A Rose Blooms Twice

by Vikki Kestell

  She wiped her face and eyes wearily. Had they won? She couldn’t see the cornfield, only a haze of smoke.

  Some ladies were hauling buckets of water to the workers. With ladles they ministered the reviving liquid. Many of the men poured it over their heads, swallowing only a few sips.

  “Fiona? Fiona, did we get them? Did we stop them?”

  “Aye, I’m b’lievin’ so.” She struggled to her feet. “Onyways, we’ll be knowin’ soon. I best be lookin’ to me family an’ seein’ if Brian be all right.” She stumbled off, her clothing and features blackened by smoke and ash.

  Rose got up too. Her skirt was ripped badly around the hem. The other damage was more apparent to an observer but as she wandered through the recovering army there were worse than she. One of the Gardiner boys was sitting bent over, coughing and retching from the smoke. Rose went to look for Fiona and found her by the pump, fussing over Brian, tears running down her face. Brian’s hands were badly blistered and swelling, and Fiona had them soaking in icy water while she tore up clean cloths to wrap them in.

  “Oh, Brian!” Rose commiserated.

  “Aye. Not s’ pretty—nor handy.”

  “But the locusts?” Rose asked hesitantly.

  “I’m thinkin’ we’ve done wi’ ’em. Tomorra’ will tell.” He bowed his head on his chest. “Th’ corn is gone, too, of course, boot we can be gettin’ by somehow. Th’ Lord will be supplyin’ what we’re lackin’.”

  Mutely she nodded. She helped Fiona wrap Brian’s hands before moving off. Trying to find anything needing done she meandered around the yard. Prince was still hitched and waiting dejectedly in the front. She rubbed his neck and patted him fondly.

  “Poor boy! it’s so hot and miserable for you.” The morning with Vera, her good news from Tom, all seemed a very long time ago.

  Folks were leaving now, by ones and twos making their way in exhaustion to their wagons for the long drive home under the declining sun. By the front fence Jan Thoresen was waylaying them as they left the yard, seriously conversing with each one until the man gestured acquiescence. Søren stood by his father, helping him with the right words. When the young man saw Rose he nodded. They both grinned at the same time—Rose didn’t know what she looked like, disheveled and dirty, but his face was nearly black with soot while his blonde hair, sticking straight out, looked a hilarious sight. Hearing Søren’s chuckle, his father looked and smiled broadly when he saw Rose.

  “So! Mrs. Brünlee like play dirt?”

  “And it doesn’t appear that I am alone, does it?” she joked back. The tension was ebbing away, and Rose sighed. “What a shame! Brian’s corn is all gone, but we did get the locusts, didn’t we?”

  “Ja. And help Brian now.”

  “How? How can we help? Can I help?”

  “You help . . .” He asked Søren for a word. “You help already, Mrs. Brünlee. We . . .” He consulted Søren again.

  “We share corn, all farmers . . .” He waved his hand to include those living in the area. “All safe now. We share for Brian.”

  Chapter 23

  The corn harvest came in big the following three weeks, just as many had predicted. The remaining locusts were too few to swarm, and the damage from them could be lived with, so the harvest went forward, and when it was finished, the oats and wheat were ready. Rose had never experienced the fever of a real harvest time. She watched from her porch as every male in the Thoresen family, as well as Sigrün, worked from dawn to dusk to gather it in. Her own garden was yielding more tomatoes than she would be able to use by herself, along with sweet corn, dry beans, and plenteous table vegetables.

  Cheese making followed on the heels of the grain harvest, and Amalie insisted that Rose participate. She loved learning how to curdle and press the milkfat and form the cheeses. Along with the mellow and cheddar cheeses, Rose was instructed in the making of the pungent gjetost—so that she could eventually make her own at home, Amalie reasoned.

  There was a chill in the air when Rose got up in the mornings now and nights were becoming shorter. She took Fiona’s lead and dug her potatoes, carrots, and turnips, storing them in her new root cellar to keep them cool and dry all winter. Up in the loft, she stacked pumpkins and squash next to bags of beans, baskets of onions, and strings of herbs and spices. Rose began to feel truly prosperous as she surveyed the jars and jars of produce in the pantry and under the work table in the kitchen, the cheeses carefully wrapped and laid individually on their shelves, and her small crocks of butter purchased from Amalie. It was more than she ever dreamed of using for herself, and she took comfort in the thought of having more than enough for any who had little. Only the meat for winter remained to be “laid up.”

