by Laura Abbot
“I suppose that’s all anyone can do.”
His father eyed him sharply. “It’s not like you to be so hangdog, son. I’m going to say this once and only once, but I want you to heed my words. You are not responsible for the child’s disappearance.”
Seth raised his eyes to his father’s. “Be that as it may, I will do everything in my power to get Alf back.”
“Everything legal, son. You cannot take the law into your own hands.”
“Agreed.” While every instinct screamed that he would like to do exactly that, as a man of conscience, he knew he could not. But he would not rest until he had done everything possible to find the boy and comfort Rose.
“That’s settled, then,” his father said as he took his horse by the reins and led him toward the barn.
* * *
The second morning after Alf was taken, Rose forced herself to dress only because she had seen in his whole demeanor the degree of her papa’s worry about her. She longed to feel her mother’s arms around her in a comforting embrace, and that impossibility widened the void in her heart. Perhaps some would see her loss as vastly more insignificant than her father’s, but who could measure the depths of anyone’s suffering? Despite her own pain, she would not inflict further distress on her dear papa.
She stared at Alf’s little trundle bed, at the stick horse Seth had so lovingly made for him. Visible from beneath an edge of the pillow was Alf’s marble bag. Succumbing to a wave of nostalgia, she sat on his bed and opened the bag, fingering the marbles as if they were talismans that would suddenly restore her boy to her. Then she spilled them across the counterpane, noting how they sparkled in the sunlight pouring through the window. All but one. She frantically searched the bag again. The agate Aunt Lavinia had given him was missing. He often carried it in his pocket. She prayed he’d had it with him Sunday. Maybe it would remind him of this home and the people here who loved him.
With a start, she realized that was the first prayer she’d offered since Alf had been taken—how spontaneously it had poured from her. Yet how could she still be trusting in a God who had given and then cruelly taken away? With a heavy heart, she gathered the marbles and one by one dropped them back into the bag, pulling the drawstring tighter and replacing it under the pillow.
Breakfast consisted of a warm coffee cake Hannah had delivered at Lavinia’s request and a tin of stewed peaches. She and her father sat at the table, each lost in thought. Finally Papa spoke. “Bess will be coming over to keep you company today.”
Rose’s first instinct was to rebel. She did not need a keeper. Or did she? She was aware she wasn’t always thinking straight. Memory played tricks on her. One moment she would be poised to call out for Alf, and in the next, she would be light-headed with the awareness of his absence. If only she knew he was being cared for. That he was safe—and loved. “Bess? She needn’t come.”
“She wants to, my dear. She’s quite fond of you.”
She couldn’t look into her father’s eyes and read the anguish written there, so she dished up a forkful of the coffee cake she had no appetite to eat. “Very well.”
Bess arrived shortly and insisted on washing up the dishes. While she and Papa went out on the porch to discuss some patients, Rose retrieved the bag of marbles from the bedroom. For some reason, having them close made the pain slightly more bearable. She sat in a rocker in the parlor, holding the marbles. Ulysses curled up beside her, his head resting on her knee. She ran her hand over the cat’s sleek back. How Alf had loved “our cat.” She couldn’t have said how long she sat there, as if in a trance, rocking back and forth, back and forth. Once Bess stepped in the room and asked if she would like her company, but Rose just shook her head, replaying in her mind all her happy times with the boy who had seemed a gift from God, the boy who would assure her future happiness.
Abruptly she stopped both her reverie and her rocking. Pacing around the room, she came to a hurtful but practical insight. Never again would she put herself in a position to be hurt for love’s sake. It was too painful to bear. Plenty of people lived without love. Take Aunt Lavinia, for instance. Childless. Years spent in a loveless marriage. Yet she survived and functioned. Lily and Caleb used to be her models of happiness in life. For her, such happiness was a mirage. Somehow she would endure, but her life would never be the same.
That settled, Rose went back into the bedroom and packed away in a trunk all vestiges of Alf’s presence. She could not be tortured at every turn by reminders of the boy she might never see again. Bess came and stood in the door watching her. “Do you think it’s too early for this? Might Alf still be recovered?”
