The Woodsman's Rose

by Gifford MacShane

  I should have known.

  No. It is not for such as you and I to see.

  I want her. I want her back!

  I know, caraid. We all want her back. She was so lovely. So loving.

  It isn’t fair!

  No, caraid. It is not fair. Yet there is nothing we can do to change it. We must accept it. For her sake. She would not want us to suffer so.

  She loved me.

  She loves you still. Caraid, love does not end. Love lives forever. Long after this world is gone, she will love you. Love you as she has loved no other.

  I have shamed her.

  She forgives you.

  No.

  Yes. Her love knows no bounds.

  I have shamed my father.

  He will forgive you.

  He doesn’t understand.

  You must explain. You must listen. You must try to understand.

  He doesn’t grieve.

  He does, caraid.

  No. He laughs, he talks. He acts the clown.

  It is his way, as yours is silence. Listen with your heart and hear his grief.

  He grieves?

  He does. As you do.

  I have hurt my friends.

  They will understand. They will forgive you if you ask.

  She will hate me.

  She will not. This I know for certain.

  How do you know?

  It was told to me. By one who sees.

  I must make amends. I must apologize.

  All will be forgiven.

  Do you forgive me?

  Yes, caraid, I forgive you.

  OWEN WATCHED HIS DAUGHTER stroke the hair of the sobbing youth. In something less than a minute, Alec’s wild grief had abated, though his breath still came in shuddering gasps and his body shook as with ague. When less than another minute had passed, he reached up for Annie and was folded into her arms. Not a single word had been spoken between them. Yet as Owen watched the dark head resting on his daughter’s shoulder, he knew she’d found a way to comfort him.

  He closed the stable doors and slid the bar into place. He laid a blanket over them and went back to his chair.

  She was fey. He’d always known it. And now she had realized the fullness of her gift.

  Chapter 33

  It wasn’t long before Alec slept again. He didn’t thrash or moan and the twitching of his body had stilled. As Annie slid her arm from under his head, Owen rose and helped her to her feet, brushed the remnants of hay from her clothes.

  “I’m sorry, Papa,” she said, “but could you stay with him for a while longer? I need to talk to Tommy. I promise to make you two breakfasts when we get home.”

  There was no answer to her knock on the red door, but Annie let herself in. The smith was sitting in his chair by the fire, deep in thought or dreams; Annie took off her cloak and sat on the edge of the hassock at his knee. For several moments he was silent, then he looked over and took her hand in his.

  “I’m sorry, Annie. You know I’d never hurt you.”

  “I know, Tommy. I wasn’t afraid.”

  He reached out to remove a straw from her hair. He studied it for a minute then asked, “How is he?”

  “He’s sleeping now. I think he’ll be all right. But, Tommy, he needs you.”

  The smith laughed without humor, flicking the straw into the fireplace. “No, Annie. I’m the last thing he needs.”

  “That’s not true, Tommy. He thinks you don’t understand him, that you blame him. He thinks it’s his fault Elena died.”

  With narrowed eyes, the smith regarded her, then turned his attention back to the fire. “He told me once it was my fault.”

  “He doesn’t believe that. Maybe he was trying to shift the blame from himself. Tommy, he needs you.”

  “He hates me.”

  “No, he doesn’t. He needs you. He’s so full of pain. He needs to talk to you about it.”

  The smith pushed his face up close to hers, his black eyes brilliant with unshed tears. “What about me, Annie? What about my pain? She was my wife—my life! Does he need t’ talk about that, too?”

  “Yes. He needs to know he’s not alone in his grief. And so do you.” She pressed her palm against his face. “Tommy, he’s like a ship that’s lost at sea. He can’t find a star to steer by. You’re the only one who can help him.”

  He sat back, silent again, staring into the flames. Slowly his eyes closed and he leaned his head against the chair.

  “Tommy.” She waited for him to look at her. “He wanted to die. I took his knife away.”

