The Woodsman's Rose

by Gifford MacShane

  She was hungry when she woke—a good sign. She wanted to get up and sit at the table but he made her a tray instead. She ate the soup, the bread, and asked for more. Then, as he cleaned up the kitchen, she sat and watched, smiling every time he looked over at her.

  Just after sunset, he came back to her. He’d hung his clothes on the pegs in the corner and she smiled again at his neatness. At his strong, solid body. She slipped over toward the wall as he got into bed, then moved in close to him and brushed her fingers against his chest. He pressed his hand over hers, stilling the motion, and he gazed down into her eyes. “Aroon, you need your rest.”

  “I need you.”

  He hesitated. Never had she denied him, and he didn’t want to hurt her by refusing her now. But he was afraid her strength wasn’t as great as she thought it might be. He lifted her fingers to his lips, then placed his hand against her heart to feel the beating. It was strong and regular. His hand then rested against her temple, felt that the fluttering in the vein had stopped, the erratic pulsing was calm.

  “Annie,” he whispered against her ear. “I...”

  Arrah, are you afraid?

  Yes, aroon. Of hurting you. Of harming you.

  Do you love me?

  More than life.

  Do you need me?

  Yes, aroon. More than I need the sun.

  Do you want me?

  Oh, my love, more than anything in this world.

  You are so good.

  She turned her cheek against his shoulder and nestled in against him. He’ll protect me. I must trust him, trust in him and I will be safe. She heard the long breath he let out, then closed her eyes and let him hold her until she slept again.

  IT WAS LATE THE NEXT morning when she woke. She got up carefully, knowing she might be dizzy and weak. She washed her face, put on a dress and brushed her hair. Then, barefoot, she stepped out into the sunshine and found her husband sitting on the edge of the porch.

  He held a hand up to her. She took it and descended the few steps, came to sit between his knees. He put his pipe down and began to braid her hair.

  “Mawnin’,” he drawled when he’d finished. She turned her face up for his kiss. “Feeling better today?”

  “Much better.” With a touch of shyness, she added, “Thank you.”

  “Aroon,” he chastised, and quoted one of Katie’s bits of wisdom, “‘I want not thanks nor money, but your love.’”

  She made a happy sound, leaned back in his arms. “You know you have that.”

  “I know. And I wouldn’t give it up for all the thanks or money in the world.”

  “Daniel?” The few minutes’ silence was broken by her question.

  “Mmmm?”

  “I’ve been thinking about the money your father gave us. It seems a shame for it to just be laying there in the bank, not doing any good.”

  “But I can’t seem to convince him we don’t need it.” A bit of frustration leaked into Daniel’s words.

  “Why don’t we do something with it, then? If he says it’s ours, we could do what we wanted, couldn’t we?”

  “We don’t need it, aroon.”

  “I know. But that doesn’t mean no one does.”

  “Oh? What do you have in mind?”

  “I thought we could tell Mr. Thatcher to let Doc Barber draw on it. For when he needs medicine someone can’t pay for. Like Mrs. Callendar’s little ones or the Navajo up in the hills. There’s really a lot of folks around who don’t have extra money—why shouldn’t they have the medicine they need? Or why should the doctor always have to pay for it himself?”

  “Aroon, you are the most thoughtful girl in the world. It’s a great idea. It’ll help out the people who need help the most. Do you want to go tell Dad?”

  “After lunch,” she replied. He laughed—she’d had nothing to eat since the day before, and only one meal then.

  “I love you.” He pulled her to her feet and into his arms. He shook his head and laughed again. “Let’s get you fed! I can’t wait to see Dad’s face when he hears this!”

  After they presented her idea to John Patrick, Daniel left them talking together and joined his mother in the kitchen. Over a cup of tea, he told her everything he’d learned about Annie’s condition and asked for her help.

  “You and Gran gave Jesse so many things to help her when she was sick. Is there anything you can do for Annie? Even if you could make her a little stronger, it would mean so much to her. I know you can’t cure it—but can’t we make her life easier?”