“The best chance of finding him was night before last. The more time that elapses, the colder the trail. Besides, what claim do I have over him?” Rose wrapped her arms around her waist in the attempt to keep from flying into pieces. “I was simply a temporary custodian.” Even as she spoke, she was aware of the flint in her voice.
Bess crossed the room and gathered Rose in her arms. “Oh, lovie, don’t succumb to bitterness. Never lose sight of the joy he brought and may one day bring again.” Rose felt Bess’s strong hand rubbing her back, easing the coiled muscles bunched beneath her gown. “Come, now, Rose. The morning is yet cool. Let’s sit on the front porch with a glass of lemonade and watch the passing scene. Small as it is, Cottonwood Falls is a bustling place.”
Rose allowed herself to be led to the porch. Zinnias bloomed in a riot of color along the picket fence and the shaded porch brought a measure of relief to her troubled soul. Ulysses trailed them and stretched out atop a porch railing. Along with the lemonade, Bess had brought out the latest issue of Peterson’s Magazine. Rather than talking, she began reading one of the stories aloud. Although Rose made no effort to follow the intricacies of plot and character, she relaxed to the melodious sound of Bess’s voice. Soon her eyes drifted shut, although she remained aware of the soft breeze caressing her face and the light floral fragrance of Bess’s eau de cologne. Would she ever be more than a sleepwalker drifting through her remaining days?
She was startled out of her reverie when Bess abruptly stopped reading and stood. “Seth is here,” she said. “Good morning. What brings you to town?”
Rose watched the big man come up the walk, where he paused at the base of the porch steps and spoke to Bess. “Begging your pardon, ma’am, but I need to talk with Rose.”
Rose shrank in her chair. What could they possibly have to say to one another now that Alf, who had drawn them into company with one another, was gone? More than that, seeing Seth threatened the emotional defenses she had so carefully put in place. “I couldn’t impose upon your time or your duties here in town,” she heard herself saying in a stilted tone.
“You are my duty in town. Please, hear me out.”
Bess gathered her book. “I must begin preparations for the midday meal. Please excuse me.” Before Rose could protest, her friend was gone.
“May I?” Seth asked, nodding to the chair Bess had just vacated.
“I suppose. After all, you’re here.”
Seth placed his hat on the porch railing and drew his chair closer. “I have come to apologize.”
“Whatever for?”
“I didn’t come to the camp meeting.” He voice was scratchy, as if he needed to clear his throat. “I should’ve been there. Perhaps,” he shrugged helplessly, “I could have helped watch over Alf or seen something to prevent what happened.”
“The blame is mine,” Rose said. “Alf lived with me, I considered him my boy, and his welfare was my responsibility.”
“No, Rose, no. Many of us loved Alf. Perhaps most of all, the two of us. I had come to regard him as the son I will never have. You cannot accept more than your share of this burden. I forbid it.”
Rose couldn’t help it. A sardonic laugh escaped her. “Who are you to forbid me anything o
r to forgive me my sin of neglect?”
Seth ran a hand through his curly hair in frustration. “Who is any of us to forgive? Are you going to forgive me?”
“Forgiveness lies with God.”
“So I’ve been told.” He shook his head doubtfully, and she waited for him to continue. “I’m having trouble with that God about now.”
“So am I.” Even as she spoke the words, she was aware of the poison of a creeping bitterness. “Where is the gentle, compassionate Father?”
Seth sighed as if from the depths of his chest. “My hope is that He is with Alf.”
For a long while, they remained awkwardly silent. Seth showed no signs of leaving, yet she had nothing further to say to him. Conversation that used to flow between them had simply dried up.
Then Seth turned to her and picked up her hands, caressing her fingers with his callused thumbs. “Rose, I’m not good with words, so this is hard for me to say. It’s not only Alf I will miss. I also enjoy your company.”
Rose sat dumbly, her only sensations that of his warm hands and his choked voice.
