before scampering up the stairs, leaving Rose alone with Mr. Browning.

  "Beth is very different," he said, lowering his voice. "She's not like other girls her age."

  Rose nodded. "Is she ... troubled?" She didn't dare ask if Beth was slow in her mind, although Rose suspected as much.

  "No more than anyone who's lost her mother, I suppose." He paused before continuing. "Beth nearly died at birth. The doctor initially couldn't get her to breathe, and it affected her development."

  "I'm so sorry."

  He nodded, his face less dour. "After her mother died, Beth sank into herself even more." He explained that Beth had attended special classes at the high school in Arthur, Illinois. "Before we moved here last year." Mr. Browning shook his head and sighed. "I don't know why I'm telling you this."

  Rose felt sorry for him ... and for his daughter. "I'd like to try to help Beth, with your permission. Surely she could use a friend."

  "Well, she's always been very shy. I'm quite surprised at her interest in you."

  "I would never frighten her. I can promise you that."

  "Beth doesn't comprehend the outside world too well," he stated. "Most likely she'll never hold down a job or drive a car ... or even marry." He looked at the ceiling momentarily. "I pulled up stakes in Illinois to come here ... to protect her. A girl like Beth is extremely impressionable and naive - susceptible to those who might wish to take advantage of a pretty girl."

  Rose noted the nervous expression on Mr. Browning's face. Despite the explanations, he seemed reticent, as if holding back more. She saw his struggle as he reached into his pocket and took out his kerchief, hands shaking.

  Slowly, wearily, he wiped his wrinkled eyes. "I hope I won't end up kicking myself," he said, motioning for Rose to take the stairs. "I'll go along with you. Beth's waiting."

  Rose followed Mr. Browning, making her way up the forbidden staircase, gripping the railing as she favored her weaker leg. At the top of the stairs, she saw there was only one room with a closed door, and Rose paused, waiting for Mr. Browning.

  He stopped to catch his breath. "Keep in mind everything I just told you." He turned the knob and the door opened. "Follow me."

  Rose stepped into a fairly large room. It was a lovely space with several pieces she was almost certain were Amish made. The solid oak dresser might have been built by her own father, or her next-to-oldest brother, Enos, who made furniture when he wasn't raising tobacco and puppies to sell.

  She looked around and saw a comfortable upholstered dark blue chair near the window, with a lamp table that matched the oak dresser. The single bed looked quite rumpled, as if it had been laid on after it had been made. One of the small throw pillows was lying on the floor, and there were many dozens of stuffed animals - mostly teddy bears and cats. In the corner stood a wooden cupboard containing numerous books and what looked to be rows of blue spiral notebooks.

  Rose moved farther into the room. There, in the corner, sat Beth, clutching a stuffed cat, her eyes blinking rapidly. The idea of being dropped smack-dab into a story came to Rose's mind as she looked into the haunting blue eyes of Gilbert Browning's daughter.

  "Beth, honey ... Rose can't stay long," he said.

  Rose was careful not to move closer to the girl. "Call me Rosie, all right?"

  "I thought I was dreaming when I first saw you," Beth said, standing up suddenly, just as she had downstairs.

  Rose held up her hands and wiggled her fingers. "Oh, I'm real. See?" Just as real as you are. She saw that Mr. Browning had slipped out of the room.

  "Where'd Daddy go?" asked Beth, looking agitated. She shifted her weight from one foot to another, back and forth.

  Rose pointed to the doorway. "He's just outside."

  Frowning, Beth shook her head.

  "I've been wantin' to meet ya, Beth."

  The girl scurried uneasily to a window and sighed softly, her breath clouding the glass. She leaned her head down oddly and stared at the center of the window. It wasn't clear what she was looking at, but she positioned her hand on the glass just so. Then, slowly ... inch by inch, she began to slide it down the windowpane.

  "I saw your hand on the window the other day," Rose said quietly. "It's so gut to finally talk to you."

  Beth turned. "You say you cook for Daddy and me?"

  "And clean a little, too." Rose had a sudden idea. "I made the most delicious cinnamon sticky buns. Would ya like some?"

  Beth's eyes brightened.

  "They're downstairs on the table." Her heart was overjoyed that the treat seemed to appeal to the girl. "Melt in your mouth."

  Beth removed her hand from the window and crept closer, though
still staying at least a good three yards away. "Will Daddy eat some, too?"

  "I wouldn't be surprised." Rose moved toward the doorway. "Come down in a few minutes, if you'd like."

  Beth sniffled just then, like she might cry.

