The Gift of a Child

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.