скачать книгу бесплатно
With a flash of inspiration, she remembered the sack of marbles one of the soldiers had given her father in gratitude for his recovery from malaria. Rose led Alf to a chair, then slowly opened the bag. Twenty or more marbles of varying colors nestled inside. She quickly retrieved several cereal bowls, then showed him the contents of the bag. Withdrawing one agate, she said, “Green,” and placed it in a bowl. Next, she found a blue marble, and mouthing the color, she put it into a second bowl. She handed a black marble to the boy, who studied it intently. Rose pointed to the first bowl. “Green?”
He shook his head vehemently.
“Blue?”
“Not blue,” he said, pulling a third bowl toward him.
“Black,” Rose instructed, saddened to think no one had taught him his colors and unsure how much English he’d heard from his parents.
Just before twelve, the back door opened, and Ezra stepped inside, raindrops pooling at this feet. He took off his broad-brimmed hat, shook it and hung it on the peg inside the door. “I feel like Noah.”
Alf looked up. “Noah. Sett told me. Big boat.” Then he went back to sorting marbles that Rose had found for him and repeating the colors under his breath.
Ezra took off his spectacles and wiped them on a kitchen towel. “The marbles. What a good idea.”
Rose wanted to tell him about her morning, about the hint Alf had given concerning what might have happened to him and his mother, but before she could begin, her father thrust out a letter he must’ve picked up at the post office. “Mighty big news,” he said. “It’s from your Aunt Lavinia.”
My dear Ezra,
As you know, Henry died this past autumn, and it has been difficult to adjust to his absence. I continue with my social engagements and charity work here in St. Louis, but my heart is no longer in them. It was our custom to summer in Newport with dear friends, but I find that prospect daunting without my husband. In casting about for an alternative, I have hit upon a solution. Other than the months Lily lived here with us, I have scarce spent any time with the only family remaining to me—you, Rose and Lily. And now little Mattie, my great-niece!
Through the auspices of a Kansas agent, I have let a house in Cottonwood Falls for the months of June through November and should arrive sometime during the first week of June.
I know this may seem sudden and presumptuous, but I am curious about the West and about my family’s circumstances. I will wire you with details of my arrival by rail. My maid will be accompanying me, and I trust someone can meet us at the depot.
Ever your affectionate sister-in-law,
Lavinia
Rose was stunned. Cottonwood Falls, Kansas, was a far different place than the cultured environment of St. Louis. She scanned the letter again. “Does Lily know?”
He shook his head. “When the weather clears, we will go to the ranch to tell her.”
“Papa, I don’t mean to be rude, but it is difficult to picture the woman I remember from my childhood and that Lily has described spending time on the prairie.”
“I agree,” her father said. “But she is your mother’s only sister, and we will do our best to make her welcome. Your mother would’ve wanted that.”
Just then Alf dropped a marble that clattered across the floor. “Yellow,” the boy hollered, leaving the chair to collect the elusive marble.
“Yellow?” Ezra said. “Yes, sir. What a bright boy you are.”
Rose handed the letter back to her father. Aunt Lavinia had always been a distant, though imposing figure to her, moving in a sophisticated world beyond Rose’s comprehension. Lily had thrived in that world for a time until its glitter faded. But for herself? She could not imagine any point where she and her aunt might find something in common. She already felt intimidated and Lavinia hadn’t even arrived.
Then her breath stopped. Alf. What would her aunt think of the boy? Would Lavinia Dupree, like the Brittens, condemn their family for taking him in?
She drew a deep breath and lifted her chin. She would do whatever was necessary to shield Alf from criticism. Slowly she became aware of her father’s compassionate scrutiny. As if he’d read her mind, he simply said, “Reserve your judgment, Rose.”
Chapter Four (#ulink_f1a68fe5-1dcc-5723-a518-ebe786222be7)
Seth stood in the back of the Grange Hall late the following Wednesday afternoon, studying the restive crowd congregated there. All eyes were on Sheriff Jensen. Rumors concerning cattle rustlers, thieves and isolated bands of renegade Indians operating in east central Kansas had stirred concerns among the county citizenry.
Caleb, standing beside him, punched him in the ribs. “We need a plan. We can’t be leaving Lily, Mattie and Sophie unprotected. Until we’re assured the problem has been addressed, one of us or a hired hand should be near the houses at all times.”
Before Seth could agree, the sheriff stepped forward and signaled for quiet. “Lots of information has been going around, some of it accurate and some, pure rubbish. I’ve called this meeting to tell you what we know and what you can do to help. I believe the recent incident where somebody stole tack out of Hank McGuire’s barn is an isolated case. However, it suggests a need for vigilance on all our parts. From time to time, we have men, some desperate, some organized, crossing this region and bent on no good.”