  "You don't have to be sad, Beth. You can come right away if you like. And if you want to, every Wednesday you can watch me bake, all right?"

  The girl nodded slowly. Her expressions appeared much more childlike than her body. "I'd like that."

  Rose's heart warmed. "Me too," she whispered.

  Beth scurried past Rose and went to sit on her bed, her arms wrapped around her knees. She leaned back against the pillows and the many colorful teddy bears there. "Stay upstairs longer, Rosie."

  "All right."

  "I want to know more about you."

  "Ask whatever you like."

  Beth asked all sorts of questions - why Rose didn't ride in a car to come to work and why she dressed like a girl from the 1800s. "I like to read books from the time before there were any cars."

  Rose answered as best she could, then said, "I really like your room, Beth. Thanks for showing me."

  "But it's lonely up here." Beth pointed to the ceiling. "Especially in the attic, where I stay sometimes, too." She got up from the bed and went to her bookshelf to pull out one of the notebooks. "I write in this when my father says I must stay here or in the attic room he made for me."

  "So you've been in the attic when I come to work?"

  "Mostly." Beth nodded slowly. "And if a neighbor or the milkman or the mailman comes, too." Now she was looking at Rose curiously. "Why do they call you Rosie?"

  "It's just a nickname." Rose thought of her sister's name. "Have you ever heard of Hen for a girl?"

  "That's a chicken." Beth smiled.

  "Well, it's a nickname, too - for my sister, whose name is Hannah. 'Cept she doesn't go by that anymore."

  "Rosie sounds like a horse's name," Beth said, still smiling. She glanced at the window. "Where was your pretty horse on Wednesday?"

  "In the meadow back home. But you'll prob'ly see Alfalfa next week when I come again."

  "He's your horse?"

  "Well, my father's."

  "Alfalfa. I like that name." Beth leaned her head back and closed her eyes. "Why didn't you come with Alfalfa and your carriage on Wednesday?"

  "Because my friend brought me."

  Beth was quiet for a moment. "The boy with the long black hair?"

  Now it was Rose's turn to smile. "Jah, Nick."

  "Is that a nickname, too?"

  They both started laughing, and Rose said, "You're a very bright girl."

  Beth's eyes saddened. "No, not really. . ."

  "Well, you love books, right?"

  Beth glanced fondly at the cupboard. "I write, too." She opened the notebook in her hand. "Things that I think about, letters, some prayers, and poems that never rhyme."

  "Your dad says you went to school."

  "Yes, in Illinois ... but not with the smart students."

  A long way from home, thought Rose. "Do you miss your friends?"

  Beth shrugged. "Never had many. Besides, Daddy doesn't want me to talk about that."

  Rose was confused. "But ... why not?"

  "I finished school more than a year ago. I'm eighteen. My birthday was a couple weeks ago."

  So that's who the chocolate cake was for! "Well, happy belated birthday, Beth!"

  "Thank you, Rosie." Grinning, Beth pulled one of her teddy bears close and kissed the top of its head. "I don't feel like I'm eighteen, though."

  Rose thought again of the breakfast sweet rolls. "Will you come down and have something to eat?"

  Beth nodded her head up and down, quite eager now.

  When Rose left the room, she felt pleased with herself - thankful, too. She went to the top of the steps and sat down gingerly, scooting from one step to another to avoid putting undue pressure on her improving knee.

  At the bottom of the stairs, she saw Mr. Browning pacing in the sitting room.

  "How's she doing?" he said as Rose hobbled toward the doorway between that room and the kitchen.

  "She wants one of my sticky buns."

  His eyes brightened. "She's never taken to anyone so quickly," he said. "She was so close to her mother ... God bless her." Mr. Browning's mood had markedly improved. He sported a smile as he went with Rose into the kitchen, offering to set the table while Rose warmed the sticky buns in the oven. He opened the narrow drawer and set out three of each utensil as if this was to be a true celebration.

  The African violets Rose had placed on the windowsill were beginning to flourish, and Rose welcomed how they brightened the space. Beth wandered downstairs and took a seat next to her father at the table as Rose placed the sticky buns before them. Rose poured some milk for Beth and coffee for Mr. Browning.

  Beth asked if she might say grace, and Rose smiled as the young woman said a familiar one. "Come, Lord Jesus, be our guest, let this food to us be blessed. Amen."

  "Thank you, Beth," Rose said, reaching for the sugar for her hot tea. "My Dawdi Jeremiah taught me that same prayer when I was little."

  "Dawdi?" said Beth, looking puzzled.

  "'Grandfather' in Deitsch," she explained.