  When the ground began to really freeze at night, slaughtering commenced. All of Rose’s neighbors killed their hogs or calves, and Rose was inducted into the art of making the sausages, head cheese, soap, and candles, all at Amalie’s side. In helping, Rose earned her small share of each and made arrangements to buy two hams and a side of bacon when they were smoked and cured.

  Patrick McKennie was hired to plow Rose’s green garden under so that the remaining vegetation would mulch it for next year. That day, Rose realized harvest was over, and she was ready for winter.

  Now Sally Gardiner was to be married and the whole countryside turned out for the event. Rose felt a little like a stranger still amidst the gala gathering in the Gardiner barn, but the excitement and release after the grueling harvest was contagious. The bride and groom, blushing and happy, said their vows before Pastor Medford and the guests, then everyone sat down to a huge feast prepared by all the women present. When the dinner was over, hot coffee, punch, and desserts of all kinds—including the wedding cake of dark spice and fruit—were set out on tables lining the wall on one side of the barn, and everything in the center of the floor cleared away.

  Two men with violins (or fiddles she was told) stood on a box platform at the end of the room along with a woman holding a “Jew’s harp” and a boy with spoons. Rose had never heard anyone play spoons before. When the fiddlers tuned up and began playing, the boy produced a lively tattoo, slapping and clicking the spoons against each other and off his thigh and opposite hand. Together, the four in the ensemble made music that caused her hands and feet to go crazy with wanting to dance. And dance the folks did! Reels and jigs, polkas and waltzes, one after another the fiddlers called and the people danced.

  Rose sighed. “I certainly wish I’d brought my guitar.”

  She could easily have played along with the other musicians. As it was, she helped with the serving, washing dishes and keeping the coffee and punch replenished.

  Fiona sidled up and muttered out of the side of her mouth, “Be lookin’ at that, will ye?”

  Søren had Meg and was leading her through the paces of a reel. Meg’s hair was curled today, tied with a bottle-green ribbon and hanging long and loose in a golden-red fire. Søren’s eyes never left her glowing face as they promenaded and turned.

  Rose grinned at Fiona. “They are beautiful together, aren’t they?”

  “Aye, that they are!” she agreed. “ An’ I’m wonderin’ what temper an Irish-Norwegian off-spring would be havin?”

  Rose burst out laughing at Fiona’s bold tongue-in-cheek.

  Then the music slowed to a waltz and the floor cleared for the groom and his new bride to dance their wedding waltz. The scene was so precious, so full of hope and young love. Many older folks watching wiped a tear from their cheek; the sweetness of first love was never forgotten through the years of life. Others joined the dance and Rose observed with tender reminisces of her own.

  “Fiona!” Rose whispered suddenly. “Look there!”

  Harold Kalbørg was asking Sigrün to dance. Her pretty face was a brilliant red and she shook her head “no” while he talked. Harold just grinned and insisted.

  Then he took her hand and gently pulled her to her feet. She cast around for “help” and saw Rose. Her eyes pleaded wi
th Rose to be rescued, but Rose mouthed the words “Go dance with him!” and smiled encouragingly. Reluctantly she went out on the barn floor, and Harold reverently took her in his arms.

  “Ah, that ’uns fair goon, if I be a-readin’ him aright,” was Fiona’s comment.

  “Yes, that is a young man in love, I’m sure. But Sigrün is so shy. How will he ever win her?”

  “Ye canna be thinkin’ love can be stopped. If there is bein’ a way, likely he’ll be foindin’ it.”

  It didn’t seem to bother Harold that Sigrün kept her eyes down while they danced. He talked softly and wooed her gently, patiently. When the music ended, he appropriated her hand and drew her to the punch bowl where he served her and then seated her while continuing to press his advantage.

  Rose fetched more coffee from the kitchen. When she came back, they were dancing together again. Sigrün still kept her eyes down, but Rose thought she smiled while Harold spoke. Rose found herself silently cheering for his success. At the end of the evening, Harold was conversing with Jan Thoresen, and Rose had a feeling the Thoresen farm would be seeing much of young Mr. Kalbørg soon. She was glad for Sigrün.

