Читать книгу The Gift of a Child - Laura Abbot - Страница 11

Chapter Three

Carrying Ulysses with him, Alf retreated into a corner of the kitchen, his back turned on Rose and Lily, his attention centered on the blocks Lily had given him. He made not a sound, only occasionally turning his head as if to assure himself Rose was still in the room. Rose fixed tea for herself and her sister, then joined Lily at the kitchen table. Lily pulled a piece of paper and a pencil from her pocket. “Let’s make a list of the boy’s needs. I know others will want to help either by sewing or passing along hand-me-downs.” She licked the pencil tip and began. “Undergarments, trousers, shirts, stockings...” Her voice faltered. Rose stared off in the distance, knowing she should be contributing to the list but unable to think. Her sister gripped her forearm. “Rose, are you all right?”

Rose’s eyes filled with tears and she nodded at the boy quietly building a wall of blocks. In a whisper she said, “It’s hard to plan, when he may be taken from me at any moment.”

“You must care for him gladly for as long as you have him.” Lily eyed her with concern. “It’s only realistic to assume his parents will be found.”

“I know.” Rose struggled to explain. “Sheriff Jensen came yesterday morning after Papa and Seth informed him of our situation. He asked all kinds of questions. How had I found the boy? Had I noticed any strangers skulking about in the past few days? Had the boy said anything to provide clues?” Rose pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and swiped at her tears. “He searched the barn, examined the note, then tried to talk to Alf, who buried his head in my shoulder and wouldn’t even look at the sheriff. All the while I wanted to stop the investigation, to beg the man to leave us be.”

“Oh, Rose. I know how attached you’ve become to Alf, but he is not yours.”

“But in my heart he is, Lily, he is.” She lowered her voice. “Did Papa tell you we suspect he’s been mistreated?”

“If that is so, let us hope such callous, unworthy parents will not be found.”

“I pray that may be the case.”

“Sheriff Jensen is only doing his duty, Rose.”

“I know that. He’s already notifying law enforcement offices throughout the region and is having one of his deputies draw up and distribute posters.” She caught her breath. “I can’t bear to think of Alf’s picture on display all over the territory.”

“But if it helps?” Her sister gazed into her eyes, as if by a look she could force reason.

“You think I’m being foolish.”

“Not foolish, my dear. I know you already love the boy, but I don’t want to see you get your heart broken.” Lily paused, as if garnering resolve. “You’ve always been the more practical of the two of us. You know a search is the right and necessary thing to do.”

Rose bit her lip, her emotions at war with her intellect. Finally, she nodded. “It’s so hard.”

“I understand, but in the time you have with little Alf, you must live as Mother always did.”

Rose paused to reflect on her precious mother and her difficult last days at Fort Larned. The influenza had ultimately carried her off. Yet even at the last, she’d admonished her daughters with the words Rose now repeated. “We only have today. Live each moment fully.”

“Exactly. That advice served Mother well and it has served us well.”

For the first time since Lily had arrived, Rose managed a smile. “I’ll try.”

“All right, then.” Lily picked up the abandoned list. “Sunday clothes. That’s a must. You will want to show off Alf next Sunday at services.”

From the corner came a loud crash followed by a feline shriek. “Gone!” Alf cried. Sure enough, the wall had been destroyed. “I’ll do it again.”

Rose watched fondly as he began reconstructing the wall. “I hope it will be as easy for us to help him rebuild his life.”

“It is in God’s hands, Rose, one day at a time.”

* * *

The next Sunday was a lovely day, the hint of a breeze ruffling the ladies’ bonnets and the fragrance of flowers and newly mown grass mingling in the air. As the congregation gathered before the service, many were still talking about the previous Sunday’s ice cream social. Ezra, Rose and Alf had taken advantage of the temperate weather to walk to the church. Yet far from relaxing, Rose clutched Alf’s hand and prayed for his smooth introduction to the townsfolk. Over the past few days Bess Stanton, Willa Stone, Horace Clay’s wife Essie and a few others had stopped by the house to welcome Alf and to bring gifts of clothing, toys and food. Rose hoped their generosity was a harbinger of things to come this morning.

No sooner had she and her father settled in the pew with Alf huddled between them, than Rose became aware of discreet stares, a few audible tsks and condemnatory looks on the faces of Chauncey and Bertha Britten, sitting directly across the aisle. Then with no attempt to lower her voice, Bertha punched her husband in the side and said, “I declare. What does Rose Kellogg think she’s doing bringing that half-breed in here?”

Anger and defensiveness overwhelmed Rose, and she longed to call the woman to task. How dare Bertha speak so uncharitably, and in church of all places. Before she could act on her impulse, the congregation rose for the opening hymn, “Savior Like a Shepherd Lead Us.” Rose choked on the line “much we need thy tender care,” thinking of Alf and his need of “tender care.” Then, as if her mother were whispering in her ear, the words “Trust in the Lord always” rose in her heart, defusing her anger.

