The Gift of a Child Page 2

  “Is there any more?” She looked up to see Seth standing before her, holding out his bowl. “I liked the sample.”

  “Second and third helpings are our specialty,” Rose answered, “Provided, of course, that you make it worth the Library Society’s while.”

  “I wouldn’t short you ladies for anything.”

  Rose dug deep into the freezer can she had brought and piled his bowl with rich chocolate ice cream. “You fancy chocolate?”

  “Yes, ma’am, but then I always fancy your cooking.”

  Rose hoped he thought her blush resulted from the heat. “Thank you.” He seemed reluctant to leave, but neither managed to find the words to prolong the conversation, so when the pastor’s boy arrived for seconds, Seth turned away, and for some reason, Rose felt disappointed.

  After the ice cream and cookies had been served, the men and boys decided on a baseball game while the women gathered to visit. When Willa Stone approached and asked Rose to accompany her to the church to help count the donated monies, Rose was thankful for the reprieve. Listening to the chatter of her friends concerning pregnancies, teething and patterns for children’s clothing had left her feeling awkward. Where did a childless spinster fit into such conversations?

  When she and Willa returned with the news of an astonishing total of $31.80 in contributions, those within earshot applauded even as others gathered their belongings, exchanged farewells and made their way toward their homes. Lily sought out Rose to give her a hug. “Everybody is talking about what a success this was. You deserve much of the credit.”

  Rose took a moment to bask in the compliment before shrugging. “I only did what anyone would’ve done.” She watched her sister join Caleb and Mattie in their buggy. When they rode off, Rose wrapped her arms around herself, swallowing the lump in her throat. The bustle was over.

  Some of the men were dismantling the tables while a few of the townswomen folded tablecloths and disposed of trash. Rose willed herself not to feel a letdown. She had anticipated this occasion with delight, but now that it was over, she would go home to an empty house.

  At noon, her father, the town doctor, had received an urgent summons from a man whose wife was experiencing a difficult labor, so he had been forced to miss the social and had not yet returned.

  Rose moved among the stragglers, thanking them for their efforts. At last, she reluctantly made her way home, where only Ulysses, her large gray tomcat, would offer companionship. Reaching the house, she glanced at the sun, an hour or two short of setting, and decided to fix a glass of lemonade and rest a while on the front porch.

  She settled herself in the wicker rocker and sipped her lemonade. Rose reflected that after years of looking out on a dusty cavalry post, it was pleasant to live on a tree-lined street where she could study the neighbors’ houses and watch the passing pedestrian and horse traffic. Off in the distance rose the clock tower of the nearly completed county courthouse, modeled on the French Renaissance style. Three stories high, it was built of native limestone blocks quarried nearby, hand-cut and then transported by wagon to the site. Rose was still awed by such architectural grandeur here on the prairie.

  Ulysses lazed on the floor beside her. She had found him cowering under the back stoop the day they moved into the house, his gray fur tangled and one ear missing a small chunk. At the fort, they had never had a pet, so she had enjoyed fattening up Ulysses.

  “Afternoon, Miss Rose.” At the sound of the male voice, the cat skittered off into the yard.

  Lost in her thoughts, Rose had not noticed Seth Montgomery coming up the walk.

  He stood awkwardly, one foot on the first porch step. “You mind if I sit a spell?”

  “Please.” Rose gestured to a straight-backed wooden rocker. “You’re always welcome.” Seth removed his hat, and the two sat wordlessly until Rose asked, “What occasions your stay in town after the ice cream social?”

  “No occasion, really. Pa rode on home, but I’m waiting with the buggy for Sophie.”

  Rose was never one to pry, but something in Seth’s tone impelled her to inquire. “What delays your sister?”

  Seth shuffled in his chair, then stretched out his feet. “I may as well say it.” The man could never be considered garrulous, and he was clearly uncomfortable. Rose waited. Finally he blurted, “Charlie Devane.”

  Rose stifled a chuckle. “And the two of them—?”

  “On a buggy ride. Together.” His face clouded over. “I reckon maybe he’s courting her.”

