Prairie Rose (20 page)

Her face paled. “They seemed nice enough to me. They just stopped by to pay the bridge toll—like they would at any other town or station that had a creek.”

“But this is not a town, Miss Mills. It’s not even a station. This is a homestead. Do all these travelers know who lives here? Have you told them my name is Hunter?”

Rosie glanced at Sheena, and her pale face went even whiter. “You’d better tell him,” Sheena said.

Rosie knotted her fingers together and swallowed hard. “I did mention … that is, I have said on occasion … I more or less did say—”

“She calls it Hunter’s Station,” Sheena said, coming to her feet. “And what of it, Seth? This is your place, isn’t it? What harm is she doing? Why are you acting the
sherral
about her trading? She’s a good woman, and people like to do business with her. All she’s done is—”

“Is spread the word from New York to California the exact location of my homestead!” Seth exploded, his fear overriding every need he felt to hold Rosie and bury his pain in her embrace. “Don’t you see? Now everyone knows.
He
knows.”

“Jack Cornwall?” Sheena said.

“Shh!” Seth cast a quick look at his son. Chipper was studying the three adults as Stubby attempted to nip off a mouthful of his hair. “Don’t mention that man’s name aloud.”

“And why not? Chipper knows his uncle is searching for him. Don’t you, boy?” Sheena held out a hand and pulled Chipper to his feet beside her. “But you live here now with your own good papa. Even if that Jack Cornwall came to fetch you, would you go with him? Would you go away and leave your own soft bed? Little Stubby? My fine Will and all the other wee friends you’ve made? And Rosie? Would you leave her?”

Chipper stuck his hands in his pockets and eyed Sheena. Then he looked at his father. His blue eyes narrowed. “I might,” he said.

“Would you then?” Sheena asked, her voice high. “To tell God’s truth, I never would have thought it. And you such a fine boy. Such a good boy. Your papa needs you here, so he does. I can’t think why you’d ever want to go away with that Jack Cornwall.”

Chipper stuck out his chin. “Uncle Jack and me always make popcorn strings at Christmastime. He lifts me up high, and I hang the strings on the tree. And Uncle Jack gots a mouth harp that he plays when I’m sitting in his lap. When my mama died, Uncle Jack held me tight and we cried and cried. He loves me.”

“Oh, but, Chipper, your papa loves you too!”

Seth could hear the Irishwoman’s voice, but he could stand the pain in his chest no longer. He felt as though his heart had been ripped away. Turning on his heel, he walked out of the barn. A razor-sharp lump formed in his throat. His eyes burned. If he could just make it back to his plow. Just bury everything in the rich prairie soil.

“Seth!” Rosie’s hand slipped into his and pulled him up short. He couldn’t make himself look at her.

“Don’t take what Chipper said as a rejection of you,” she said softly. “Learn from it. Didn’t you hear what he loves about his uncle? It’s the touching! His uncle lifts him up to hang popcorn strings on the Christmas tree. His uncle lets him sit in his lap. And they cry together. Seth, please hear what your son is trying to tell you. If you want his love—and I know you do—you must touch him! Wrap your arms around him! Let him come into your heart!”

Seth clenched his fists. His own father had never behaved in such a way. Never held or touched him. How could it be right? Wouldn’t the boy turn out weak? A sissy? Wouldn’t he disrespect a father who showed tenderness of heart?

He could feel Rosie moving closer to him. Her hand slipped up his arm, and she leaned against him. “Please, Seth,” she whispered. “You’ve built such a wall around yourself that no one can come inside. You won’t let anyone care for you. You won’t let anyone love you. Please, please don’t shut us … shut him—Chipper—out of your life.”

“I don’t …” He struggled to express himself. “I don’t understand … how … how to touch him.”

“But it’s so easy.”

“No!” he exploded again, turning on her and taking her shoulders in his hands. “No, it’s not easy. I can’t … I’ve never … my father didn’t … I can’t do it.”

“You can learn,” she said, her brown eyes melting the edges of his frozen heart. “Ask God to teach you how to touch Chipper. Pray, Seth. Pray for the wisdom to win your son’s love.”

