“The rest of you ought to think about going to bed, too.” Maddie looked expectantly at Rose. “With all these extra mouths to feed, I’ll be needing help with breakfast.”
“Of course.” Rose gave her a smile, then turned her attention back to her sister. “Get some rest now. We’ll talk more tomorrow.”
The party said their good-nights and Rose went to put away her discarded knitting. When she turned to clear up the tea things, she noticed Silas still in the room, watching her.
“Did you need something?”
“I just wanted to say...” He shifted awkwardly, almost as though he thought he’d be treading on dangerous ground.
She smiled at him, hoping to encourage him to say his piece and be done with it. While she wasn’t tired, and therefore not in a hurry to go to bed, she also wasn’t sure she wanted to open herself up to the deeper conversation they’d so far successfully maneuvered around. With everything she’d discussed tonight, her heart was too fragile to open it up to him, but she wasn’t sure if, given the opportunity, she’d be able to resist.
Silas had been the one she’d confided in years ago when she’d had no one else. Here she was, feeling vulnerable, and the temptation to share it with someone, even though it would be inappropriate, was too great.
They might not be the same people they’d been, and any romantic feelings she might have had for Silas were predicated on circumstances that no longer existed. Yet Rose longed for that previous closeness. Until tonight, she hadn’t realized the depth of her loneliness and what her actions had cost her. But to share with Silas and confide in him didn’t seem right, not when she knew she was no longer the woman he remembered. Which meant Silas wasn’t that same man, either.
So where did that leave them?
Chapter Six
Silas hated the tension between them. He knew Rose was trying to keep a respectable distance, and in light of what he’d learned about her this evening, he could understand. But he was tired of so much going unsaid, not just between them, but in life in general. Helen had the right of things in questioning why people couldn’t simply speak their mind. It had been one of the qualities he’d once admired in Rose, and he found her restraint almost painful.
“Earlier, you dismissed my compliment about how wonderful you are with your siblings, but from where I stand, you just gave Helen a very precious gift.”
Rose smiled softly. “Only because you reminded me of how like her I used to be. I know you think it’s an admirable quality, but I alienated a lot of people with my frankness. People equated my loose tongue with loose morals. The wonderful qualities you saw in me, they were only because it’s what I wanted you to see.”
Rose picked up the tea tray. “In truth, I was selfish, vain, and only cared about my own happiness. I did what I had to do with the children because it was the only way to keep Aunt Ina happy, which was the only way I could sneak off to meet you.”
She looked at him with eyes so full of guilt he found he couldn’t meet her gaze.
“And I sneaked off to meet you because you were the one escape I had from a life I hated. I was lonely and miserable, and you were the only person who saw me as being worth something other than cheap labor.”
The catch in her voice made him look at her. Really look at her. Though he heard shame in her speech over her past actions, there was nothing in her posture to indicate its presence now.
“I know differently now. The worth God has given me is greater than anything I could have found with you. I used you, Silas, to ease a pain only God can. Don’t put me on a pedestal, because I don’t belong there.”
She started to move past him, but he stopped her, grabbing the tray. His fingers brushed hers as he did so, and though he didn’t want to, he remembered the feelings that had once sparked between them.
“Let me take that.”
It was a good thing he’d already had hold of the tray because she jerked her hands away like she’d been burned.
“If you like. I’ll still need to wash up, though. Maddie hates even a single dirty dish in the sink when she starts breakfast.”
“Many hands make light work.” He should have probably let it alone, should have gone upstairs to bed.
But he’d always had a certain fascination with fire that, even now, couldn’t be doused.
Rose hurried past him, and he followed behind, keeping his pace slow and steady. They both could use some breathing room, though he wasn’t going to completely give up on his mission.
Most of the changes he’d seen in Rose were for the better, but he despised how utterly shattered her confidence seemed to be. Though she claimed she accepted God’s forgiveness, she didn’t always live like it. Rather, she acted as if she was still serving out her penance for the shame she’d brought on her family.
As Rose washed dishes, Silas grabbed a towel and started drying.
“Thanks.” Rose smiled at him. “I’m sorry if I seemed cold in there. I just don’t know how to...be...with you anymore.”
“Just because we no longer have a romantic connection doesn’t mean we can’t be friends.”
Rose handed him another dish to dry. “I suppose. But sometimes I feel like the things I say to you are too personal, and it’s not appropriate. However, when I leave things unsaid, it seems just as wrong.”
Silas sighed. He’d never been good at hiding anything from Rose—except, well, Annie, and that hadn’t turned out well for them. Not that he thought that he and Rose had a future. She was right in that they were different people now, and while he’d like to think they’d both grown in ways that made them better, it didn’t mean they’d be better together.
“I feel the same way. I know what I did back in Ohio hurt you, and I know things aren’t the same, but you’re the only person I’ve ever really been able to talk to.”
