Rose dressed quickly and combed out her long hair, twisting and winding it until it was in its normal “do.” Using the last of the sticks she got a respectable fire going and soon had the chill off the room. Fiona returned with the water bucket full of icy water and set it on the stove.
“I heard a noise in t’ stall and what air I findin? T’ preacher’s horse lookin’ at me wi’ those big, brown eyes o’ his’n.”
“Yes! I bought him! Oh, Fiona, isn’t he sweet?”
Fiona laughed. “Sweet! Sure an’ a cow is a darlin’ too. Well, onyway I rode one o’ t’ team to fetch ye t’ news an’ I canna stay more’n a minute, for the baby is nappin’ an’ Brian is in t’ field, boot Jan Thoresen an’ his son will be doin’ yer work for ye—if ye air willin’—an’ coomin’ tomorra t’ start. They have their first plantin’ in an’ can spare most o’ two weeks afore goin’ back t’ field. That is, after mornin’ chores an’ milkin’, an’ home for same in t’ evenin’.”
“Tomorrow! But that’s wonderful. I’ll need to go to town today then to make the arrangements for lumber, and I need a load of coal.”
She got the coffee for them and they sipped it in companionable silence. Fiona looked around the room again.
“Many a homesteader was startin’ with far less than this.”
Rose nodded. “Yes. I have quite an advantage. Thank you, Fiona for coming all the way to tell me about the Thoresens. That’s another advantage I have—good friends.”
She took Fiona’s cup when she stood. Impulsively she hugged her.
“Neighbors. I’m going to like it, Fiona,” she grinned.
Fiona laughed, her red-apple cheeks shining. “Aye. ’Twill be grand.”
After Fiona rode away, Rose said a “good morning” to Prince. He stomped his feet in appreciation of her company. He wasn’t used to being alone! She measured out his feed and pumped a bucket of water before going back in, then made a thorough toilet, banked the fire, and stepped back out.
“Here’s hoping I remember how to harness you!” she whispered to Prince.
Twenty minutes later she was just getting it right. Perspiration stood out on her brow when the last piece was buckled. Prince turned his head as if to say, “Well? Can we get started now?”
At this point Rose was feeling very familiar with the road to town and the families owning farms along the way. She hoped she might meet more of them soon.
In town, the stationmaster, Mr. Bailey, greeted her with neighborly friendliness.
“Well, it seems I’m going to need a load of coal today,” she began.
“Sure thing, Miz Brownlee. How’s it going out there? Gettin’ settled in and all?”
“Oh, yes! But I’ve been so busy with one thing or another, in and out of town, I don’t really feel settled yet. But soon, I’m certain. The men are going to start work on my house tomorrow, too, so I would like to make it as simple as possible for them to get their materials for me. How would you suggest I do that?”
“Shucks, Miz Brownlee, I know yer good fer it. Why, ever’body knows thet yer—” (He caught himself before the fatal blunder.) “Ah, thet you, ah, always pay yer bills. Yes, that’s it. Sure.”
“That is very kind of you. Perhaps if you don’t mind being paid by check, I will pay my account every month. Just to start off right, here is a payment toward tomorrow’s purchase. Mr. Thoresen will pick out what he needs and sign for it.”
“Got ol’ Thor’sen, hey? He’s a great carpenter—know it certain. Couldn’t hardly do better. Say, I’ll load up the coal. Will the preacher be haulin’ it?”
“I think so. I’m going that way now. Thank you very much.”
“Sure thing, Miz Brownlee.”
This time Rose went through the tailor shop to the flight of stairs, under the rude appraisal of the dressmaker, unannounced. She rapped on the door to Medfords’ apartment, and Vera answered. Her delicate face beamed.
“Rose! We thought we wouldn’t see you again until Sunday! Come in.”
“Hello! How are you today, Pastor Medford?”
The young man stood when Rose entered. His Bible, notebook, and another large volume lay open on the table before him.
“Just fine; doing a little studying this morning. Won’t you please sit down? What can we help you with?”