  And a little longer. Molly heard the unspoken plea and considered her reply carefully. “There are many things in your grandmother’s books that will help with all kinds of illnesses. But, my son, I am not sure we know exactly what Annie’s illness is. Let me first talk to the doctor and see what he can tell us. Then I will consult the books to see what may help.

  “I make no promise, my lad, but I will do everything I can. For her, and for you.”

  “Thank you, Mother. I’m sure you’ll find something.”

  “Aye, we should. If only to lessen the pain.”

  “If you could do that...” He’d give her the world, the stars, the moon.

  “If I can do that, ’twill be thanks enough in itself.”

  Chapter 48

  The following day, as Molly talked to the doctor, Daniel, Annie and John Patrick met with the village’s banker. William Thatcher was a man in his mid-fifties with a full head of graying hair and a voice that was steeped in magnolia tea. He carried himself with authority and radiated unflappable competence, giving assurance to those he dealt with. When John Patrick explained what they wanted, he pulled a three-page form from his drawer and began to ask questions in a precise tone.

  “Do you want a revocable instrument?”

  “What’s it mean?” asked the elder Donovan.

  “Do you want the right to withdraw the money once it’s deposited?”

  “No.” Daniel’s tone left no doubt that his was the final word on the subject.

  “Do you want to establish a foundation?”

  “What’s it mean?” John Patrick repeated.

  “Do you want to be able to add money to the fund from time to time? And do you want other people to be able to contribute to the fund?”

  “Why not?” was Daniel’s opinion. “That means it can go on indefinitely, right?”

  “As long as funds are available,” the banker intoned.

  “It sounds right to me,” said Annie.

  “All right,” said the banker. “Do you want to limit the amount that can be paid to any one individual?”

  “No.” It was unanimous.

  “Do you want to pay for medicine or for medical expenses?”

  “What’s the difference?” A frown cut deep lines into John Patrick’s brow.

  “Well, if the deed of trust states it pays for medicine, then that’s the only covered expense. But if, for instance, you have a child that needs to go to Flag for treatments with a specialist, the fund wouldn’t cover that. You’d have to specify that it would cover all medical treatment. If you want the cost of the trip to be covered, too, you’d specify ‘all medical treatment and related expenses’.”

  “Say that, then,” said Daniel. “Whatever a sick person needs.”

  “Do you want to limit the beneficiaries of the fund?”

  “Bill.” John Patrick’s tone was desperate. “Just say what you mean.”

  “Well, you could set this up for children only, or Indians, or those of Irish descent—”

  “Or exasperatin’ bankers,” put in John Patrick. He rose heavily to his feet. “Thatcher, you know what we want. Tell the doctor about it and work out the details between you, then bring the papers for us to sign.” He saw the hurt look on his friend’s face and added in a more moderate tone, “Bill, we trust you. And we trust Theo. Set it up between you and we’ll sign it. If you bring it out on Sunday, I’ll make sure Molly sets an extra place at the table. And one for Nellie, to
o.”

  The banker stood and offered his hand. John Patrick took it and shook it, then turned to go.

  “There is one more thing,” Thatcher said.

  With an irritated noise, Donovan asked, “And what might that thing be?”

  “The foundation needs a name.”

  “A name? What’s it need a name for?”

  “It’s a legal entity,” the banker explained. “It needs a legal name. You could call it the Donovan Fund, the Annie Donovan Foundation, or anything like that. But it needs a name of its own.”

  John Patrick sighed and Daniel hid his chuckle with a cough. “Just bring the papers Sunday, Bill. We’ll have a name for you then.”

  But by Sunday when the banker and his wife arrived for dinner with the family, they were no closer to a name for the fund than they’d been in his office. The banker was annoyed.

  “We can’t execute these documents without a title for the account.”

  “So what’s the problem?” asked Adam. “‘A rose by any other name...’”