During the pastor’s sermon, she found herself watching Seth Montgomery, as usual seated near the front with his family. She had been unprepared last Monday for the way he had so immediately gained Alf’s trust. If she hadn’t already witnessed his devotion to Mattie, she would never have believed the man could’ve intuited what Alf needed. The little boy interrupted her reverie by crawling onto her lap and sitting back against her chest, solemnly studying his surroundings. Then smiling, he pointed and called out, “Sett!”

The Brittens glared at him and Rose heard a few shushes, but Seth turned around, his eyes sparkling, and waved at Alf. “My Sett,” the boy mumbled before settling contentedly against Rose. “Big.”

Leaving the church after the service, the Brittens skirted Rose and Alf, as if fearing contamination. When Bertha passed by, she hissed at Rose, “What are you thinking? You, an unmarried woman!” Once again, Rose barely withheld her retort, saved from injudicious action by Seth, who gathered a delighted Alf in his arms and led them out to the churchyard.

Fuming, Rose turned to her father and Seth. “Did you hear Bertha?”

Ezra nodded. “You’ll have to expect some of that from the more judgmental folks.”

“Rose, don’t waste your energy on them,” Seth advised, all the while jouncing Alf in his arms.

“Sett. You, me. Big!”

In response, Seth lifted the boy skyward and whirled around to Alf’s delighted laughter.

Seth’s playfulness had settled Rose’s blood pressure. He seemed the most even-dispositioned of men. She couldn’t think of a time at their family gatherings when she had ever seen him out of sorts. Quiet, yes. Content to observe, but never surly.

Lily, Caleb and Mattie approached, and when Seth saw them, he lowered Alf to the ground, where he stood clinging to Seth’s leg. Rose held her breath, praying Mattie would not be jealous of the boy and the attention he was receiving from her beloved uncle. She need not have worried. Mattie toddled toward Alf, flung her arms around him and laughed gleefully. “Brudder,” she said.

Startled, the boy extricated himself from her grasp. “Alf,” he said by way of correction.

Lily leaned over. “Alf is not your brother, Mattie. He is your friend.”

Mattie shook her head stubbornly. “Brudder.” Then she took hold of Alf’s hand. “My Alfie.” And off she went, with her new playmate in tow.

Before the adults could take chase, Seth held up his hand. “Let me. You visit.” With long strides he caught up to the children and steered them toward a patch of grass under a large elm tree, where he sat down, a child balanced on each knee. From a distance, he appeared to be telling them a story.

Lily slipped her hand into Rose’s. “That’s quite a picture.”

“Seth must be touched by fairy dust. The children adore him.”

Lily looked pointedly at Rose. “He’s lonely.”

“Yet he seems content with his lot.”

“That’s what he wants us to believe. He would never have any of us worry about him.”

Rose heard the hint of concern in her sister’s words. “And yet you do worry...”

“He needs a life of his own. He will make some woman a devoted husband.” Lily hesitated, then shocked Rose with her next words. “Are you interested?”

What was Lily suggesting? Why, Rose had never in her wildest dreams considered the possibility. If she had ever confessed her unfortunate experience at Fort Larned while Lily was away in St. Louis, her sister would know better than to indulge in such romantic fantasies on her behalf. But that phase of her life was closed, and it was better no one in her family knew of it. “Lily, Seth is like family. I could never think of him as a potential suitor even if I were so inclined, which I’m not. Besides, he doesn’t lack for women who are interested in him. Look.” She pointed to Seth, who had now gathered a group of children around him. Standing among the youngsters was the Widow Spencer, a Cheshire cat grin dominating her face.

Lily followed her gaze. “She’s not his type.”

Rose hoped Lily was right because that woman was looking for a provider, not a sweetheart, and Seth deserved a sweetheart.

Lily squeezed her hand. “A piece of advice, sister.” She smiled as if she knew a secret. “Never say never.”

* * *

After their parents had collected the children, Seth stood and stretched, a feeling of contentment blooming in his chest. He customarily avoided idle chitchat, but, for some reason, with children, he was downright talkative. He couldn’t get over how attentively they had listened to his story about Noah and the Ark. When Rose arrived to collect Alf, he didn’t seem to want to part company. “Sett? You come, too?”

Seth explained that he was with his family and couldn’t stay. Rose hoisted Alf on her shoulder, and the little fellow kept waving as they walked away.

Seth remained under the tree, trying to determine why the sight of Rose with the little boy moved him so profoundly. Rose was attentive and loving with the child, and he knew she would move heaven and earth if she could assure Alf’s permanent well-being and happiness.