“If you’re busy, I can find someone else; it’s not important enough to—”
“Whatever it is, I will be happy to do it. Now tell me.”
“It’s a load of coal. But you drove out there twice already yesterday.”
“And today will make three. I’ll get my hat and work gloves.” He carefully closed and put away his study things while Vera showed Rose a quilt she was making.
“It’s going to be lovely.” Rose’s admiring inspection took in the repeating pattern of green and golden-red leaves. “I would love to learn to sew. I embroider but never learned to sew much.”
“It’s not hard. But it does require time and patience. I could help you.”
“Would you?” Rose responded enthusiastically. This much younger woman constantly amazed her. Born and bred in gentility just as she was, and yet she was coping with near-poverty with such grace and confidence.
“I’m sure to have plenty of time next winter—this might help me with the ‘patience’ part if I get cabin fever,” she added ruefully.
Vera’s tinkling laughter cheered Rose. What a good friend she was going to be!
“I should go now,” Rose excused herself. “I have some ‘settling in’ to do before the carpenters come tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow? That’s very timely. Who did you get?”
“Actually, Brian McKennie got them for me—my near neighbors the Thoresens.”
“Oh, Rose, they are the dearest people. Very old country in a lot of ways, but as friendly and industrious as can be. Amalie Thoresen will nurse any sick person she hears of, and Jan Thoresen will do fine work for you for I’ve heard it said he’s the finest carpenter in the county. Doesn’t speak much English, but his son Søren is as American as you are.”
“On another point Rose, the Thoresens are a very devoted Christian family. What I mean is that they have a real heart to serve God. I know, because without fail you can find them involved in whatever need there might be. And Rose, God has really used them to help us stay here and build this church.”
“Do you mean that they give to the church?”
“Faithfully. We thank God for their family.”
Rose digested that while making her good-byes. She recalled Mr. Schmidt’s comments on how “the preacher wasn’t able to feed his horse well” and they bothered her. The church needed more families like Thoresens. She made a mental resolution for herself and climbed into the buggy.
The drive home went quickly. Rose had a number of things to accomplish and planned them out, the most important being a letter to her family. She had been in RiverBend a week and had made a major decision that would affect her whole life—now she would have to explain it to them.
Rose unharnessed Prince and rubbed him down as Pastor Medford had shown her, then put him in his pasture. It was more like a very large corral, but Rose was glad it was small, because it kept Prince near the house, and she felt less alone. He wandered out a few steps and then astounded Rose by dropping to the ground and rolling in the dirt, legs high in the air. His grunts of satisfaction were hilarious.
Oh, Prince, you’re happy to be home too, aren’t you, she thought.
Then carefully washing her hands at the pump she started the day’s projects. In the large trunk were a number of things to unpack but she chose only her writing desk for the moment. Its rich, well-oiled wood was beautiful to work on and she made herself comfortable on the bed with it. Lifting the hinged lid she selected pen, ink, blotter and stationery. Before beginning, she arranged everything on the desktop and paused to pray again for guidance in writing.
May 2
Dear Mother, Tom, and Abigail,
I am s
till in the little town of RiverBend. Spring is just breathtaking here. You’ve never seen the prairie when it’s all green and soft, but it’s so wide and free. Mother, the grass is the same shade of spring green as my shawl.
About the town: it boasts a train that stops twice a week, a general store that sells just about everything, a boarding house (Mrs. Owens’), a tailor, seamstress, barber, feed store and stable, lumber supply, church, post office, bank, and three schools. Actually, there is one school in town, and two others each about ten miles out. So you can see it is a little town, but quite up-and-coming. At least that is what Mr. Morton of the bank says.
Mr. Morton is the gentleman who took me driving in the country when I first arrived here last week. It was so refreshing to be off the train and in the clean out-of-doors. Mr. Morton is a young, ambitious man (of a good family, of course); nevertheless his company is not my “cup of tea.” He did, however, show me a lovely piece of property outside of town right on a little creek, and I thank him for that.