  “It’s the other name that’s the problem,” Daniel explained. “Dad doesn’t want to call it the Donovan Fund, because it was Annie’s idea. Annie doesn’t want to call it the Annie Donovan Fund because... well, just because. So we’re stuck without a name.”

  “Why not call it ‘Garryannie’?” Adam inquired. John Patrick clapped his hands together and Daniel’s eyes sparkled; Adam had once again earned his reputation as the poet of the family.

  “That’s pretty,” said Jesse, “but what does it mean?”

  “It means ‘Annie’s Garden’.” Adam turned to Annie. “You’ve planted a little money—seed money, you might say. Now we just sit back and watch the good things grow.”

  “THE GARRYANNIE FOUNDATION TRUST FUND,” the banker intoned. “It certainly has a ring to it. Someone spell it for me.” He filled it in on the papers before Annie could object. “And now that it has a name, I’d like to be the first to make a contribution.” He took a cheque from his pocket, already made out for one hundred dollars, and assigned it to the foundation with a flourish.

  In the weeks that followed, several more citizens of White’s Station did the same. Tommy and Alec contributed in Elena’s memory, came to tell Annie about it with tears in their eyes. The doctor’s sister began to put in a few dollars a month out of her “egg money”. The Griffiths contributed as a family and the younger Donovan twins took the money they’d earned with the excess produce and gave it to the banker. Jake contributed a mustang to the auction Carolyn Hodges organized to benefit the fund.

  Adam had spent his accumulated wages on the repairs that had been needed in the canyon, but Brian had a few hundred dollars left after their cattle purchases. He contributed it in the name of Rocking Chair Ranch, and Jesse cried when he told her what he’d done.

  “After all,” the big man said, “we’re partners, ain’t we?”

  Chapter 49

  The blasting was finished and the resulting gravel had been cleared from the trail. Most of it had been used to create a low wall on the north side of the Donovan holdings, while the remainder bordered the flower beds in front of the ranch house and cabin. The entrance to the canyon was now only twenty feet long and graduated from twelve feet wide at Tommy’s gates to almost forty feet wide at the far end. It might yet fill with snow but removal would take only hours, not days.

  Annie came visiting a few weeks later and found Jesse sad and listless. On this date, two years before, she’d delivered her stillborn child. From time to time during the day her eyes filled with tears, but she managed to fight them off. Annie spoke of the good things the past year had brought them, especially little Adam Griffiths, and she gave Jesse assurance her own baby would be as healthy. But she saw that, today, Jesse had to struggle to believe her.

  It was mid-afternoon when John Patrick came in, for he too remembered the day. Adam and Annie made some excuse to take themselves outside, leaving him alone with her.

  When Jesse offered him tea, John Patrick insisted on making it himself, for he’d seen her trying to hide the trembling of her hands. When she spilled hers, he took the cup gently from her, then sat close beside her. Her body trembled with a force that shook the couch as he put an arm around her and drew her head down to his shoulder without saying a word.

  She began to weep, and he held her silently until she quieted. Then he took one of her hands and spread it on her swollen belly. His own hand, wide and gnarled and tender, pressed lightly on top of it. The baby gave a lusty kick and she laughed.

  “He’s so strong!” she said in wonder. He watched her face as she began to understand.

  “Thank you,” she whispered, then rested her head on his shoulder once more. He held her and considered how much he loved her. More than if she’d been his natural child.

  There was no physical attraction—the only woman he’d ever desired was Molly, and the very thought of infidelity would make him shudder. Nonetheless, I would crawl into a pit of snakes for her. For she has seen and survived more tragedy in twenty short years than most men face in a lifetime. And has come through it with her spirit intact. Even stronger. And it is not so much what a man endures, as it is the spirit in which he endures it. She is a miracle of spirit.

  Then in the half-world just before sleep, she lifted her face to him, her eyes barely open. “Daddy?”

  One little word, yet it filled his heart. He guided her head to his shoulder and answered, “Yes, little girl. Your Daddy’s right here.”