  School had been in session for the last month with only the small children attending. Now that the older students were through with harvest, the school year began in earnest. Out past Thoresens’ about two miles stood one of the school houses and every day children for a five-mile radius walked or rode horse back to learn their lessons. Rose had understood that the schoolmaster usually boarded with the closest family to the school, so she was surprised when Fiona told her he was staying at Thoresens’.

  “Seems Jan asked special for t’ teacher to board with them this winter. Even was agreein’ to the loanin’ of a horse t’ ride.”

  Rose figured there was a reason if Jan had especially asked, but didn’t let it concern her. With harvest over, the ladies’ Bible study could begin, and she was going to Mrs. Bailey’s after church to talk to her about it. They had developed a casual friendship that Rose felt would allow her to approach the subject.

  “Hello. Mrs. Bailey,” she greeted as the door opened.

  “Well! Come in, come in! Yer jist in time fer supper, no doubt about it!” Mrs. Bailey’s rough face creased with smiles.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude at mealtime, it’s just that I was already in town and wanted to visit.”

  “Ain’t no never-mind! Jer’my, git Mrs. Brownlee a plate—set right down here now.”

  “Hello, Mr. Bailey.” Rose was acknowledged by a nod and gesture toward a chair.

  “Jist sit right there. Plenty o’ stew and my woman’s good hot biscuits to go ’round,” he smiled.

  “Thank you, it’s very kind of you.”

  “Ma,” Jeremy piped up, “Ya shoulda heered Mrs. Brownlee play thet piani—it was plum fan—tastic!”

  Rose thanked him for the compliment. “I did tell you we would have a concert sometime, too, didn’t I? Well, I’ve found out that Mrs. Medford not only plays also, but was trained as a concert pianist in a fine music school back east. That is a performance I would love to hear.”

  “Makes a body wonder why she’d be a comin’ ’way out here where there ain’t no concert halls or recitals if she’s that good,” Mrs. Bailey asked slowly.

  Rose nodded. “I asked her the same thing, more or less. You know what she told me? That it was worth it to be doing what they are doing.”

  “Pass the biscuits, please,” Mr. Bailey put in.

  “Mrs. Medford and I have an idea for the ladies in town and who live within driving distance. We thought it would be fun and . . .educational to give a small luncheon or tea once a week in a lady’s home to visit together and, well, mostly study the Bible.”

  “Study the Bible?”

  “Yes. I’ve been reading it for about six months now and really like it, but it would be even better to read together and then talk about what it says; you know, figure out what it means.”

  “Dunno. S’pose some’d care fer it. Don’t know as I would.”

  Rose swallowed. “Well, that is one of the things I came to talk with you about today, Mrs. Bailey. We, that is Mrs. Medford and I, thought you would make a good hostess for our lunches.”

  “Me?” Mrs. Bailey was disbelieving.

  “Yes, you! Why, everyone knows you, and you make people feel so friendly and at home—we think it would be perfect!”

  Mrs. Bailey glanced at her husband but he was studying his stew.

  “Dunno. Hev t’ think on it.”

  “Certainly.” Rose’s hopes sank.

  Mrs. Bailey cut and served a pumpkin pie. Each slice was covered with thick cream and smelled deliciously spicy. As she poured the coffee she remarked, “This Bible study idee’d be fer any woman t’ come to? Even if’n she didn’t belong t’ no church?”

  “That’s exactly it. We want any lady to come and be comfortable. All Christian churches believe in the Bible so no one would be left out.” Her hopes rose up again.

  “Cream and sugar, Mrs. Brownlee?”

  “Cream, please. Thank you.”

  “‘Spect I could be havin’ that there lunch thing in my settin’ room. Hev t’ bring in the kitchen chairs if more’n six be here. That be all right?”

  “That would be perfect. And every week you could make coffee and tea but two other ladies would bring the lunch or tea cakes so everyone gets a turn.”

  “I do have a mighty fine chocklit cake receipt I wouldn’t mind fixin’ up sometime.” Now she was getting interested!