“Pray? You heard the verse from Deuteronomy. If God can shut his heart to a foundling child, what makes you think he’d listen to me? Why would I want to ask him anything?”

“No,” Rosie said, laying her hands on his chest. “We read the Scripture all wrong that morning. I understand it now. Anyone who surrenders his heart to Christ becomes a child of the heavenly Father. I’m an heir to the kingdom of God, Seth! I can walk boldly before his throne—and I can call him my Father … my Daddy … my Papa. He welcomes me, and he welcomes you, too. He’ll teach you how to be a good father to Chipper. Ask him. Ask him!”

She laid her cheek on his shoulder for a moment; then she turned and pulled out of his arms. He watched her as she walked back to the barn, her long hair blowing in the early summer wind.
I love her
. His soul spoke the words, and he realized they were a prayer.
I love her, and I don’t know what to do about it. Teach me. Teach me … my heavenly Father. Break down the wall and show me how to love my son. Guide my hands to touch him, hold him, draw him into my heart
.

Seth felt the tension slide out of his arms. His fists unknotted. The lump in his throat melted. Tears spilled down his cheeks.
And about Rosie, God. Tell me what to do about Rosie
.

The barn wore a coat of bright red paint. Chipper sported a new white shirt, a pair of sturdy canvas overalls, and a handsome haircut. Seth almost matched his son in his own starched white shirt, blue denim trousers, and carefully combed hair. Rosie could not have been more proud of her handiwork as the two stood side by side to greet the stream of guests driving over the new bridge for the party.

Seth had insisted Rosie make herself a dress from a bolt of blue gingham he had noticed in her storage chest. She had protested. After all, she had given a wagon’s toll and an iron stew pot in exchange for that fabric. Surely it would bring a nice trade-in someday.

But Seth had told Rosie he was tired of that old skirt with the burned hem, and it was high time she had something new. As for the chest and Rosie’s trading business, he reluctantly told her she could continue trading for bridge tolls as long as she kept a close eye out for trouble, especially trouble in the form of one Jack Cornwall. And she was no longer to refer to the barn as Hunter’s Station. If it needed a name, she would have to come up with something else.

Pleased to have his permission, Rosie set to work sewing herself a new blue gingham dress. By the afternoon of the dance, she finished the hem and slipped on her creation. It was pretty. She couldn’t deny it. The bodice had puffed sleeves, and the skirt billowed out from her waist to her ankles in a cloud of airy fabric.

If only she had a bonnet, she would feel like a queen. But as hard as she tried, she could not fashion a bonnet brim that would stand stiffly in place. Everything she attempted flopped down in her face, until she was forced to abandon the project and put her hair up in a high bun. Fortunately, she did have pins and a ribbon— having traded the gold mirror for them.

“Glory be, but you’re the vision of a lady!” Sheena exclaimed as she and Rosie carried trays of doughnuts from the cooking fire to the barn. “Has Seth laid eyes on you yet?”

Rosie shook her head. “No. He was in such a hurry to be out and about as the guests arrived. Before I dressed, he and Chipper went out to the bridge to welcome everyone. He’s been looking forward to showing off the bridge. To tell you the truth, I think Seth is very proud of the work the men did and all the bridge has meant to our community.” “Community!” Sheena laughed. “Sure, you always think bigger than the rest of us, don’t you, Rosie? We build a little pontoon bridge, and you turn it into a grand gold mine. Seth puts up a rickety barn, and you have it shingled, painted red, and transformed into a social hall before half the summer’s passed. Two families live across a stretch of creek, and suddenly we’re a community.”

The sight that greeted the two women as they entered the crowded barn seemed to confirm Sheena’s description. Ladies in their brightest dresses set out bowls of blackberries and fresh cream, strawberry pies, gooseberry pies, and raspberry cobblers. Salt pork boiled with greens and cabbage sent a delicious aroma around the barn, a fragrance that mingled with the scents of warm gingerbread and freshly baked biscuits. Rosie had never seen such a vast quantity of food. And to think it had all come from what she once considered a barren prairie.