  THANKSGIVING WAS THE last time the doctor would let Jesse travel. He’d initially forbidden her to leave the cabin at all, but she’d begged and cajoled and given all manner of promises, and he’d relented. Daniel once more converted the largest of the Donovan buggies to an invalid coach, creating a wind-proof, weather-tight carriage using deer hides. Then the brothers came to pick her up.

  Arriving at the ranch, Jesse was handed down to John Patrick and taken to the small parlor behind the stairs that had been Katie Donovan’s retreat. Adam came in after her—he hadn’t been in this room since his grandmother’s death. He expected a renewal of pain and grief, but found instead a quiet sort of sorrow and peace. He sat in Katie’s accustomed seat and Jesse sat beside him, her bright head on his shoulder. The few tears they shed were for the empty places in their lives, and offered up in gratitude to the woman who’d brought them so close together.

  Owen and Carolyn came to dinner, and Daniel had invited Eli Sykes. They were also expecting the doctor and his sister Jane. When Molly heard this, she said to her husband, “Why don’t you ask John Riley and his little ones to come as well?”

  Molly set her table up so Riley’s children would sit on each side of him, and Jane Barber would sit next to his daughter.

  Jane had continued to change over the past months. Her brother was reading every word he could find on the new science of psychology. Barring emergencies, he’d set aside an hour after supper to listen to her, and had weaned her from the influence of Sarah Taylor. When he had emergencies to tend to, she went with him, and he’d found she had a real talent for nursing, especially when the patient was a child. Jane loved children and a good part of her bitterness had sprung from the fact that they were afraid of her.

  It wasn’t long before Jane lost her heart to little Adam Griffiths.

  “Would you like to hold him?” asked Evelyn.

  “Oh, may I?” They settled her in a chair and placed the baby in her arms. He looked up at her and gurgled. “Oh, you are so beautiful,” she cooed at him and her face was radiant.

  Her brother and John Riley were both watching her. One thought of the happy little girl he’d lost and somehow found again. The other thought of the Madonna. And Molly Donovan smiled a tiny, secret smile.

  At dinner, Jane went to great pains to entertain Norah, for the noise generated by some twenty adults was overwhelming for the girl. Jane coaxed her to eat and talked to her beneath the din.

  Dinner at the Donovan home was a
lways followed by music. After each guest had cleared their plate from the table, Molly declared a moratorium on the clean-up and they adjoined to the formal parlor. With its blue chintz furnishings and marble fireplace set off by dark floral carpets and cream draperies, the long room had a warm, cheerful quality. The adults sat around the edges of the room; the younger people arranged themselves on the floor.

  Norah was standing by Jane’s chair when the singing began. When she was offered a place on Jane’s lap, the little girl accepted shyly. And Molly saw Riley watching Jane again.

  John Patrick caught the gleam in her eye and reached out for her hand as he began to sing,

  Oh, Molly bawn, why leave me pinin’

  All lonesome waitin’ here for you?

  While the stars above are brightly shinin’

  Because they’ve nothing else to do.

  The wicked watchdog he is snarlin’

  He takes me for a thief, you see,

  For he knows I’d steal you, Molly darlin’ ...

  They all took a turn starting a song, and Jesse convinced Eli to sing as well. In a deep, rumbling bass, he began,

  I am a poor, wayfarin’ stranger

  Come wand’rin’ through this world of woe,

  But there’s no trials, heartache or danger

  In that bright world to which I go.

  After the first verse, Irene picked up the tune on her piccolo. Rebecca hummed along in harmony, and when the song was finished, the crowd was silent for several moments.

  “You have to teach us that,” Jesse told him. “It’s really beautiful.”

  “I learned it from my Mam,” Eli said, clearly flustered. “It’s someone else’s turn now.”

  Daniel began to play again. All the family looked to Adam, who sat with his eyes half-closed and his hand in Jesse’s. Slowly he stood and walked to the fireplace. He threw his cigarette into it and stared at the flames until the music came around to the verse once again. He didn’t face the company, and there was a throb in his voice as he began to sing his grandmother’s favorite song.