To come to the point, which you may find difficult to understand at first, I have bought the property Mr. Morton showed me. When I came out here I didn’t really know what I was looking for. I only know that I believed God was leading me. Now I believe this is where he wants me, at least for now. I hope you can trust him to take care of me and that you can be happy for me also.
The property was a homestead once so it has exactly 160 acres or, as the townsfolk say, one-quarter section. Near the creek is a small house. I’m going to have it fixed up really nice, and I’m now also the proud owner of a handsome old gent of a horse who goes by the name of “Prince.” Prince came with a good buggy and lives in my little barn. It is really a small stable, but a prince should live in something grander than a stable, don’t you think? My neighbors to the west are a charming family from good Irish stock. A precious collection of china and silver, a dowry for generations, adorns their walls. Mother, I thought I would stare at one of their teacups for an hour, it has such luminous quality. They also have five lovely children, the eldest being a young lady of sixteen by the name of Meg. She is naturally blessed with grace and form and an abundance of rich auburn hair. She is a real beauty. As her dream is to be a teacher, she plans to attend teacher’s college and is working to pay for it. In my opinion she is an exemplary young woman and is fast becoming a good friend as is her mother, Fiona.
Tomorrow, the carpenters are coming to begin the refurbishing of my little house. It has only one room right now, about 15 by 25, with a built-on pantry and a very small loft in the pitch of the roof. When they finish, my one room will be two and greatly improved in many ways.
I plan on becoming a member of the church here too. The Pastor and his wife are also from back east, and I know I’m going to enjoy their friendship.
I’ve included with my letter a list of some of my belongings. Would you please have them crated and shipped to me? I’m looking forward to having some of the comforts of home—like soft sheets! There is also a list for the gardener. One thing I long to do is make my little home bloom. If I receive the plantings before the end of this month, they should have a good start.
I hope my words have helped you envision my new home. Please believe me when I say I’m happy and doing well.
Abby, I am so anticipating being “Aunt Rose.” Next year this time I shall have been with you all to introduce myself to my niece or nephew.
Until then, I will write faithfully. Please know you have my prayers and all my
Love,
Rose
Sighing, Rose finished blotting her slanting script and carefully addressed the envelope. When the letter was ready to send, she set it on the table against the lamp and looked forward to more pleasant tasks.
The sounds of a wagon rattling over the rise announced that her coal was here. Pastor Medford drove the wagon up to the pantry door while Rose opened the coal bin. It was a wide, deep box with a lid, on one end of the pantry. When Pastor Medford shoveled it full of coal it only held about half of the load.
“Where would you like the rest of this, Rose?” he inquired. His face was streaked with coal dust and sweat.
“Let me get you a cool glass of water first while I decide.”
He nodded and accepted the tin mug gratefully. Tacked on the outside of the pantry was a small lean-to.
“Can you just shovel it in here?” She asked.
“No reason why not. Looks fine to me.”
He handed the cup back to her and attacked the remaining coal. Tossing the shovel into the empty wagon bed he grinned.
“Thar, Miz Brownlee, all set fer any o’ blizzard that’d dare blow in!”
“Well, I think I’d best get my roof fixed before we have ‘any o’ blizzards,’” she returned. “And thank you kindly, Pastor Medford.”
“Sure thing. Now I’ve got to hustle. I can finish my sermon today and take Vera on a picnic to the river tomorrow.”
“That sounds nice. Have a wonderful time.”
She wandered back into the house aimlessly. Finally she got her notebook and began to sketch what she wanted done to the house. After she had it right she began on the outside. Then she started to plan the landscaping.
The gardener would carefully pack a selection of bulbs and seeds and the starts she’d asked for, so she needed to be ready when they came. Much later it occurred to her that the sun was setting again and she had neglected to eat since breakfast.
“What shall I have for dinner?” she asked herself aloud.
With some small pieces of kindling and coal she built up the fire. She scorched a finger and dirtied her skirt in the process. This was going to take some getting used to on her part, she could tell. Next she heated a skillet and sliced a piece of bacon into it, sniffing the delicious odor as it sizzled. When it was just about right, she cracked an egg into its bubbling juices and basted it with the grease until it was perfect. A slice of bread with butter rounded off the meal. Instead of eating at the table, Rose sat on the rickety front step, enjoying the sunset almost as much as the last evening. It seemed to her in her solitude that she had always sat on this step, in this twilight, with this contentment. At last, the shadows indicated it was time to go in.