“I failed you the other night when you needed me. I never want to fail you again.”
Something in his words and the sincerity evident in his eyes cracked the ice encasing her heart. “Seth, I know you would never hurt me. You are a kind man. Perhaps more than anyone else, you are able to empathize with my pain. On the one hand, you are a reminder of happier times. On the other, I see my grief mirrored in you.”
Seth seemed to be considering her words. “Then, please, Rose, let us be friends who can help each other through this situation. Our faith has been shaken. Maybe through each other, we can find it once more. And best of all, find our Alf.”
Our Alf. If only. “Friends, then.”
He stood, drawing her to her feet. He cupped her face, studying it as if he’d never really looked at her until this moment. “Lean on me, Rose. Lean on me. And forgive me.”
Then he picked up his hat and walked away, leaving her far less stoic. In fact, leaving her in a confused state, more peaceful than bitter.
Chapter Eleven
Ten days passed, although for Rose, one day brought the same emptiness as the next, and the passage of time served only to remind her how long it had been since she had seen Alf. Bess, Aunt Lavinia and Hannah alternated caring for her. In her mind she knew she was not an invalid and that they were helping to assuage her father’s anguish, but she could not rouse herself to resume her duties. Sunday, they had all encouraged her to go to church. She refused. There was nothing there for her any longer. Her only solace was the loyalty of her beloved Ulysses, whose purrs and soft paws kneading her chest reminded her that beneath her stony exterior, she was still capable of affection.
Her father sent her doleful looks, Bess offered tender ministrations and Aunt Lavinia seemed poised for the moment when she could effect some change in Rose’s self-protective isolation. The sheriff had told Ezra that a couple of townspeople had reported seeing a shadowy figure lurking in back alleys the night before Alf disappeared, but neither was able to give a clear description. It was only the children who had mentioned seeing a woman. Rose couldn’t let herself consider the possibility that Alf had been taken by some unscrupulous opportunist. Much as she recoiled from the scrawled note that had sealed Alf’s fate, she clung to the hope that only a parent would love a child enough to leave him for a time in better conditions and then reclaim him.
Today was the meeting of the Library Society, to be held at Lavinia’s. Rose couldn’t imagine attending and facing the pity on some faces and the satisfaction on others like Bertha Britten’s. How the undertaker’s wife must be gloating over her comeuppance. As usual, Rose sat on the porch with Ulysses rocking away the morning, carefully controlling her emotions.
When a carriage pulled up in front of the house, Rose was startled to see Aunt Lavinia and Lily emerge, dressed in their Sunday finest. They marched up the walk and stood in front of Rose. Lily leaned over and whispered in her ear, “Get up, sister. We’re here to dress you for this afternoon’s meeting.”
Rose recoiled. “I can’t.”
Lavinia took hold of her arm and pulled her to her feet. “‘I can’t’ is no longer part of your vocabulary. You’ve languished long enough, and we’ve respected your need to do so. Now it’s time for you to return to the land of the living. The evening meal will be the last prepared by any of us. For today, you will get dressed and accompany us to my home in time for the arrival of my guests.”
Unnamed emotions roiled within Rose, but mutely she permitted herself to be led to her bedroom, where Lily proceeded to select a gown and Aunt Lavinia supervised her toilette. When it came time to leave, Rose stood stock-still in the bedroom door. “I can’t face them.”
“Who?” Lily asked. “Your friends who care about you, sympathize with you and miss you? You mean, those terrible women?”
“There are some who—”
“Pooh!” Aunt Lavinia exploded. “Are you referring to the sanctimonious few? Neither Lily nor I will permit you to cower here, avoiding the likes of such folks. You have done nothing except provide a loving home for an abandoned waif. You will not, nor will any who love you, make apologies for that exercise of compassion. Now, then, hold that head high and come along.” Brooking no opposition, Lavinia escorted her to the carriage, trailed by Lily who grabbed Rose’s bonnet as she left the house.
