The Gift of a Child

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.