Prairie Rose (19 page)
“He’s jealous.”
“No, Sheena. You’re wrong there. Seth doesn’t care for me. If he did, he would behave differently. You should see how he is with Chipper these days. He takes the boy with him everywhere he goes. They plow together, hoe together, even cut shingles together.”
“Seth’s afraid if he doesn’t keep a close watch on his son, Jack Cornwall will kidnap the boy.”
“That’s part of it. But there’s more, Sheena. Seth is trying hard to be a good father. It’s a beautiful sight to watch the two of them together in the fields—though I must admit I can’t see that it has bound them any tighter. Chipper holds back his heart.”
“He must have learned that trick from his papa.”
Rosie smiled. “Don’t be so hard on Seth. He’s a good man.”
“Then why don’t you tell him the truth about the trading you’ve been doing?”
“What difference can it make? I’m simply doing what I believe God has told me to do. I’m laying up provisions for Seth and Chipper. I’m taking care of them. Seeing to their welfare. If it comes in the form of silver dollars or extra blankets, what’s the difference?”
Unwilling to hear Sheena’s response, Rosie lifted a hand in greeting to the wagon team leader. He set the brake and climbed down. “Mornin’, ma’am,” he said.
“Welcome to Hunter’s Station.”
“Hunter’s Station, is it?” Sheena murmured behind her. “Now isn’t that a lovely how-do-ye-do?”
Rosie cast her a disapproving look. Then she turned back to the team leader. “Are you headed for Salina?”
“That’s right, ma’am. Any news on the condition of the road that direction?”
“We had word this morning that it’s dry and clear all the way to Salina. You’ll have a delay at the Pawnee City ferry crossing. The town is right there at Fort Riley, you know, and I think a lot of the soldiers are leaving for home now that the war’s over. They tell me it’s a rope ferry, and it’s been horribly backed up with traffic. The wait is several hours. Sometimes even a whole day. You’d do best to get there first thing in the morning. The ferry starts up at dawn.”
“Much obliged to you, ma’am.” The man smiled warmly beneath the walrus mustache that covered his upper lip. “Suppose we’ll be able to find a place to spend the night in Junction City? My wife is coming near to her time—for the baby, you know. It’s our first— and she sleeps better in a bed.”
“There are two hotels. Good ones, I hear. The store is not too well stocked, but you can get flour and sugar. They’re always low on coffee and soap, but they have plenty of cornmeal.” “Turns out we won’t be needing all the coffee we brought. Didn’t realize we could make the stuff just as easy out of chicory root.”
“Oh yes, and soap is simple enough, too.”
“Soap? Is that right?” He scratched the top of his head. “Come to think of it, I don’t recollect that we even brung any soap with us. We been traveling so long, we haven’t given much thought to washing.”
Rosie had sensed that fact right off. “You must take some of my potash with you.” She started toward the barn with the man following. “Most of the time, I use lye to make my soap; you leech it from wood ashes. But these potash crystals are much more convenient. I just boiled down some lye to make them yesterday. Give the crystals to your wife, and see that they’re kept well away from children. Any woman who has lived on the prairie can teach her how to use the potash to make soap. Sheena taught me. It’s really not hard at all.”
In the barn, she handed the man a crock containing half of her hard-earned supply of potash crystals. Truth to tell, it was a little painful to part with. The process of turning lye into potash was slow and smelly. But Rosie couldn’t stand to think of that poor woman not even having a bar of soap to wash her new baby’s clothes. The man cradled the crock like it was a treasure of gold.
“I don’t have much to pay you with, ma’am,” he said in a low voice. “We’re trying to save what we’ve got for hotels and food. Would you take something in trade?”
“The potash is free. My gift for the new baby.”
Again, the warm smile formed under the man’s huge mustache. “I don’t suppose you’d take some of my coffee in exchange for the bridge toll, would you?”
“Coffee …” Rosie pondered the offer for a moment. “A pound will do. One for each of the three wagons.”
The grin grew wider. “You don’t have any blankets for trade, do you, ma’am? We been colder at night than we expected.”
“As a matter of fact, I do have blankets.” Rosie could hardly believe her good fortune. She had more blankets than she knew what to do with in the big chest. But coffee—now that was a treasure hard to come by. Real coffee had a flavor that chicory couldn’t match, and everyone at the barn dance would appreciate the unexpected pleasure.