“Fräulein Mills!” Rolf Rustemeyer swept off his hat and gave Rosie a low bow. “Ist fery goot party you maken.”

“Thank you, Rolf. But you must remember Sheena fried all the doughnuts, and it took the two of us and all the children to paint the barn red.”

“Ist fery goot barn,” he agreed.

Rosie favored him with a radiant smile and went back to arranging the trays. Rolf tapped her shoulder. “Fräulein Mills,
bitte
. Vill you vit Rolf Rustemeyer
tanzen
?” He did a few polka steps across the floor. “
Der Tanz
. Fräulein vill vit me
tanzen
?”

“Dance?”

“
Ja
. Danz!” He waggled a finger back and forth between them. “You
und
me?”

Rosie looked up into his eager gray eyes. Rolf was such a good man. Such a kind man. Such a hard worker. He wanted to dance with her. Maybe he would ask her to marry him. Maybe even tonight, and then everything would be settled.

“I can’t,” she said quickly. “I don’t know how to dance. I’m sorry, truly I am. But I grew up in an orphanage, you see, and we didn’t have socials there. I can’t dance.”

Rolf frowned. “
Ja
, you danz. I zee you in barn vit Hunter. You danzen fery goot.”

“Oh, that was just silliness. I had found the grain sacks, remember? I don’t really know how to dance. Not properly.”

Rolf snapped his suspender. “You not
freundlich
vit me? You not liken me?”

“Of course I’m your friend, Rolf. I like you very much.”

“Danzen vit me. First danz.”

Rosie let out an exasperated breath. “All right, I’ll dance the first dance with you. But I’m warning you, my dancing is likely to turn your toes black-and-blue by morning.” She paused, waiting for him to chuckle at the image she had created. Instead, he bowed with a flourish and strode away, his mission accomplished.

Oh, Lord, how can I marry Rolf?
Rosie prayed as she gazed down at the raspberry cobblers.
I can’t talk to him. He doesn’t understand me. We won’t be able to laugh together. We won’t even be able to pray together! Father, please don’t make me marry Rolf
.

But even as she prayed the words, Rosie knew Rolf was her best option. Though her heart was filled with Seth, he kept her shut away. He lived behind a barricade of his own creation. If she were ever to build a family, she must find a willing man. Why not Rolf?

“Rosie, you look beautiful!” Chipper cried, spotting her from the door of the barn and making a mad dash to her side. “Your dress is all checkerdy! It gots puffs and buttons and everything. You look like a princess. Don’t she look like a princess?”

He turned to his father, who had just stepped into the barn. At the sight of Rosie, Seth drew in a deep breath. He jammed his hands into his pockets. His blue eyes blinked, as if unsure of what they were seeing.

Rosie’s heart began to hammer like a woodpecker on a fence post. Seth took a step toward her, and she swallowed hard. Was her hair still up? Had the bow drooped? Was her hem hanging straight? Had she remembered to button every button? Would he notice the little snag in her sleeve?

“Evening, Miss Mills,” he said as he approached. “Chipper’s right. You do look like a princess.”

Rosie tried to smile, but she felt like her lips were stuck to her teeth. “Thank you.”

“Is that the blue gingham I found in the storage chest?”

“Yes.” She clamped a hand over the snag on her sleeve. “It might have been better used as curtains.”

“It’s perfect as a dress. It suits you.”

He stopped and stared at her. Rosie felt a flush crawl up the back of her neck and settle in her cheeks. Never … never in all her life had she seen a man who looked as handsome as Seth Hunter did tonight—and he was staring at her!

“There’s … lots of … of food.” She tried to smile again.

“Your hair sure is pretty. I’ve never seen it like that. So high up on your head.”

“Is my bow crooked?” She nervously fingered the scrap of blue ribbon. “I wasn’t sure how it looked. I traded … traded the mirror. For the hairpins. And the ribbon.”

Seth took another step forward. “Miss Mills … would you do me the honor of dancing the first dance tonight?”

“Yes!” She let out a rush of air. “Oh yes, I’d love to.”

“Until then,” Seth said, tipping his hat.