Tonight she filled the lamps for the first time and lit them both. Taking hot water from the stove, she cleaned up from her simple meal and prepared for bed. Then leaving the lamp on the trunk by her bed lit and blowing out the other, she took her Bible and read until sleepy.
“Tomorrow the carpenters come!” she reminded herself gladly and extinguished the light.
Chapter 14
Rose was up early, washed and dressed in time to watch the sunrise. She treated herself to an extra cup of coffee before planning her day. The crisp air and pale blue sky seemed to indicate another warm one, and she smiled in anticipation.
After setting her work for the morning, she knelt by her bed and prayed. Special consideration was given to each of the two families who had made themselves so indispensable to her; the McKennies and Medfords. Once again she prayed for Mr. Schmidt. It seemed to Rose that he had a good heart, but was far away from finding God and in fact had no real knowledge of what God was actually like, just notions gathered along life’s way. How many “good” folk were in the world, she wondered, who were in reality far from God, lost and lonely? She took time to pray for Mrs. Schmidt too, and included the tailor’s hardened old wife and the liveryman.
“Bless them today Lord, and let them know it’s from you so they can turn to you,” she whispered. Lastly, she asked for guidance on everything she had planned, giving each thing to his control.
“I thank you for bringing me here, and I really want to obey you in whatever it is you have for me.”
Rose heard a splashing from the creek and went to the door. Two large men were sloshing up the slope from the stream. They were both wearing work pants, plaid shirts and sturdy boots. The younger one carried a large wooden box loaded with tools, while the older man had a saw ac
ross his shoulder and a tin pail in his other hand. It was the blonde/bronze boy from church and the man with a wagonload of children!
The young man introduced himself as Søren Thoresen and shook her hand politely and with a shy grin. Rose liked him right away. He turned and introduced his father, Jan Thoresen, Rose taking note again that the proper pronunciations were “Yahn” and “Torasen.” Mr. Thoresen gazed steadily at her while shaking her hand and rumbled “Gud Morn” but nothing else.
“Brian was right about Søren,” Rose evaluated. “He’s as much a part of the west as the freight manager at the station!”
Mr. Thoresen impressed her differently. He seemed quiet, reserved, although his size and strong build belied his being the father of a twenty-three year old son. But the most compelling features in his sunburned and weathered face were his eyes. It was disquieting to Rose to be examined with such detachment.
Icy-blue. But not cold. Not exactly, she pondered. The thought of a Norwegian fiord, clear, deep, and still came to her. Søren was a much livelier and comfortable version of his father.
Rose showed them around. Most of the repairs were obvious; Søren and his father held animated conversation in Norwegian, pointing, taking measurements, and “test shaking” was the word Rose coined for it. Everything needed to be made sturdy again, Søren informed her, especially the doors and roof. When the blizzards hit, anything not nailed down snugly or firmly built would likely be blown away. They inspected the barn, the lean-to that abutted the barn, the outhouse and, beginning with the roof, the whole house with its attached pantry and lean-to. While they were discussing the front door frame, Rose timidly drew out her notes, and requested their attention.
“Excuse me. I, ah, I know it’s important to make everything weatherproof, and I want that of course. But while you’re working on the basics, I would like, that is I have some ideas I would like incorporated. Right here . . . on these papers?”
The two men were silent as she spread the sheets out on the table. The rectangle box representing the house was divided into two rooms, parlor and kitchen. The parlor doubled as Rose’s bedroom and the kitchen for everything else—working, writing, cooking, and eating. Major improvements were the windows on the east and south walls, the interior wall to make two rooms, cupboards and shelves—lots of them. Last but not least, a porch the entire length of the front and the width of the south side of the house. They studied her sketches, Mr. Thoresen pointing and making comments.
A Rose Blooms Twice Page 10