She hauled two long planks from Seth’s remaining lumber pile and laid them side by side across a pair of sawhorses. Then she opened the storage chest at the back of the barn and began to take out her trade goods. “I have five blankets,” she said, laying them across the makeshift counter. “This one is really nice. Pure wool. I’d need more than coffee for it, though. I took this blanket in trade for the toll on seven wagons.”
The man’s eyes widened as Rosie took out a handmade quilt, a crock of pickles, and a small keg of nails. In a flash he left to fetch his wife from the wagon. Pretty soon, she and the travelers from the other wagons had gathered in the barn to look over the items. Even Sheena craned her neck to admire a little round mirror someone had traded in.
“Would you be willing to take a packet of needles for that ball of yarn?” the man’s very pregnant wife asked. “I’d like to knit booties for the baby.”
“Silver needles?” Rosie asked. You could never be too careful about this sort of thing. The woman nodded. Rosie smiled. “And let me tell you that coreopsis will make the most beautiful yellow dye. Be sure to gather the flower heads when they’re in full bloom.”
“What about blue? I was thinking of blue booties.”
“Indigo—but it’s not water soluble, so it’s very hard to work with. I’d stick with yellow, if I were you. Do you like that knife, sir? I’d be willing to take an extra ax head you might have. Or a razor.”
“Look, she has dried apples, Mama!” a child cried out.
“They’re all the way from Pennsylvania,” Rosie said. “Do you like apples? Here, take this one. Your mother can have a few more apples in trade for that half pound of lard she seems so eager to be rid of.”
“Oh, thank you kindly, ma’am. We haven’t had apples for weeks. Can I take five?”
“Take seven. That way you can bake a pie. Or a big juicy cobbler. I’ve found children love cobbler, especially if you add just a pinch of—”
“Miss Mills.” The icy voice gripped Rosie’s stomach like a vise. She looked up to find Seth Hunter—hat in hand, sweat dampening his brow, hands planted on his hips—staring at her from the door of the barn. “Would you mind telling me what you’re doing?”
S
ETH could hardly believe his eyes. Right there in his barn stood Miss Rosenbloom Cotton Mills and fifteen complete strangers haggling over coffee, blankets, mirrors, and sewing needles. Where had she gotten all these things? Who were these people? What were they doing in
his
barn?
“Oh, hello, Mr. Hunter,” Rosie called, giving him a wave. She smiled, but he could see that her face had paled at the sight of him. “We’re just working out an exchange for the bridge toll.” She dropped her voice. “And a few other things.”
Seth crossed his arms and stared at the unexpected scene. Chipper skipped over to Rosie’s side and gave Stubby a pat. The dog wagged his tail. “Where’d you get this stuff, Rosie?” the boy asked as she handed a man a knife and took a big iron soup ladle in trade. “This looks almost like a regular mercantile.”
“That’s a funny thought, Chipper,” Rosie said, giving Seth a wary glance. “You know good and well this is just the barn. I keep a few things stored away in case somebody would rather trade than pay the toll.”
“A few things! You gots
lots
of things. You even gots beads and shoes and a pair of scissors. What’s in these cans?”
Seth stepped forward and lifted a tin.
Oysters!
Oysters were a luxury item only the rich could afford. How had she managed to get her hands on five tin cans of them? Beside the cans sat a ream of writing paper. And bullets. Rosie had a stack of ammunition that could keep Fort Riley in business for at least half a day. Where on earth had it all come from?
“If you had a post office here,” the man with the huge mustache told Rosie, “you could set up your own store. Your prices are fair. You deal honest with folk. And you got good quality merchandise. All you need is a post office commission, and you’d pick up twice the trade.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t want to do that,” Rosie said. “I have so much work to do around the house.”
“Put your son to work doing chores.”
“Chipper isn’t my son. He belongs to—” Again she gave Seth a nervous glance. “He belongs to my employer.”
“You mean you’re a hired hand? Well, your boss would be smart to put you to running the mercantile and hire someone else to do the cleaning.”
“That would never do,” Rosie mumbled. “Really, we’re very satisfied with things the way they are. This is all just for … just for the toll bridge.”