  “Your sister is quite attractive. Something like this was bound to happen sooner or later.”

  “Later.”

  Rose couldn’t help herself. She laughed out loud. “Dear me,” she sputtered when her breath returned, “you are one protective brother.” Then, in that same instant, she sobered, remembering her own older brother, killed at the Battle of Lookout Mountain.

  Seth grinned sheepishly and hung his head. “It’s stupid of me, but I’m hard put to picture our home without Sophie.”

  “Change is difficult.”

  The creaking of the rockers on the wooden floor filled the silence.

  He looked up. “Maybe like it was for you when Lily spent those months in St. Louis with your aunt.”

  “Exactly. I didn’t know how I would manage without her. We’d never been apart.”

  He folded his hands across his chest, lacing his fingers. “Same with me when Caleb left for the war. But Sophie? She’s been with us since the day she was born.”

  “I can’t imagine how difficult it was for you when your mother died. It’s a wonder you didn’t resent Sophie.”

  “Couldn’t. Pa said God sent us Sophie to love.”

  “And you have. All three of you.”

  “There’re seasons in life. You can’t work the land and not recognize that fact. The same way I’m never ready when winter comes, I reckon I’m not ready to let Sophie go.”

  Rose had a sudden intuition. “Seth, I hope you know that you have a whole family that cares about you. Your father, Caleb, Lily and Mattie. Pa and me. Whatever happens with Sophie and Charlie, we’re here.”

  “I appreciate that.”

  Out in the street, a wagon rattled past bearing a whole passel of children, laughing and hollering. “Look at that, would you?” Rose said.

  “Carefree times.”

  Rose detected sadness in his voice. “But not carefree times for you?”

  He stopped rocking. “No, ma’am. I worry about how my father and I will manage.”

  “Without a woman, you mean?”

  “Exactly. We menfolk are skilled at farming and ranching, but we’re no housekeepers.”

  She was touched by his vulnerability. “You’ve just named the solution.”

  He sat forward. “I have?”

  “A housekeeper. You and your father could hire a woman to perform domestic duties.”

  The relief in his face amused her.

  “I’ve pondered that idea. It’s a better solution than marrying just any woman.”

  “Seth. When you marry, it should be for love.”

  “I know that in my head, but sometimes my worries get the better of me.”

  “My mother had a saying that might help. She would always remind us, ‘All will be well. All manner of things shall be well.’”

  Seth fixed his eyes on hers and reached over to cover her hand with his own. “I pray it may be so, Rose.” He lingered a moment, searching her face as if some elusive answer could be found there. Then, abruptly, he stood, gathered up his hat and bowed. “Thank you for your counsel. I’ll think on what you’ve said.”

  Rose got to her feet and walked with him toward the street, as always impressed by his tall, hard-muscled frame. Unlatching the gate, she turned on impulse and said, “If circumstances such
as today’s bring you to town again, you are always welcome here.” Unexpectedly her heart beat a little faster. Usually the two of them were surrounded by family, but something was different about today. She realized she had treasured the time alone with him.

  He doffed his hat and started off down the street. Although she couldn’t be certain, she thought she heard him mumbling under his breath, “‘All manner of things shall be well.’”

  * * *

  Lost in his thoughts, Seth was hardly aware of driving the buggy and was letting the horse find the familiar way back to the ranch. When Sophie had returned to the livery stable with Charlie, she had seemed downright giddy, and his sister was never giddy. He couldn’t wait to get her safely home, far from the man who clearly had designs on her. Yet Seth knew he couldn’t shield Sophie forever, nor discount the dreamy look on her face.

  They were halfway back to the ranch when he finally said, “Is Devane sweet on you?”

  Sophie turned and studied his face. “Sweet? What if he is?”

  He shrugged and fixed his attention on the road ahead.

  She poked him in the arm. “Seth? Wouldn’t it be all right if I liked Charlie and he returned the sentiment?”

  “I guess, if you’re happy.” He didn’t want to interfere with her pleasure, but his stomach was in a knot.

  As if sensing his discomfort, she squeezed his arm. “For the moment Charlie and I are just friends. I’m in no hurry for anything more.”