  "What's grandmother, then?" Beth reached for a bun.

  "Mammi."

  Mr. Browning stirred sugar into his coffee. "You're very talkative today, Beth, honey," he said.

  "I like Rosie." Beth looked right at her and smiled. "Me and Rosie are friends," she chanted happily.

  "I wish you could come over and see our new foals sometime," Rose ventured, glancing at Mr. Browning to see how he'd react. Too late she realized she should've talked to him first before bringing it up to Beth out of the blue.

  "Foal ... that's a baby horse, isn't it?" Beth turned to her father. "Would you let me, Daddy - please?"

  Her father glanced from Beth to Rose and back again. "I ... don't think it's wise."

  "Rose would look after me, wouldn't you, Rosie?" It appeared that Beth had latched on to the idea.

  "I'm sure she would." Mr. Browning spooned sugar into his coffee. "But let's not rush this."

  This, meaning Beth's social life, thought Rose. She had planted a seed and watered it, and poor, thirsty Beth had more than responded. Now it was up to Gilbert Browning to decide whether or not to shine sunlight on his daughter and allow Beth to blossom.

  The assembly line for the applesauce-making frolic was in place by eight-thirty Saturday morning. Rose and Mattie Sue worked together to remove the stems, while Dat and Dawdi Jeremiah rinsed the bushels of apples, and Barbara Petersheim and her daughter Verna cut them in quarters. Aunt Malinda and Mamm removed the seeds, preparing them for the Victoria strainer.

  Throughout the long process, Nick and Christian alternated turning the handle of the strainer as the other carried away the apple skins. Rarely were they in the same proximity at the same time. Will their feuding ever cease? Rose wondered. Christian's mouth had been in a sharp line all morning.

  "I'm having so much fun!" announced Mattie Sue, looking up at Rose with her bright eyes and long lashes.

  She realized then that her young niece would have missed out on this family tradition if Hen hadn't returned home when she did. With all of her heart, Rose hoped the delicious meal Hen had planned for tonight might set the right mood for Brandon's visit.

  Rose had her own reason to look forward to this evening, since she and Silas would be riding under the stars. Still, she wouldn't fail to send up silent prayers for Hen and Brandon, trusting that their love might be saved. Somehow!

  After a time, Dat and Dawdi got the canners going on the woodstove as the womenfolk chattered like magpies about the upcoming canning bee. It did Rose Ann's heart good to see her sister fitting in so well. Goodness, but Hen could already make hearty breakfasts that rivaled Mammi Sylvia's, and she'd only been back home less than a week.

  "I'm gonna eat applesauce at dinner ... and for break
fast tomorrow, too!" said Mattie Sue, who was getting quick at twisting off apple stems.

  "You can do like your mother always did when she was growing up," said Rose.

  "Put whipped cream on top?" asked Mattie.

  "Well now, how'd you know that?"

  "Mommy always does."

  "With cinnamon sprinkled on first?" asked Rose.

  Mattie Sue nodded her cute little head. "Mommy taught Daddy to eat it that way, too." Her lower lip trembled just then.

  Rose thought it best to change the subject. Leaving home was surely the most harrowing thing poor, dear Mattie had ever experienced - drastically changing her way of life.

  By the time they were finished, Mamm reported that they had canned over a hundred quarts of the applesauce. Barbara's face fairly glowed; she'd gotten her wish to make a light-colored sauce.

  When the many jars were out cooling on the summer porch, Rose Ann followed Hen back to her Dawdi Haus and sat with Mattie Sue to reread the picture books aloud to her for at least the fourth time.

  Remembering Brandon's stipulation that dinner be just the three of them, Hen sent Mattie Sue out to the back porch to watch for him at a quarter to five o'clock. Mattie carried Foofie with her, talking to her stuffed animal while she waited.

  Mattie looked like an Amish girl, her hair parted evenly down the middle and swept back into the bob. She hadn't wanted to wear the little white Kapp so she could show her daddy how "big Amish girls" twist their hair on the sides.

  Hen had never felt so nervous about serving a meal to her husband and daughter. It was as if the years at their house in town had faded into oblivion. This night had to count toward getting Brandon interested in the Plain community. My people. Their life together depended on it.

  So with the bishop's words of admonition still echoing in her mind, Hen stood at the door as Brandon's car pulled into the lane and Mattie ran out to greet him.

  When he opened the car door, Hen saw that he was dressed in one of her favorite casual sweaters and dress slacks. Her heart did a flip as she opened the screen door to welcome him. "Hi, Brandon." Her voice sounded tense even to her.