A memory swept over him, one that threatened to unman him—his mother’s presence was so real he felt as if he could reach out and touch her. He longed just once more to hear her say, “My wonderful Seth, my dear boy, I love you so.” Just once more to wrap his arms around her neck and inhale her special cinnamony fragrance. But she was gone, and he had never quit missing her.

That must be why the sight of Alf and Rose moved him so. Seth worried, though, that the day would come when Rose would have to relinquish Alf to his parents. She would be devastated. “Are you coming home with us?” Caleb clapped a hand on Seth’s shoulder. “Sophie’s going to be disappointed if her roast is overdone.”

Seth shook his head in mock despair. “Heaven forbid. Isn’t Charlie Devane invited to partake of our Sunday dinner?”

Caleb laughed. “You know very well he is. Our sister has been slaving over the stove for days now.”

“Is a burnt roast enough to discourage him?”

“Do I detect the words of an overprotective big brother?”

“You do.”

Caleb dropped the playful tone. “She’s a woman, Seth. With a mind of her own. This day was bound to come.”

The brothers started walking toward the wagon. “That doesn’t mean I have to like it.” Seth mused that it seemed like only yesterday he had tended his baby sister, changing her nappies and feeding her oatmeal when his father had been paralyzed by grief.

“No, it just means you need to worry about your own life, not Sophie’s.” He poked Seth in the ribs. “I saw the Widow Spencer eyeing you—like you were a prize bull at a cattle auction.”

Seth groaned audibly.

They were nearly to the wagon, when Caleb asked, “Did you speak with Lars Jensen today?”

“I was busy with the children. Why?”

“He’s called a meeting for Wednesday late afternoon to discuss the drifters and gangs moving through the territory.”

Any lingering euphoria Seth had experienced with the little ones faded with the thought that danger could be lurking on the vast prairie, threatening those he loved.

* * *

Rose awakened Monday morning to the patter of rain on the roof, which in a matter of minutes, grew in intensity to a fierce downpour. Rivulets streaked the window panes and thunder rumbled in the distance. She left Alf sleeping and dressed quickly. In the kitchen she stoked the cookstove with kindling from the wood box, fed Ulysses and put on the kettle, all before mixing up pancake batter. Her father arrived just as the coffee was ready. “Some storm,” he said, blowing on his scalding drink.

While her father read his daily Bible lesson, Rose finished her breakfast preparations. She worried about the way he pushed himself and wished he could find some help. Lily had filled that role before leaving for St. Louis, but Rose had never had her sister’s knack for medicine. As she poured batter into the skillet, she remembered that she had not acted on her hope that Bess Stanton might be of use in her father’s practice.

Rubbing his eyes, Alf stumbled into the kitchen, his hand-me-down nightshirt hanging around his ankles. “Rain,” he whispered.

Her father set his spectacles aside and held out his arms. “Naweh,” he said. Alf climbed into Ezra’s lap, hiding his face. “Did the thunder wake you?”

“Loud.” The boy’s voice was muffled.

“You’re safe here with us,” Ezra reassured him.

“E-nah?” Rose barely heard the word, but she had grown quite familiar with it. Often in his sleep, Alf would cry out for his mother. She hoped he had had one who loved him, even as she would never understand how a caring parent could’ve abandoned the boy.

After breakfast, she helped him dress while her father went out in the deluge to make house calls. Alf would have to play indoors, so she settled him with the blocks he seemed to love. She was amazed by the concentration with which he constructed a high wall and then knocked it down, only to begin the whole process again. She set up the ironing board and hummed along as she bent to the task. The periodic collapse of the block wall and the hiss of steam were the only sounds until she became aware that each time Alf knocked down the wall, he muttered, “Good.”

Rose laid the iron on its rest and went over to the boy and sat on the floor beside him. “It’s a very fine wall,” she said.

“No.” He put another block on top. “Cage.”

She was puzzled. Where would he learn such a word? “Cage?” Then just beyond the wall she saw the small rag doll she had given him. She picked it up. “Who is this, Alf?”

He didn’t look up, just continued placing block on block. Finally he mumbled, “E-nah,” then grabbed the doll from her and put it on the far side of the wall. “Cage,” he said again. Then added more loudly, “Stay there.”

Rose felt her heart pounding. “Was your E-nah in a cage?”

As if he hadn’t heard her, Alf triumphantly destroyed the block wall. “Good.” He picked up the doll and handed it to Rose. “Run away.”

Could it be that somehow he and his mother had been held in jail? By whom? Where? The answers would have to be coaxed from the boy over a period of time. Rose sighed, praying for the patience to let the boy progress at his own pace. What she wouldn’t give to know about his past.

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.”