  As his face worked, he squeezed her hand so hard it hurt. “I guess you saved us both from ourselves, girl. Thank you, Annie. More’n I can say.”

  He stood, pulled her to her feet and hugged her tightly. “You’re sure he wants me?” He looked down upon her in wonderment, his voice gruff with emotion. “You better be right, girl, or I’ll have you over my knee!”

  “You’ll have to catch me first!”

  He turned at the door, serious once again. “Thank you.”

  “Any time,” Annie replied.

  THE SMITH SENT OWEN home to his breakfasts. Then, as he’d done the night before, he leaned against the stall, watching his son sleep. Always had the boy been a mystery to him. His somber mien, his sensitivity, his brooding and questioning nature were foreign to the big-hearted, open-handed blacksmith. Nor did he inherit these tendencies from Elena, whose elemental nature seemed to change from one day to the next.

  Elena. With her flashing eyes, her profile at rest as pure and clean as the cameo. But repose came seldom, for Elena was ruled by passion. She would laugh, cry, fight at the drop of a hat, and as a lover had been tender and wild by turns. The only constant thing about Elena was that she was always changing. He had worshiped her.

  Since she’d been killed, there was an emptiness in Tommy’s life, in his heart. But he knew it was nothing compared to what drove his son. Tommy wished again that it had been he, and not his son, who had found her there in the yard, beaten and ravished. Dying.

  He hung his head for a moment. She was the glue that made us a family. Without her, we are just a man and a boy struggling with our problems. And with each other.

  Owen’s words filled Tommy’s mind. But he’d never thought his father a fool. He’d never had a chance to really know him, for the man they called Twelve Trees was killed when his son was ten years old and caught in the grip of the missionary school. They told him his father had been mistaken for an Apache warrior and killed in retaliation for a raid on a southern settlement.

  He’d never believed it.

  My father was a quiet man. A man who thought tradition and ritual were important. A man who took life seriously. Maybe my son inherits this from him. Maybe I can talk to him as my father talked to me. Maybe I can find a way to teach him as my father taught me.

  He turned away, deep in thought, and began to putter around his shop. The instincts of thirty years took over as he stoked the fire in the forge and reached for his tools. Soon the rhythmic hammering of metal on metal began.

  The sound disrupted Alec’s dreams, the vision of his mother fading. The rhythm of the hammer didn’t break as he struggled to his feet. He made an effort to brush some of the straw from his clothing and ran his fingers through his damp, matted hair. He saw his knife in the hay, bent to pick it up, slipped it into the sheath inside his boot. His father was still at the forge, oblivious to his movements.

  I could kill him now, and he would have no chance to defend himself. How many times have I wished him dead instead of her? On silent feet, he moved to the wall and grabbed a buggy whip.

  Chapter 34

  Tommy looked up from his work as Alec approached and offered him the whip. The smith put down his hammer and the horseshoe he was working on, wiped his hands on his shirt. He took the whip, gave it a good look, then threw it into a corner.

  “I deserve it,” Alec admitted.

  “Mebbe. But I’m not in the mood.”


  Alec stared hard at his father, his eyes narrowing.

  “You did wrong, boy,” Tommy said. “You hurt Jesse. An’ I hafta tell ya, I jus’ don’t understand why.”

  “Because I am a fool. All I could think was that, somehow, if I knew who did it, it would make it easier. But it didn’t. It didn’t make any difference at all.

  “And I just couldn’t...” Alec went on, “I’d waited so long to find out, and it didn’t make any difference at all. I just wanted to forget. I thought—I don’t know what I thought any more. I didn’t mean to hurt her. I just wanted to forget.”

  “Did you?” The question was spoken softly, but cut to the bone.

  “NO!” Alec swayed on his feet. “No. How could I ever forget?”

  “Do you still want to?”

  “No.” It was hardly more than a whisper. “I just want it not to hurt so much.”

  A long arm reached out to him. A strong hand fastened itself behind his head. He was pulled in against the broad chest, held by arms that seemed made of steel. He clutched the sleeves, pressed himself tight as if to draw on the strength of his father’s body, and gave way to sobs once more.