As he passed, the man gave Seth a long look. “I’d think about that post office commission if I was you. She’s got a good eye for business, that one. She could turn you a handsome profit.”
Seth kept his focus trained on Rosie as the line of travelers wound out of his barn and back to their wagons. When she began to pack all her goods back into the chest, he decided it was high time to take up the differences between them. If she was going to work for him, she would have to do things his way. And the sooner he got her out of his homestead and married off to Rustemeyer the better.
Rosie Mills was trouble. Every time he looked at her, something twisted up inside him. A knot of pain formed in his stomach and began to torment him in a gently luring voice he found impossible to resist.
She’s beautiful, isn’t she? She’s a good woman. Chipper adores her. She sure knows how to run a house
. No matter how hard Seth would try to silence the voice, it only grew louder.
Take the risk, Hunter. Reach out to her. Open your heart and let her heal you
.
“No,” he said out loud.
“What?” Rosie swung around, her arms full of brightly colored wool blankets.
“I said no. You do not have my permission to do this.”
“Do what? Take a few items in trade for the bridge toll? I can’t see what harm it does, Mr. Hunter. You heard the man yourself. I’m fair and honest.”
“No.” He placed his hands palm-down on the makeshift counter. “I don’t want you to do it.”
“But trading helps everybody. The poor man had brought enough coffee to drown two armies, and he needed blankets for his wife.” Rosie leaned across the counter and whispered conspiratorially. “She’s going to have a baby. Their first.”
Seth stared into her big brown eyes. Big, warm chocolate eyes. A pang ran straight through his heart. That awful knot began in his stomach, and the voice began.
Kiss her, Hunter. Shut up and kiss that pretty woman
. He couldn’t breathe.
“If you’re worried I’m not taking in enough cash,” she said, “I can assure you there’s plenty. And it’s well hidden, too. Is that the problem?”
“No,” he managed.
No, the problem is you, Rosie Mills. You scare me. You make me want to hope again. You make me want to dream of things I was sure I had put away forever
.
“Don’t think I’m hoarding all these goods for myself,” she said. “No sir. I can promise you everything will be divided equally among the three men: you, Jimmy O’Toole, and Rolf Rustemeyer. Just say the word, and I’ll split up the goods, and that’ll be the end of it. But let me tell you, Mr. Hunter, that bridge you men built is as good as a gold mine. We’ve got floods of travelers coming across it every day—going both ways. Don’t we, Sheena?”
“Aye, that we do,” the Irishwoman called. She and Chipper were playing with the puppy.
“Settlers, cowboys, fur trappers, even some rich landowners from back east. They all stop by here—every one of them—and we make a trade. Well, how do you think I got those oysters? It was a Mr. Hercules Popadopolous. He’s a Greek fellow who said he owns half of New York state. He gave me the oysters in trade for a large buffalo skin I had accepted from a trapper who had bartered it from an Indian. I told the Greek man it wasn’t a fair trade, but he insisted mine was the first real buffalo hide he’d ever seen, and he was bound and determined to have it. And what do you think he did when I handed over the hide? He knelt down on the ground and kissed my hand just like I was a lady from the Middle Ages, and he was a knight in shining armor. I told you about that, didn’t I, Sheena?”
“That you did,” she called.
“Did you see the mirror?” Rosie went on. “It was given to me by a gentleman from Virginia—a Confederate general. He said he had lost everything in the war, and he was going to California to make his fortune in land speculation. But I don’t think he really had lost everything, because you should have seen his carriage. And all the things in his trunk! The mirror was the least of it, let me tell you. He had gold chains and candlesticks and pieces of cut lead crystal. I warned him he might get robbed if he didn’t watch out. He paid his toll in cash, but then he turned around right before he crossed the bridge and handed me that mirror. And do you know what he told me, Mr. Hunter?”
Seth swallowed. If he didn’t say something soon, Rosie Mills would talk herself blue in the face. Worse, the more she talked and the harder he looked into her brown eyes, the crazier he felt. Crazy enough to kiss her. Crazy enough to just haul right off and ask her to marry him.
“No,” he said. “No … I … I don’t know what he told you, but I do know that you’d better not be taking oysters and gold mirrors off single men, Miss Mills. It’s not safe. You don’t know the first thing about these fellows. They could be robbers, or confidence men, or worse.”