The admission hurt, not so much because he felt bad at his reliance on Rose, but because while kissing her had always been nice, the intimacy he missed most was that of their friendship. She might think herself unworthy, but the truth was, she’d grown to be far more worthy than he. He wasn’t sure he could be deserving of Rose, even if he wanted to be. He’d hurt her, tried to use her, and yet found himself the recipient of her grace. Sure, she’d said she’d used him back then, but hadn’t he had the same motivations? Not the same situation, but he’d been just as desperate to connect with someone he thought understood him. He’d just left out the one piece of information that would have driven her away.
Rose handed him the last dish, then wiped her hands on the apron he hadn’t noticed her put on.
“You want to sit on the back porch for a while? I’ve got too much nervous energy to sleep.”
Had she heard him? Or had she been too lost in her own thoughts to understand?
“I suppose it’s better than tossing and turning for the rest of the night.”
He followed her to the back porch, where they sat, listening to the sound of the wind as it ushered in what would likely be a storm.
“I feel bad that tonight has been more about me and my family,” she finally said, looking over at him. “I wanted to say something after dinner when you got so quiet, but I thought it probably wasn’t my place. Then when Helen asked...”
Rose let out a long sigh. “You said I’m the only person you’ve ever been able to talk to, but I feel bad because I haven’t done much listening. I’ve been so focused on my needs and how I’ve moved on with my life, that I haven’t taken the time to be a good friend to you.”
There it was again. The goodness in her that she failed to see.
“I can’t think of a greater friend than someone who, despite how I broke your heart, would do as much for Milly and me as you have. None of my friends in Ohio would even give me a job.”
He looked over at her, but her gaze remained
focused on the ground. “I did so very grudgingly. Had it not been for Joseph and Uncle Frank, I’d have thrown you out.”
“I know. But you helped us anyway, which is far more than anyone else.”
The moonlight cast shadows over her face, framed by the tendrils that had fallen out of her bun. He couldn’t read her expression, but he knew that in her mind, she was still trying to diminish the good he saw in her.
Still, he let the silence hang between them, and her thoughts, whatever they may be, work through whatever she needed. For the first time since he’d come to Leadville, sitting alone with Rose felt almost comfortable. If only he didn’t remember the evenings where they’d sat in the moonlight, laughing, kissing and planning a future that was never to be.
Could a person be in love with a memory? Knowing it had no bearing on present reality and that the people involved no longer existed?
As much as he’d come to respect and admire Rose, he didn’t like the way she always turned the blame back on herself and refused to see the good in the person she’d become.
Rose looked over at him. “I’ve been trying to find a way to bring the conversation back around to this, so I suppose I should just say it.”
Taking his hand in hers, she said, “I’m sorry our family’s joy has been a reminder of your pain. I’ve never offered my sincere condolences for your losses.”
Silas squeezed her hand. “Thank you. I wasn’t expecting to have the memories come back like that.”
The empathy lining her face reminded him of how easy she’d always been to talk to.
“What you told Helen in there, about Annie...”
“They blamed me.” Silas swallowed to ease the tension in his throat. “The Garretts said if I hadn’t been so desperate for a son, their daughter would still be alive. Sometimes I think that’s why they’re trying so hard to take Milly away. To punish me for killing their daughter.”
“I thought you said it was Annie’s idea.”
“It was. But when a person dies, you can’t say it was their fault, so you find someone else to blame.” He let out a long breath. “And it wasn’t Annie’s fault. I wish you’d gotten to know her because she wasn’t all bad. Just lonely, and her parents were so controlling. She once said that maybe if she’d had siblings, her parents wouldn’t have needed to be so hard on her. But they had all their hopes pinned on her, and she could never measure up.”
“Sounds like you loved her.” Rose’s voice was gentle, not judging, almost like she was trying to understand.
“In a way.” He looked over and realized they were still holding hands. The right thing to do would be to remove his hand from hers, but having the physical comfort of another human being felt too good to let go.
“When we got married, I knew I had a choice. I could be miserable and resent not getting to choose my wife, or I could find a way to get along with her. I think she loved me about the same. Just two people trying to do right by each other when they hadn’t been given a choice. Sometimes I think having another baby was Annie’s way of finally choosing something for herself.”
Silas tried shrugging off the memory of Annie’s joyful face as she told her parents about the baby, then how quickly it fell at their horrified reaction. They’d immediately turned their ire on him, saying he was a terrible husband for forcing her to carry another child. Annie had said nothing. Just stood there, tears streaming down her cheeks.
Could he let Milly live a life where the only choice she’d be allowed to make for herself would be the one that killed her?
Rose squeezed his hand. “You never said, was it a girl or a boy?”
“Another girl.” Silas sighed. Even in that sacrifice, poor Annie hadn’t been able to get what she wanted. “People said I should be glad it wasn’t a boy, but I don’t see how that would have made a difference. I lost a child, and there’s no greater pain than that.”
“Losing your wife?”
