Reluctantly he did so. Rose was stirring a slice of ham sizzling in the skillet and cutting cold boiled potatoes to fry along side it. Without warning, Baron sprang to a window, viciously barking and scrabbling at the panes.
“Baron! Bad boy!” Rose shouted. One lacy curtain had a tear in it from his nails. She hauled him to the door by his collar and forced him to lie down. To her amazement, he growled menacingly at her.
“Why, Baron! Shame on you. This unending rain is making us both grouchy.” She stroked his head and long ears soothingly. “Be a good boy; I’ll fix you a nice bit to eat. “
The dog merely put his face on his paws and growled low in his throat.
Instead of going all the way to the pump to fetch water, Rose had set her buckets on the back steps to catch the plenteous rainwater. She went to the door now to bring in one of the pails for coffee. No sooner had she placed her hand on the door latch than the Baron was between her and the door, snarling threateningly, holding her from going out into the pantry.
Rose took her “stick” from the wall, unused for several months now and, pulling him by the collar while smacking his haunches with the switch, returned him to the front threshold.
“Stay!” she commanded in anger. “Both of our tolerances are wearing thin.” This last she said to herself.
Rose closed the doorway into the pantry and walked the few feet to the back door, lifting the latch. Unexpectedly it swung out and powerful hands grabbed her, pushing her back, twisting her arms behind her.
She shrieked in terror and an open hand slapped her full in the face, silencing her.
“None o’ that, lady,” an ugly voice rasped. “We’re goin’ in there and you are gonna keep that mutt under control, or I will shoot him—do ya get me?”
Stunned, Rose nodded. By the pantry door they paused again.
“Now, you do what you need to do to get him out here where we can keep him locked up!”
The Baron was howling and clawing at the door in a frenzy. Rose opened it a crack and tried to order him back, but he ignored her, redoubling his efforts to get at the two men.
“Little brother, I’ll git behind her and push her into the house. You run out the back, but close the door. When he follows you, we’ll have him trapped in this room. Come around to the front, and I’ll let you in.”
It was accomplished with remarkable ease. The Baron barked and thrashed in frustration and anger inside the pantry while the man holding Rose in his vise-like grip opened the front door to let his partner in.
Dripping and breathless, he stepped in and shook the rain off his hat.
“Hel-looo, Miss Rose!” he greeted her sarcastically.
It was Mark Grader. He shrugged off his leather cape, streaming water onto her floor and stepped up to the stove. The other man released Rose and latched the door, also dropping his wet overcoat on the floor and sidling up to the fire.
“By the by, Mrs. Brownlee,” Mark continued grinning, “Meet my big brother, Orville.”
“Shuddup!” The other man shot back, cursing under his breath.
Rose sank down wearily on a dining chair. Orville Grader. Sent to prison for hurting a man so badly that he would never walk again. His sentence was fifteen years, so that must mean . . .
Mark continued leering. “Yup. This here storm came in plenty handy. After we killed the prison’s work-gang boss and took off, they couldn’t track us three inches in this rain, so we lost ’em right away. Yes Ma’am, mighty handy—’cept Orville’s horse slid down a creek bank and broke his danged leg. We were just north of here, headed west when I thought of you. Actually,” he leered, “I’ve thought a lot ’bout you these last few months, all alone out here. Seems to me a rich lady like you all by your self is just askin’ for company.” He eased up to where she was sitting, still in shock, and began to toy with a strand of her hair. “Yes, and I thought ’bout you a lot since that weddin’.” His eyes narrowed with hate. “Them Norskies think they throwed me out good, but here I am—and here you are. Here you are . . .”
His fingers stroked her neck, just above her collar. Rose jerked her head away, and he laughed, walking back to the stove. His brother glowered at him.
“You stupid fool! The only thing we want here is her horse. Soon as we get dry, we take enough food and the horse and git.” His dark features were hardened with anger, hate, and fear.