  Her words did nothing to diminish the growing realization that his sister was an adult and their time together as a family under one roof was limited.

  Sophie changed the subject. “I hope you weren’t bored waiting for me.”

  “I saw Rose sitting on her front porch, so I passed a bit of time there.” For some odd reason, he was unwilling to relate much of anything about their conversation.

  “Was Ezra home?”

  “No.”

  He had the distinct impression Sophie was smirking, but all she said was, “Rose is a wonderful person.”

  “And a great cook.” His stomach growled with the memory of her chicken and dumplings, not to mention today’s chocolate ice cream.

  Sophie snuggled next to him and closed her eyes, a contented smile playing over her lips. Seth figured he didn’t want to know whether she was thinking about Devane.

  Lulled by the steady trot of the horse and the dimming light, neither said anything further, which suited Seth. He appreciated silence. He’d noticed that this afternoon with Rose. She wasn’t one of those magpie women like the Widow Spencer. By contrast, when Rose did open her mouth, she made good sense. A man didn’t feel like a boorish oaf around her. It dawned on him that’d he’d felt more comfortable with her than he usually did with women. He liked the way her freckles highlighted her blue eyes and the fact she wasn’t one of those women all caught up in looking fancy. No, Rose was different. Restful, that’s what she was. Restful.

  * * *

  After eating a light supper, Rose picked up her crocheting and settled in her usual chair by the stove. Ulysses cuddled by her side. She needed to feel a living thing, to know there was a buffer for her sudden loneliness. She had been surprised when Seth had stopped by. He was a man of few words, unlike a certain sergeant she could name whose glib tongue and false heart had taught her a harsh lesson. Seth’s concern for his sister was laudable, but she worried about his dependence on her. Seth was older than Rose and, like her, probably set in his ways. No housekeeper would ever fill the gap if Sophie left to be married.

  As the room darkened, she set aside her crocheting but didn’t stir to light the lamp. The house was still, save for the ticking of the clock and Ulysses’s contented purr. It had been a long day, but Rose fought sleep, still caught up in the remembrance of her time with Seth and the catch in her breath when he had laid his hand upon hers.

  Finally, though, she roused, feeling the need for a bracing cup of tea. When she filled the kettle, she noticed the wood fire in the stove was reduced to embers. Pulling a shawl around her shoulders and carrying a lantern, she went out the back door toward the small barn behind the house. Night had fallen, and quiet, broken only by the occasional barking dog, had descended on the neighborhood.

  Inside the barn, she placed the lantern on a hook near the door and made several trips carrying kindling into the kitchen. Then she returned for the lantern. Picking it up and preparing to leave, she was overcome by the eerie sense she was not alone. All the talk of drifters had made everyone skittish. It occurred to her that she was virtually defenseless in the darkened barn. She should scurry inside the house and bolt the doors, but before she could act, she heard a sound coming from the haystack at the back of one of the horse stalls. A high-pitched hiccupping, followed by a soft sigh. She steeled herself, knowing she had to investigate. Holding the lantern high, she tiptoed toward the sound. What she saw on the bed of hay nearly caused her to drop the lantern.

  It couldn’t be. Not here. Not in her barn.

  She knelt beside the figure of a little boy not much older than Mattie. He was fast asleep, his thumb in his mouth, his long, dark eyelashes closed, his chest rising and falling with his breathing. But what was on that chest was the most surprising of all. Rose raised the lantern to better read the note pinned to his tattered little shirt:

  PLEEZ. TAKE KIR OF ALF. I KIN’T DO IT NO MORE.

  Rose’s hands shook. She couldn’t grasp the miracle of it. Tears moistened her cheeks, yet she was oblivious to them. She kept staring at the child. Finally, she stood and set the lantern back on the hook.

  Returning to the boy, she gently gathered him up in her arms and carried him into the house, all the time marveling at the loving God who had answered Rose Kellogg’s prayers.

  And then her heart skipped a beat as she suddenly strangled on a new thought. Dear God, her gain might surely be some family’s worst nightmare. When she gazed once more into Alf’s peaceful face, she made a vow. Despite what tomorrow might bring, for tonight she would love him.