Silas shook his head. “No. Annie didn’t deserve to die. And I didn’t want her to die. But I didn’t love her the way I love Milly. I don’t miss her the way I miss that baby.”
“What did you name her?”
Silas stared at her for a moment.
“They said it wasn’t proper.”
“Nonsense. She was still your daughter. You have the right to recognize her as your child and grieve her loss.”
Rose covered their already-entwined hands with her free hand. “At the mission, we see women from time to time who’ve lost a child. Here, despite all of our modern conveniences, life is still harsh, and for many, loss is a part of it. Uncle Frank taught us to help them grieve. Just because you’re a man doesn’t mean you don’t hurt, too.”
He couldn’t have stopped the tears even if he’d wanted to. No one, in all of the conversations following the deaths of Annie and the baby, had told him that it was acceptable to mourn his daughter.
“These things happen,” they all said, acting as though it were no different than losing a chicken or a cow. No, a cow had more value than his child.
As for his wife, people alternated between expecting him to throw himself in her grave or to immediately find a new one. The Garretts wanted to take his only living child as a replacement for the one they’d lost.
But nowhere, in any of that, had anyone recognized that Silas had a need to grieve his loss.
Silas untangled his hand from Rose’s, then wiped at his face with his sleeve.
“Thank you for acknowledging something that no one else seems to understand.”
“You should talk to Uncle Frank. He knows what it’s like to lose a wife and children.”
Silas nodded slowly, understanding that while Rose was willing to give him some comfort, she also wanted to be sure to leave appropriate space between them. Which brought him back to his earlier resolve regarding the Garretts and the role Rose played in his life.
“I know the Garretts lost, too. That’s why I was so agreeable in letting them have time with Milly. I’ve been so focused on my feelings and fears that I hadn’t considered their losses, as well.”
He stared down at his hands, missing the softness of Rose’s skin against his, but knowing it was for the best. “It’s hard. I know I need to be more charitable in letting them spend time with Milly, but I also can’t have Milly growing up the way Annie did.”
“So find a way to compromise.”
“I will.” He gave Rose a sidelong glance. “But that’s going to be a hard thing to ask a future wife.”
A tiny rumble of a laugh filled his insides. It was almost ridiculous to consider remarrying. “Not that there are many wife options here, but it would be nice to share my life with someone. Like I said, life with Annie wasn’t all bad.”
“I’m sorry I couldn’t have accepted your proposal.” Rose’s tone was light, but then she let out a long sigh.
“Back when we courted, I thought the butterflies in my stomach were all the things that made it love. Then I met Matthew’s father, and I quickly learned that those butterflies might actually be moths. Eventually, what you thought was love tears little holes in your soul because you mistook pretty words for something else.”
Rose shifted, straightening her skirts to cover her ankles more fully. “But I know better now. I don’t have to settle for doing my best by someone. And there’s more substance to love than butterflies. The kind of love I want is the kind of love I see with Joseph and Annabelle, Will and Mary, Jasper and Emma Jane, Mitch and Polly. And I won’t settle for less than that.”
Silas had already been ashamed of how he’d treated Rose and how he’d thought she’d be so willing to accept the shabby proposal he’d offered. But now, with her heart laid bare to him, he felt like a complete heel for offering her anything less than real love. She deserved that kind of love, even though he wasn’t the man to giv
e it to her.
Then Rose looked at him with so much tenderness he thought he would combust from the absolute warmth in her gaze. “You deserve that kind of love, too. I know it’s tempting to remarry for the sake of Milly. But here she has plenty of family to make up for her lack of mother. So don’t pick someone to marry for the sake of convenience, but wait for the right person. A perfect match for you and Milly.”
“Frank said the same thing to me about not settling for marriage only for the sake of my daughter.”
Rose nodded. “He’s taught us all a great deal. I don’t know what any of us would do without him.”
Silas almost didn’t recognize the wisdom in Rose’s eyes. Not so much because he’d failed to grasp the wisdom, but because the source was so unexpected. Never, in all their courting days, would he have called Rose wise. Once again confirming what different people they’d become. It had been folly to think they could just pick up where they’d left off. Rather, all he had to rely on was an acquaintance upon which he could hopefully rebuild a friendship.
Chapter Seven
The next morning, Rose found herself too busy to talk with Silas before he left for work to see how he felt after their late-night conversation. She shouldn’t be worried about his feelings so much, but she’d opened up a wound, and it only seemed right to make sure he wasn’t still bleeding. If only it didn’t tear at the aches in her heart.
She’d understood when he said that she’d been the only person he’d ever been able to talk to. He’d been the same for her. And though he disagreed with her at times, particularly about her culpability in what had gone wrong in her life, he never did so in a way that made her feel small. Unlike everyone else in her life.
“When can we see the baby?” Helen’s question rose above the din of the children cleaning up the kitchen.
Rose had told the children that after breakfast, they’d see about visiting Mary, but Uncle Frank hadn’t yet returned from making sure she was up for guests.
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