Rose felt sick. Prince! Gentle, old Prince, her friend! He wouldn’t last more than a day or so driven by these hounded men. He would fall and die, somewhere out there in the cold rain . . . Rose prayed silently, “Oh, Lord! I call on you to help me! Please help us!”
Orville spoke to her harshly. “Git us something to eat. Make it hot and plenty.”
A crack of lightening lit the cabin followed immediately by the thunderclap. Mechanically, Rose went about cutting up more ham and potatoes, dropping them into the skillet and thinking vaguely how long ago starting dinner seemed, how safe her life had seemed. She was under no illusions as to Mark Grader’s intentions toward her, and she shuddered in fear.
The potatoes browned slowly in the bubbling ham juice. As she stirred them, certain words began to play in her mind, arranging themselves into phrases, lines. For a time they didn’t make sense, didn’t penetrate her fear. Slowly though, she realized the same lines were repeating themselves, and she took notice.
. . . Because thou hast made the Lord,
which is my refuge, even the most High, thy habitation,
There shall no evil befall thee, neither shall any plague come near thy dwelling.
For he shall give his angels charge over thee to keep thee in all thy ways.
. . . He shall call upon me, and I will answer him:
I will be with him in trouble; I will deliver him and honour him . . .
Rose could almost remember reading that Psalm, but had she memorized it? She didn’t think so. Silently, with her back to the two men, she mouthed the words. Trust in God’s ability to rescue her began to grow quietly in her heart.
“What should I do, Lord?” she queried.
The ham and potatoes were done and the coffee was perking, sending out its aroma. Rose served the food and set empty cups in front of the hungry, desperate men. They were both eating ravenously, all their attention on their food.
“Get the coffee, woman!” Orville demanded. Mark looked deliberately from her to her bed and back and smirked wickedly. Rose tried to keep her face impassive even as another stab of fear turned her cold. She went back to the stove and picked up the pot. Stealing a glance at the two men devouring her ham and potatoes she paused, trembling.
“Lord?” While she stalled at the stove trying to gather her wits, more words played through her thoughts like quicksilver.
Blessed be the Lord my strength,
which teacheth my hands to war,
and my fingers to fight.
“Oh!” Rose spoke out loud.
“Quit mutterin’ to yerself and get over here with that coffee!” Orville roared.
Warm peace flowed through her. “Sorry,” Rose smiled confidently. She removed the lid to the pot and turned, calmly, deliberately throwing the bubbling contents over both of them!
Howling in pain and rage they staggered up from the table, but Rose had thrown open the pantry door and released Baron. As she fled out the back, Baron’s ferocious attack was producing shrieks and oaths. Straight to the stable she sped, slipping in the mud and streaming rain to Prince’s stall door.
“Out Prince!” she urged. “Go! Get out of here!” She flailed his haunches with her open hands, but he stood there bewildered, refusing to leave without her.
“Go on! I can’t save you if you don’t go! Get!”
Still he stayed near the stable, sidestepping in confusion at her frenzy.
The furor in the house came to an end abruptly. One single gunshot coupled with a yelp of pain hit Rose like a blow. She stood still in the dark, pouring rain to hear what would happen next.
Vile cursing from both of the men filled the night air before Orville’s voice spat out, “Throw that mutt’s carcass out the door and take care of me! My God, my throat is bleeding—hurry!”
The sound of Baron’s heavy body hitting the steps was followed by footsteps slapping through the soggy yard toward the stable.
“He’s going to find me!” Rose panicked. Leaving Prince, she crept around the stable, keeping the sound of footsteps on the opposite side. Mark Grader swore when he found the loose horse. He led him back into his stall and, glancing at Rose’s tools, picked up a board, nails, and hammer. Outside he closed the stable door and nailed it shut, fortifying it by adding the board securely tacked across it.