  Chapter Two

  Rose brushed straw and grass from Alf’s grubby clothes and laid a soothing hand on his forehead, brushing away his crow-black hair. She knew soon enough her father would return and questions would abound. For now, though, she treasured this time with “her boy,” as she already thought of him. “Suffer little children to come unto me,” Jesus had said. Rose lifted her eyes heavenward. “Thank You,” she murmured, her eyes filling with tears of joy.

  Every now and then, Alf shifted in her arms and then, with a sigh, settled back to sleep. Rose knew she needed to think beyond the present moment. Reason cried out that she shouldn’t become too enamored of the boy. Someone who loved him must be wild with worry. Yet, for this wonderful moment, he was in her care. What could she feed him? How would she clothe him? How would he react to the bath he so desperately needed? Her thoughts raced with plans. He could sleep in the trundle bed in her room and surely friends and neighbors would help supply his immediate needs. But that meant telling them about the foundling. Sharing him. All the more reason to cherish this quiet time together before the world intruded.

  She must’ve dozed because the next thing she knew, a hand had settled on her shoulder. “Rose, my dear.” Looking up, she saw her father gazing down at her with love and concern. “What have we here?”

  “Oh, Papa. It’s Alf.” She moved her arm so he could read the message.

  “How did this come about?” Ezra knelt and gently ran his hands over the boy’s body while Rose explained about finding the child in the barn.

  “I’ve been thinking that whoever left him knew from the sign out front that you’re a doctor. Or somehow knew we would care for him.”

  Her father rose to his feet. “And so we will until we locate his people. Sheriff Jensen must be notified.”

  Rose’s breath caught in her c
hest. So long as she had forbidden herself to form those words in her brain, she had maintained hope. “Please, Papa, must we?”

  “You know we must.” He sank wearily onto the divan, removing his spectacles and rubbing his eyes. “We do not know what extremity led someone to leave him here, nor how we might help such a person overcome the obstacles preventing them from caring for the tyke. For now, though, we will do all we can to restore this little one to health and security.” The clock chimed one, and the two sat in silence until Ezra roused himself. “We all need to sleep. In the morning, I’ll examine the boy, and we’ll figure out what to do for him until he’s returned to his family.”

  Rose stifled a sob. “Papa, please, can’t we keep him? Someone purposely has entrusted him to us. He’s the answer to my prayer.”

  Ezra’s voice was husky when he answered. “My dear, I have suspected your need for a child. You will be a wonderful mother...some day. But you will court greater hurt if you become overly attached to this little lad. We cannot predict how his story will end.”

  “I know you’re trying to spare me heartache, Papa. But, you see—” she stood, cradling the child “—I can’t help loving him.”

  Her father shrugged in dismay. “Oh, Rose” was all he managed to say.

  “If you will pull out the trundle bed, Alf and I will retire. In the morning, I would appreciate your help bathing him and examining him further.”

  “Of course.” Ezra squared his shoulders. “And after that, I will go to the sheriff.”

  Never had Rose’s intellect so warred with her emotions. Yet she knew her father was right. If Alf was not to be hers, the separation needed to come quickly. Otherwise, she understood that with each passing day, the little boy would become more firmly grafted to her heart. Surely God would not be so cruel as to take from her this gift so wondrously bestowed.

  * * *

  Sunlight filtering through Rose’s bedroom window woke her from fitful dreams. Disoriented, she gasped in recognition when she saw the small boy sitting cross-legged on the trundle bed, weaving and reweaving strands of the afghan fringe through his little hands. “Alf?” she said quietly. Ducking his head, he cringed, shrinking in on himself in a self-protective fashion. His cheeks were rosy from sleep. He waited still as a statue, like a wary animal daring her to approach. She slowly sat up, then faced him, her hands outstretched in invitation. Finally he turned his head and cautiously stared up at her through long, dark lashes. When she gathered him in her arms, he stiffened but did not resist. She sensed he was a child who had been schooled to keep quiet and attract little notice. “Alf,” she said again. “I won’t hurt you. You are safe.”