“Gangs, you mean,” the owner of the general store called out.
The sheriff clenched his jaw. “Now, Horace, that’s a bit of an exaggeration. Certainly some folks down on their luck make their way through the territory. Three fellas were apprehended last weekend in Council Grove, suspected of robbing stores. Unpleasant as this news is, most vagabonds are homeless and looking for work. Yes, some gangs operate throughout the West, but none have been spotted in Chase County.”
“It’s a bit hard to tell the difference—drifter or robber,” muttered Chauncey Britten, the undertaker.
“No worry which one when they finally need your services,” one wag shouted to the enjoyment of the crowd.
Sheriff Jensen again signaled for attention. “Here’s what I propose—that those living in town be alert to strangers and inform my office when anyone you don’t know rides into town. As for those of you living beyond town, instruct your hands to keep an eye out and be ready to notify your neighbors if you see something unusual. What we don’t want is folks going off half-cocked and creating trouble.”
A beefy, red-faced farmer jumped up. “So we’re not supposed to protect our property?”
“That’s not what I said,” the sheriff responded. “Caution is warranted, but take action only if you feel your property or family are imminently threatened. If at all possible, before you do anything, notify us.”
“Ride eight miles to you while some renegade roams my ranch?”
“Git off your haunches, Jensen, and git rid of these varmints!”
The cries from the audience were taking a toll on the sheriff, who was a better lawman than speaker. As the hubbub continued, Seth felt Caleb stiffen beside him and knew his brother was about to intervene. Sure enough, Caleb raised his hand and cut a swath toward the front of the room, much as he must have led a cavalry charge. He strode right up on the platform. Seth followed closely behind to support his brother. “Folks,” Caleb said in a commanding voice, “this is just the kind of mob reaction that’ll get us in trouble. Let’s back off and think about this.”
“The situation calls for a united approach,” Seth added.
Amid some grumbling, the men reluctantly took their seats, and Seth heard one say to his companion, “Might as well listen to the Montgomery boys. They generally make sense.”
When the group calmed down, Caleb continued. “We all know Lars Jensen is a conscientious sheriff. Nothing has happened here to cause us to mount some aimless posse. Be reasonable. Many of you have been residents of Chase County for several years or more.”
Seth picked up the thread. “Haven’t we been satisfied with our law enforcement? Lately we’ve had one incident. No physical harm was done, and the guilty party didn’t loiter in these parts, I suspect because we have a no-nonsense sheriff. Now, then, let’s do as Jensen advises. Be watchful, notify him of any concerns and do our best to protect our womenfolk and children from rascals, but also from baseless fears.”
The meeting closed with general agreement and a few apologies to the sheriff.
Afterward, as Seth and Caleb rode side by side toward home, Seth thought about Caleb’s leadership. Although his military service had resulted in horrific experiences, it had also matured his younger brother. When their paths diverged, Seth gave voice to his observations. “Caleb, you did a good thing back there. We don’t need mob thinking.”
At first, he thought Caleb hadn’t heard him, but then his brother answered him in a grim voice. “No, we don’t. I’ve seen what a mob can do. Nothing uglier.” He flipped the reins to steer his mount to the right. “Good night, Seth.” Then he trotted off, without a backward glance.
Seth watched his brother until he was out of sight. There was much he didn’t know about what Caleb had endured during his military career. It was painful to remember the eighteen-year-old who had ridden off to war with the enthusiastic patriotism and naïveté of youth. Seth continued to feel guilty that he had not joined the conflict, but his role at the family gristmill in Missouri had been critical.
Supplying the troops was a form of service, too, but it had spared him from the brutality and bloodshed in which his brother had, perforce, been engaged. The wonder was that Caleb still had his feet so firmly planted on the ground.
Although Caleb had told him few details of his army experiences, from things Lily had said, Seth believed his brother had spoken more openly with her and that such confidences, coupled with Lily’s understanding, had been redemptive.
The setting sun lighted the trail back to the ranch. In a way, he envied the closeness of Lily and Caleb. It seemed they could talk about anything. They must have deep trust in one another, he reflected. He himself wasn’t much of a talker. Would there ever be a woman in whom he might confide his guilt concerning the war? His concern for Sophie? His sorrow at the death of his mother?
Not likely.
He was almost home before a sudden recollection speared his defenses. Rose Kellogg. A week ago Sunday. He’d talked with her about Sophie...about his mother, hadn’t he? Why her? He shook his head in bewilderment and spurred his horse. Such confessions made him feel exposed. Weak. It wouldn’t happen again.