“Hey, Miss Rose!” he called in acrid tones, “Yer horse is nailed in tight. And you know there’s no way you kin git across that creek to Thoresens’. Try it! They’ll find yer bloated body in the river if you do. Nobody else is close enough to help you, and there’s no where to git out of the rain. You can count on my coming out here to find you if you try to shelter anywhere around here, so do the sensible thing. That dog of yorn tore up my brother pretty bad. You come in the house without causin’ us any more trouble and take care of him. When we can git out of here, we’ll leave you peaceful like.”
Rose gave no answer.
“I’ll not dicker with you, lady! Git in the house or freeze outside in the rain. Makes no never-mind to me.” He waited a minute more and stalked angrily back to his brother.
As he went by, Rose crept the other way around the stable. She examined the stable door and shook it vainly.
“Oh, God! What have I done?” she moaned. Jan had made the door solid and heavy. Even if she could get it open somehow, she could be trapped if Mark came out unexpectedly. Her body shook with cold and she wondered stupidly where to go. Casting about the yard, she considered tramping the three miles to McKennies. Would she lose her way in the dark? She stumbled through muddy grass and brush toward the rise and walked by the overgrown soddy. The soddy! He wouldn’t know it was there! Could she get the door open? It hadn’t been opened since Brian had shown it to her and Fiona nearly a year ago. She felt in the mud and grass, searching for the entrance until her fingers found the rotting boards. Surprising her, the door moved after she pulled on it only a few times.
“The rain must have washed some of the grass and dirt away,” she rationalized.
Pulling the door closed after she crept in, she felt her way into the black, musty hole. It was dark, dusty, and moldy smelling. She sank down on the dry dirt floor in gratitude.
She may have slept—she couldn’t tell how long if she did, but Rose was shivering with cold. Hours dragged by while she huddled to get warmth in her soaking wet dress. From time to time the recollection of the gunshot and Baron’s yip of pain drew fresh tears, and she wondered if her hiding place would be visible when daylight came. But she was safe, safe for now. Baron had hurt Orville, badly, Mark had said. And given his life in payment.
“What if they stay because he is too hurt to ride,” Rose hoped for Prince’s sake. But then she would be forced to stay in hiding without food or heat. Worse yet, they might find her. What would they do to her for her part in their troubles? No one could know she was in need. No one would come to help.
She dozed. She awakened and prayed. She recited the scripture verses that had meant so much to her in the house. Her bones began to ache from cold, and a different sort of drowsiness tried to steal over her; she struggled and fought its deadly seduction.
“Lord, only you can help me; I trust you with my very life.”
Wearily she stood up and tried to walk the distance from side to side to keep awake. Five times, ten times; she was growing numb. She rested. She forced herself to walk again. Walk. Walk. Walk. She rested. Walked. She sank down onto the dirt floor again and consciousness seeped away . . .
A draft of fresh air blew over her face. Someone touched her cold, cold cheek and picked up her hand.
“Brian! Brian McKennie! Here—she is here!”
Effortlessly she was lifted up, and the voice kept talking—to her—she imagined, but what was it saying? The words didn’t make sense; they were strange, foreign . . .
Cold. Was she in the icy river again? No, James and the children were in the river. Where was she?
“Rose! Little Rose!” the voice called her urgently.
“Help me,” she moaned. “Don’t let me fall in the river . . .”
“Nei, Rose, I not let you fall,” he murmured gently and held her close so his warmth would comfort her.
Then capable hands carried her through the bright light into the house. Fiona and Meg McKennie worked together to peel the cold, wet clothing from her body and put her in bed, where gradually life began to flow back into her chilled body.
Next morning Rose awoke to find Vera and Jacob Medford sitting near her.
“Ah! You’re awake at last,” Vera smiled.
“Yes.” Rose frowned. “How did I get here?”
“The Thoresens and McKennies found you in the old soddy. Jacob and I have been watching you since this morning; Fiona and Meg were too tired to stay any longer but wouldn’t go until we ‘booted’ them out.”
She leaned over and covered Rose’s hand with the quilt.
“You need to stay warm, Rose. And now I must get you some hot food and drink. Jacob will stay with you.”
She got up, and Jacob moved to her chair and patted Rose’s shoulder in a friendly manner.