  “Is Wednesday a good day—say, at 10 o’clock?”

  “I’m supposin’ so.”

  “That’s wonderful! Oh, we are going to have a lovely time together—thank you, Mrs. Bailey.”

  After dinner, Rose went straight to Vera’s with the news. They agreed to begin a week from the coming Wednesday and to deliver invitations to all the women they could think of.

  “But if they all come Rose, will Mrs. Bailey’s be large enough?”

  “At least fifteen can be accommodated with out too much discomfort. If we grow bigger, the only place I can think of is Mrs. Owens’ parlor and by then Mrs. Bailey and her friends will feel a part of it and come anyway.”

  “Yes! Oh, Rose, this is a great opportunity to lead women to Jesus and see their lives really changed for the better.”

  They agreed to meet the coming Wednesday and complete the details then.

  It was the end of October when the Bible studies began. Seventeen women, three with nursing infants, crowded into an astonished Mrs. Bailey’s sitting room.

  Instead of being overwhelmed, she cheerfully accommodated them as best she could and amazed both Rose and Vera by displaying an innate gentility that they had never observed before.

  Mr. Bailey, however, fled at the sight of so many women in his home.

  Simply, Vera led the group through the passage in John chapter three. Women who didn’t bring a Bible or own one shared with those who did. Even, Rose discerned, the few women who couldn’t read made like they could. Vera encouraged questions, but being new as a group, not much discussion evolved.

  “They will get over their inhibitions soon,” Rose was sure. She had asked Vera to explain a verse and the women had listened with interest, some of them nodding as it came clear to them.

  For lunch, Mrs. Schmidt and her friend Gertrude served cabbage rolls, sausage, and apple kuchen. Happy chatter filled the house and no one was more enthusiastic than Mrs. Bailey.

  “Mrs. Brownlee! Mrs. Medford!” she urged, “Tell the ladies next week we go to Gertrude’s. She says twenty ladies can fit in her house ’cuz the kitchen and settin’ room hook together. And Mrs. Kalbørg and Mrs. Svensen want to fix the lunch—what should I tell them?”

  “Tell them ‘yes,’ Mrs. Bailey, and I will announce the change to Mrs. Grünbaum’s home.” Vera and Rose clasped hands joyfully.

  Over the next several weeks the study grew. Even when the first snow came, attendance co
ntinued steady. But the greatest reward was when one of the Christians could pray with a lady to receive Jesus as their savior. Many times in the back room of Gertrude Grünbaum’s house a teary voice lifted itself to God and received forgiveness and entrance into a holy, unseen Kingdom. Attendance at church increased—for many a wife and mother brought husband and children where their ears, too, could hear the words of life.

  Not everyone responded. A few hard and bitter souls rejected the message and did not return to Gertrude’s, but the Sunday Robert and Mary Bailey came to church was Rose’s happiest day. Few knew they were there since they came late and sat in the back, but Pastor Medford made a special point of welcoming them after service before they could leave so Rose saw them at last. She hugged Mrs. Bailey with fervor that touched her heart.

  Because of the work with the ladies and the days she spent with Vera visiting and teaching the new Christians, fall slipped away almost unnoticed. It was Thanksgiving. Rose was invited to eat with the McKennies, Thoresens, Baileys, and Medfords. She hardly knew what to do.

  “Somehow, I would like to spend this Thanksgiving with all my friends, but I know it’s not possible,” she confessed to Vera. “I wish they could all come to my house.”

  That was how the plan of the Thanksgiving concert began. Rose declined all her invitations graciously and insisted on Jacob and Vera coming to her home for dinner. Then she told McKennies, Thoresens, and Baileys that dessert and coffee would served be at her house at five o’clock Thanksgiving evening followed by a piano recital by Vera Medford and a sing-along.

  Counting on her fingers the number of guests, Vera shook her head. “I hope your house can hold everyone. Have you counted? There are going to be twenty-one counting us, and most of those are energetic youngsters!”

  “We-ell . . . ” Rose hedged. “The little ones can play in the loft. I suppose that is just Uli and Martha though.” She thought a minute more. “Everyone will sit somewhere, I will serve dessert, you will play, we’ll all sing—and no one will be allowed to move until it’s time to go home!”