Settling comfortably in the saddle, he studied the rolling hills, veiled in twilight shadows. He didn’t know what it was about the land but it awakened deep feelings in him, probably born of his boyhood on their Missouri farm. From the blossoms of spring to the berries of summer to the tart apples of autumn, the place had been his kingdom. He and Caleb helped with whatever chores small boys could perform, then fished in the river, rode their ponies or aimed slingshots at hapless birds. A long time ago. Before the War Between the States. Years before they moved west to start the ranch.
Boyhood freedoms were one thing. It was more difficult to think about the time his mother died.... Baby Sophie. By all rights, he should have hated her. She’d taken his mother. But Pa never saw it that way. He’d gathered Caleb and him around the crib the day after their mother’s funeral. “Boys,” he’d said in a choked voice, “your mama is gone, but she left us this gift from God.”
After that, there was never any question. Anybody who remotely threatened their sister met Caleb and Seth’s wrath. But that didn’t happen often. Sophie was too loveable. She’d never in her life met anyone that didn’t interest her. Seth groaned. Charlie Devane. A talented construction man, courteous with a ready laugh. Why did thinking about the fellow cause him to grind his teeth? Even if he didn’t want to admit it, he knew, of course. Sophie liked Charlie. Really liked him. Seth always thought of her as his little sister, but she was of age. She could marry.
He was stabbed by a pang of loneliness. Home without Sophie would be like sunshine blotted out by clouds. He didn’t want to think about it. He wouldn’t. Instead, he would focus on...the cattle herd. Calves. There. That was a safe topic. Something over which he could exercise some measure of control.
Yet to his chagrin, cattle didn’t fill his mind at all. Instead, his thoughts once more turned to Rose Kellogg, to the blush suffusing her face when he complimented her cooking.
Rose. A safer topic than Sophie, for sure. Wasn’t it?
* * *
What with the rain on Monday, followed by wash day, it was Thursday before Rose, Alf and her father could manage the drive to Lily’s. At the previous night’s meeting, Caleb had told Ezra about a hired hand with a nasty lingering cough, so the trip had a twofold purpose—to offer medical advice and to plan with Lily for Lavinia’s upcoming visit.
Lavinia and Henry Dupree had treated Lily to fine dresses, elegant social activities and the cultural outings for which she had longed. At one point Rose had feared she would lose her sister to the charms not only of metropolitan life but to the courtship of wealthy Lionel Atwood. Only later had Rose learned that Lionel, aghast at Lily’s rushing to the aid of a former slave who had been run over on the street, had spurned her, accusing Lily of publicly humiliating him. Rose sniffed. Good riddance.
She herself barely remembered Lavinia Dupree. Only once could she remember her aunt visiting her mother’s parents and the Kelloggs in Iowa. A girl of about twelve at the time, she remembered being told to be on her best behavior and speak only when spoken to. She recalled her mother talking about Lavinia’s wealthy husband and elegant home, seeming wistful about the divergence of their paths.
It was nearly noon when the buggy crested the hill behind Lily’s home. Breathing in the fresh spring air and reveling in the miles of prairie grass dancing in the breeze, Rose thanked God once again for bringing her and Papa here to reunite with Lily and her family. And now, Alf completed the circle. “Bird!” Alf squirmed in her lap and pointed to a fence post where a hawk surveyed the countryside.
“That’s right. A bird. His name is Mr. Hawk.”
Alf turned to her with a puzzled look. “Mister? He’s not a man.”
Ezra chuckled. “Smart, that boy.”
Rose joined in the laughter. “You’re right, Alf. I suppose his name is just ‘hawk.’”
“Hawk.” Alf nodded several times as if to fix the information in his brain. “Bird,” he said in summary.
As they approached the barnyard, Lily walked toward them holding Mattie, scattering the chickens pecking in the dirt. “What a treat! We’re so glad to see you.”
Ezra helped Rose and Alf to the ground, then embraced Lily. “I’ll be back after I check on Caleb’s patient. Is the fellow in the bunkhouse?”
“Yes. Caleb is with him. I fear he is worse this morning.”
Mattie wriggled out of her mother’s arms and ran to embrace Alf. “Brudder. I see you.”
The adults smiled indulgently. No amount of correcting Mattie about the meaning of brother had changed her response to Alf.
Alf backed off, eyed the little girl and then pointed to her dress. “Blue,” he said proudly. “Blue shirt.”