“Mark Grader was here and his brother Orville,” Rose fretted.
“We know, Rose. We know all about it now.”
“Where are they? How did you know I needed help?”
“We didn’t. Thoresens found out first. When they saw that Baron was shot up they—”
“Baron! What do you mean, Pastor? Tell me!” Rose pulled anxiously at his hand, and he held it tightly.
“Baron swam the creek and went to Thoresens’. I forgot you didn’t know that.”
“Do you mean he’s not dead?” Rose was sobbing.
“Hey! Don’t do that, Rose! Vera will hang me out to dry if she sees you doing that! No, he’s not dead. Amalie patched him up even before they found you. You have to try to stop this, or I’ll be in big trouble. Do you want to hear the rest?”
She nodded, tears of joy and relief dripping down her cheeks.
“Like I said, good old Baron swam across the creek (you can’t even take a wagon over it still!) and, even though it must have taken him half the night, he crawled to Thoresens’ where just before daybreak he set up a howl and a commotion that brought out the whole house.”
Pastor Medford warmed to the tale.
“I hear that Jan Thoresen was fit to be tied when he saw Baron was shot. He, Søren, and Karl forded the creek on their bays (I’m still not sure how they got across!), then they sent Karl on to fetch Brian McKennie. Mark Grader never even heard them coming when they broke in. He didn’t put up a fight either and was already tied up when Brian and Karl got there. Grader kept saying he didn’t know where you were—that you’d run out the night before, and he hadn’t been able to find you. Brian and Jan searched the yard, the pasture, the ridge; they rode the fields between here and McKennies’ back and forth, Karl and Søren helping them.”
He sighed. “I guess you never really know what is going on inside someone until they are under pressure. Grader suggested that maybe you had tried to cross the creek on foot. Brian says Jan made like he was going to break Mark in half—and I think he could, you know. Scared Grader good! Just in case, Søren and little Karl rode down the creek apiece. That’s when Brian remembered the soddy. Well, Jan got there first and ripped the door clean off. You were there, all right. Cold to the core.”
Rose was quiet, looking out the window at the now blue sky and mounting sunshine. Thinking.
“And Orville Grader?” she asked finally.
Jacob coughed.
“Dead?”
He nodded soberly. “It
seems the Baron gave as good as he got. Mark Grader didn’t know how to stop the bleeding. It was pretty bad and, well, too bad for helping.”
Rose stayed in bed that day, but got up the next. No sickness or fever developed from her exposure, so she dismissed with love and thanks the women who had taken turns being with her. When the creek went down several days later, Amalie and Uli brought Baron home in their wagon, Søren driving. In her happiness to have him home, she hugged Søren, who blushed with embarrassment. All the Thoresens came to visit that week, doing the chores, caring and fussing over her. All save Mr. Thoresen.
When Rose asked Uli how he was she answered vaguely.
“Onkel is working. He’s working lots right now, I think. He didn’t even come in for lunch yesterday. But mostly he was walking in the cornfield. I saw him.”
She looked at Rose, puzzled, but Rose shrugged her shoulders and didn’t venture a reply.
Chapter 29
Everywhere Rose looked, across the neighboring fields, out onto the prairie, and her own back yard for that matter, all told her that the tumultuous spring was over; summer had at last arrived. The precious, newborn green of the prairie grass was turning gold, the precursor to just plain brown. Even the water from the days of near-torrential rainfall had dried up. Corn that for weeks had been tender was shooting up quickly in the blazing sun. Yes, it was warm! Her shrubs and garden required watering every day now. She fetched her two pails, (good old friends) and went to the pump. Two buckets full would water her climber roses. They would bloom all season and then from the new canes they grew during the summer, give a second burst of color before winter. Two buckets more for the trumpet vine off the end of the porch, and the geranium pots on the bottom step were next. She hummed to herself, thinking about the hoeing to be done when her watering was done. At least watering the green garden was easy.
A Rose Blooms Twice Page 24