While they waited at Lavinia’s for the arrival of the other women, Lily placed the tea sandwiches Hannah had left for them on a glass platter, and Lavinia sliced the pound cake into pieces, removed them to china dessert plates and poured strawberry sauce over each serving.
As the guests filed in, it was soon obvious that they were more enthralled with examining Lavinia’s lavish furnishings than with scrutinizing Rose. One or two of the women sought her out and murmured their sympathy. When Bess arrived, she came straight over and embraced her. “I’m so glad you’re here. Come sit with me.” She led Rose to a horsehair settee with a view of a magnificent oil portrait of Lavinia as a younger woman. “She was a beauty,” Bess whispered.
“I can see my mother in her,” Rose replied, with a stab of longing.
At the bang of a gavel, Willa Stone opened the meeting. Rose sat still, as if looking down upon herself from a cloud, listening to words which failed to penetrate. Book selection committee. Next month’s paper on King Arthur. Courthouse Ball.
When Bess stood up, with an effort Rose refocused her attention.
“Ladies, plans for the grand celebration for the dedication of our new courthouse are taking form. It will be both exciting and elegant, especially the ball to be held on the premises.” With a sparkling smile, she added, “It’s not too early to engage your dressmaker to create a new frock for the event.”
An excited murmur circulated through the room as Bess sat back down and squeezed Rose’s hand. “This will give you something to look forward to.”
An icy chill ran through Rose. A celebration? She was hardly in the mood. And a dance? That was Lily’s forte. She herself was clumsy. Besides, one needed a partner. She wasn’t inclined to attend.
She sat back, giving scant attention to the presentation of today’s paper, a lengthy, uninspiring ramble on the Cavalier poets. At last came a reprieve. Adjournment and refreshments. Rose followed Bess to the intricately carved mahogany dining room table and picked up her plate, intending to retreat to a corner of the parlor. To her chagrin, Bertha Britten sidled up and waylaid her in conversation. After meaningless small talk, Bertha got to the point Rose suspected she’d had in mind all along. “So sad about your orphan boy. But I imagine it’s all for the best, don’t you? He belongs with his people.” Rose gritted her teeth at the way the woman uttered his people.
Relentlessly, Bertha continued. “You were, of course, a saint to take him in without regard f
or tarnishing your reputation, but we all know that such abandoned children are not of our class. You may someday expect children of your own, and then you will, no doubt, understand my meaning.”
Rose was speechless with outrage. How dare Bertha Britten so demean both her and Alf. Just then Aunt Lavinia swept up, apparently having overheard Bertha. “Madam, class has nothing to do with one’s origins, but rather with one’s behavior in society.” Lavinia pinned Bertha with a haughty stare. “You, my dear, have some things to learn on that account.”
Bertha’s jaw flapped helplessly as she scrambled for a riposte, but all she managed was “Some people!” before hurrying off to join a group on the far side of the room.
Lavinia moved close to Rose and spoke softly. “That woman is unworthy of your attention or concern. I myself am proud that I have a niece who puts others before herself.”
Then Lavinia moved off to circulate among her guests. With a start, Rose realized that this recent exchange had left her more alive than she’d felt in days. If Aunt Lavinia, of all people, could fight for her, she certainly should do all she could to stand up for herself and for Alf.
Lily approached, a secretive smile gracing her features. Rose knew that look. “What?” she said.
“Look at you, sister. I do believe you now have one foot in Lavinia’s land of the living.”
Rose blushed. “I have been a bit of a recluse, haven’t I? I’m sorry if I’ve caused all of you concern. I need to grieve, but that doesn’t mean I must remain passive.” Then she, too, managed a grin. “Who would’ve believed that Bertha Britten and Aunt Lavinia would be the agents of my restoration?”
“God works in mysterious ways.”
There it was. God again. Had she been wrong to dismiss Him? Was there still room for Him in her life? Her mother had always counseled giving God time to work, and so often she had been right. Perhaps this was one of those times. Yet waiting was excruciating. “Perhaps.” That was all the answer she was prepared to give.