  “I want her back!” he cried. And heard the deep, sonorous voice whisper brokenly.

  “So do I, boy. So do I.”

  LATE IN THE AFTERNOON, when the stable was warm with fire and steam, Annie returned. At his workbench Alec sat engrossed, engraving a silver medallion. Approximately the size of a silver dollar, but an irregular shape, he’d carved the upper portion with tiny leaves, and was now working on the lower half, carving in the trunks. He was still wearing the torn velveteen shirt.

  She stood behind his shoulder as he worked silently. She’d never been at ease with him, although they were close in age. They’d been in school together for several years and Annie had grown up in the cottage next door, yet they’d never become close, for her shyness was as pronounced as his reticence. He put his tools down finally and picked the piece up, showing her that the reverse side was identical.

  “It’s beautiful,” she murmured.

  He took her hand, opened it, and placed the medallion in her palm. “For you. With my thanks.”

  “Thank you!” She held it up to let the light sparkle through. “I’ve always admired your work. I’ve always wanted one of these.”

  From his forge, Tommy watched them and was satisfied. Maybe he’ll learn. Maybe it won't be so bad after all. He’s started to make amends. I only hope Daniel can forgive him.

  He said he’d go tomorrow. I guess he has to work up the courage. It ain’t easy to tell your best friend you’re a fool. And who would know better than me? I once accused John Patrick of prejudice, just because he forgot to invite me and Elena to some little shindig when he first moved here. Wasn’t he the only man who ever came to these parts and talked to the tribe before he moved onto the land?

  I guess we’re all fools from time to time. I guess that’s why we need our friends so bad—keeps us humble. His hammer rang with every thought. I hope Daniel can forgive him.

  THAT AFTERNOON, BRIAN rode into town to pick up supplies and returned to the canyon with the news that Jesse’s secret was a secret no more.

  Adam’s eyes narrowed to slits and his jaw grew hard. He paced endlessly up and down in the barn, trying to find a reason, any reason, not to tell her. How can I face her with this? But she was sure to hear it sometime and he cursed himself as a coward. How can I let anyone else?

  With that final thought, he crushed out his cigarette and strode to the house, stalking past his brother and Rebecca at the kitchen table, knowing he’d lose his courage if he hesitated at all. At the bedroom door he faltered, his hand on the knob, the knot in his heart choking him. But she called out to him.

  He went in slowly, like a condemned man to execution, and saw the faint tinge of rose in her cheeks. She was still so sick, her small strength used up combatting the nausea she suffered. He took her hands and brushed his lips over them.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  He could scarcely reply. “Jesse, there’s something I’ve got to tell you. It’s bad news, love. Brian heard it in town.” He stroked her bright hair, fighting for words as her troubled frown questioned him.

  “Jesse,” he managed to say, “it’s about your brother. And... and Elena. Alec told... everyone in town... ”

  He couldn’t go on. His wife nodded silently and closed her eyes against the day. She didn’t respond and she didn’t cry. But it was a long hour before her trembling stopped, and another before she slept.

  Chapter 35

  As he leaned against the porch railing of his parents’ house, Daniel pulled at the ends of his mustache and regarded the youth who stood before him. Alec had confessed his guilt, explained but not pleaded, and declared himself willing to make whatever amends were necessary. He’d promised nothing, but apologized for the the distress he’d brought to his friend. To his brother.

  He has acted like a man. A man and not a boy. He understands he was wrong. He’s so proud—it’s his pride that makes him admit he was wrong.

  The woodsman spoke slowly, deliberately. “I was trying to protect you, Alec. To protect you and Jesse.”

  Alec’s dusky face became splotchy but his eyes didn’t waver. “I understand that now.”

  “What you did to me wasn’t so bad—it was just a lack of faith. Maybe I would have felt the same if I’d been in your shoes. Maybe from your point of view, I was wrong. Maybe it would have been better for you to know right away.