Mattie looked down as if she had never noticed her frock. “Dress, Alfie, dress,” she corrected. “Blue dress.”
“Lemonade, anyone?” Lily gathered the children and led them into the kitchen. Rose took a lingering look at the neat, fenced yard, the large vegetable garden and sturdy stone dwelling. Lily was blessed by her surroundings.
Inside, Rose settled at the table while Lily produced a doll and a few tin soldiers for the children, who were soon lost in a world of make-believe.
“At last night’s meeting, I presume Papa told Caleb about Aunt Lavinia’s upcoming visit.”
“Yes, I can’t wait to talk about it. Truth to tell, I’m completely flummoxed by the news. It’s so out of character for her. I know she must miss Uncle Henry, but she thrives on the fashions and social events she can find only in a city. The picture of her out here on the frontier both worries me and makes me chuckle. The very idea of Lavinia Dupree wearing a homespun dress!”
Rose mustered a wan smile before speaking. “She has rented a house and is bringing her maid.”
“So she’ll be quite near you and Papa.”
“That’s exactly what I’m afraid of. I have no idea how to talk with her. My experience is so limited.” Then Rose moved to the crux of the matter. “And what if she’s horrified by the idea of my taking in Alf?”
Seeing her sister’s distress, Lily leaned closer and covered Rose’s hand with her own. “I’ll be the first to admit that Aunt Lavinia can appear imposing and judgmental. Yet, in many ways, I think you may find her demeanor a mask concealing a generosity of spirit.”
“I hope you’re right. Perhaps I’m overprotective of Alf?”
“As you certainly should be. As we all are where our children are concerned. Alf is doing well, isn’t he?”
Rose smiled, warming to the topic of her boy and his progress with speech and the clear evidence of his intelligence. “His sores and bruises have healed under Papa’s care and every day he comes out of his shell a bit more.”
“I can see that.” Lily nodded to the corner of the room where Mattie and Alf were acting out some playlet of their own devising.
Just then, Ezra entered the kitchen and moved to the pump to wash his hands. His expression was grim.
“Papa?” Lily said by way of inquiry.
“Your man has pneumonia. If he responds to treatment, he has a chance. I’ve given Caleb instructions. Only time will tell.”
Lily stood up and moved to the larder. “I’ve made some cornbread and have beans to warm up for a meal before you return to town.”
Over lunch, Ezra recalled some memories of Lavinia and underscored Lily’s urging of patience. “We mustn’t for a moment forget,” he said, “that regardless of the situation, the woman is grieving. Both the lifelong relationship, whatever it may have been, and her position in St. Louis society. We cannot know exactly what impulse has led her to Chase County, but we are her only family and we will welcome her.”
On the way back to town, Alf drowsed in Rose’s lap, and Papa seemed miles away, perhaps concerned with a patient or lost in memories of Mama and Lavinia. Rose’s eyes were drooping when she was brought to awareness by the sound of horses approaching. A jolt of fear wound through her as she remembered what Papa had said about the men’s meeting the night before. Beside her, Ezra sat up straight and, shading his eyes, squinted at the road ahead. Finally he sighed in relief. “It’s Sophie and Seth.”
Sure enough, racing toward them were the brother and sister, initially oblivious to the buggy. Then Seth wheeled his horse and held up his hand to halt Sophie. The pair trotted slowly toward the buggy. “Sorry for alarming you,” Seth said, doffing his hat.
Sophie grinned. “Me, too. It’s just as well, though, because Seth was winning our race.” She swatted her hat at her brother.
Rose studied Sophie, confident and comfortable in her unconventional riding skirt and dust-covered boots. Watching the two riders so at ease with one another, Rose had greater appreciation for Seth’s concern about Sophie’s ultimate departure from the ranch.
The cessation of buggy movement roused Alf. “Sett!” He stood up and held out his arms.
“Ready for a horseback ride, Alf?” Seth spurred his horse to the side of the buggy and glanced quizzically at Rose, as if asking for permission. She nodded.
Seth plucked Alf out of the buggy and settled the boy in front of him. “Horse! Horse!” Alf waved delightedly to Ezra and Rose. “Brown, white,” he crowed. He patted Seth’s leg and then stroked the horse’s neck. “Big. Sett big. Horse big.”
Unaccountably, Rose blinked back tears. Her boy looked so happy, and Seth held him as if he were a bundle of gold.
Sophie pulled her mount alongside Seth’s. “Are you ready, Alf? It’s gallop-a-gallop time.” She winked at Rose and trotted ahead of Seth and Alf. When Seth followed, Alf’s delighted giggle filled the growing distance to the buggy.