  “But I had to do what I thought was most important. It was a hard choice. You were in pain, I know. But Jesse wasn’t strong enough, and I had to protect her.”

  “Yes. You did what I failed to do. She was my friend, too. Almost as long as you have been. And I have failed her.”

  “What you’ve done to her, Alec, is infinitely worse than what you’ve done to me. And if it weren’t for that, there would be nothing between us to forgive.”

  The tension in the silversmith’s face relaxed. “I don’t know if she will speak to me. And no matter what I say, it won't take away what I’ve done. I can’t change that. But if she will see me, I will apologize.”

  Daniel gave him a word of caution. “Adam may not let you in.” Adam’s temper wasn’t a thing to be taken lightly. Still, his brother was a fair man, and Brian would be there to make sure no actual murder was committed. It might be a very good thing for Alec to face him—it might bring home to him just how important Jesse was to them.

  “I’ll go see her tomorrow.”

  “Why not today?”

  Alec held out his hands. “Today I have only words.”

  “You can’t buy it, Alec,” Daniel responded, looking his friend in the eye. “And if you could, she wouldn’t sell it to you.”

  “I only meant to show her how much I have valued her friendship in the past.”

  It was the woodsman’s turn to consider, but before he could speak, Alec added, “Perhaps if she can forgive me, I will bring her something to show my thanks.”

  After some hesitation, he offered Daniel his hand, which was accepted immediately.

  “I’ll go now,” the silversmith said.

  He leaped onto a wiry pinto mustang and set off for the canyon. Not infrequently, the urge to turn back possessed him. He stopped for a moment to touch his father’s gates, to draw strength from them. His shoulders were just a bit squarer, his spine a bit straighter as he rode down the trail to the cabin.

  He pulled his horse up and slipped from the saddle, knocked lightly on the door. The man he faced was as tall as he was, broader of shoulder, lean and hard of body. His left hand clenched, seeming to waver over the gun he didn’t wear. His voice was little more than a hiss as he demanded, “What do you want?”

  “To see Jesse.”

  “Haven’t you done her enough harm?” Adam’s eyes blazed blue fire.

  “I have come to apologize.”

  “I should horsewhip you.”
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  The silversmith stood his ground. “I’d like to see her first. Then you may do with me what you wish.”

  “And if she doesn’t want to see you?”

  “Then I will go, and I will come back when she will see me.”

  Without another word Adam turned on his heel, shutting the door in Alec’s face. After several long minutes, he opened it again and stood aside, motioned for Alec to come in. As he passed, Adam gripped his arm and held it hard, pulled him in face to face. “If you hurt her again, I will horsewhip you!”

  Though scarcely audible, Alec knew it wasn’t an empty threat. He approached the door to Jesse’s room and his first look at her, lying on a bed close to the fireplace, tore at his heart. He took the hand she stretched out to him, sank to his knees beside her. So small, so delicate. How could I have hurt one who is so helpless? He bent over until his forehead rested on her hand. He could find no words to say.

  “Alec.” Her voice was small and breathless, and he looked up. “I’m glad to see you.”

  “Jesse.” He choked on her name. “Jesse, I’m sorry.” He struggled with his breath, brought himself under control again. "I have come to apologize. Jesse, I know I’ve hurt you. I can’t explain why, except that I am a fool. I don’t ask you to forgive me. I don’t deserve it. But please believe I am sorry. And that I will never be so thoughtless again." Again he had to stop and breathe. “You were my friend for many years. Please believe that I did not mean to hurt you.”

  “Alec, I’m still your friend. I know you wouldn’t do anything to hurt me.”

  “But, Jesse, I told... everyone. About Mama. About...”

  “About Russell. Alec, did you do that to hurt me?”

  “No!” He calmed himself with an effort. “No. On my mother’s spirit I swear to you. I did it because...”

  “Because you were angry.” She completed his sentence again. Silently he nodded, swaying on his knees. “I’m glad you told. Now everyone knows. And I don’t have to worry any more about someone finding out.”