The Woodsman's Rose

by Gifford MacShane

  Oft in the stilly night, ere slumber’s chain has bound me,

  Fond mem’ries bring the light of other days around me.

  After a short pause, pregnant with emotion, John Riley joined his son Tim in “The Dingle Puck Goat.” Tim was just three years older than his sister, but with the help of his father and Brian, he managed to complete all eight verses of the ditty. The entire company cheered for him. John then began “Norah O’Neale” for his daughter, and the Donovans joined in for the chorus.

  Norah sighed happily, her father watching all the while. I’ve no use for doctors, and yon lass is the doctor’s sister. Still, this one seems to know his business, and I’ve not heard complaint of his absence. Ach, what are ye thinking? She’s but an old maid. Not even pretty, though she does smile quite nice. And Norah likes her. What are ye thinking? He shook his head but continued to watch as his daughter fell asleep on Jane’s shoulder.

  When the conversation came around to the Christmas party, Annie found an excuse to take Tim from the room. The woodsman asked for Jane’s help with the puppets. Jane blushed and Riley smiled at her.

  “You did a wonderful job last year,” said Daniel in his gruff voice. “I thought I’d make a few more this year, maybe even some for the girls.”

  “Oh, that would be wonderful! I really enjoyed painting them. Maybe some of them could have little skirts and I could paint braids down their backs.”

  “Or some with pig-tails. And, Daniel,” Jesse added wistfully, “I want one, too.”

  They all laughed but the woodsman promised her a puppet. And Carolyn, as always, offered to make the punch. She was sitting with Owen and he was holding her hand. They’d been quite open about their courtship. He wanted to get married right away but she’d demurred, stating they should wait a decent interval.

  “He’s been gone for nine years, Carolyn! How much longer does it have to be?”

  But she’d stood firm. She’d always wanted a June wedding. He’d given in, gracelessly at first, then in fondness. She was a good woman and she loved him, and it was worth waiting for.

  Carolyn had no illusions about Owen’s feelings for her. She knew he was lonely since Annie moved out. She also knew he was fond of her, though much of his heart had been left in Wales. He wanted comfort, companionship, and loving attention, and would give her all the love he had left in return. And she wanted him—a good man, a faithful man. A man who was gentle and understanding and true to his own beliefs. She didn’t want Megan’s place—she wouldn’t have believed him if he’d offered it to her. She wanted all the things he wanted, and she wanted to make him happy.

  At the end of the evening, as Riley took his daughter from Jane’s arms, Annie turned to her husband and whispered gleefully, “I bet there are two June weddings!”

  Chapter 50

  After the guests had gone and his family had taken themselves upstairs, John Patrick sat in his mother’s back parlor, a well-worn journal in his hand. He began with his personal prayer of thanks and proceeded to make notes, as he always did, of the accomplishments of the year just past.

  He was pleased with the way his younger twins had handled the farm. The projections Frank offered in June were accurate to within bushels of the harvest; John Patrick had given them permission to put two more fields under cultivation, and to sell any produce that wasn’t needed by the family or the Navajo.

  And both the boys now married. Two more different girls I cannot imagine, and still they’ve become fast friends. Patricia is as she’s always been, a flibbertigibbet. Yet she has a kind heart. Frank is happy, and Geordie moons over his own bride. Suzette may be only seventeen years old, but there is a grace and maturity about her that belies her age. She is shy, there’s no mistaking it, but she is neither silly nor gauche. My sons have done well.

  With his pencil, he made more notes: he’d rarely seen a busier year. The ranges, both his own and that in the canyon, were well-stocked with cattle. After the new room for Jesse was completed, he’d helped paint the cabin inside and out, made another green flowerbox for the new room’s window and installed Franklin stoves in the other two bedrooms. He was of the opinion the cabin would be hotter than hell in the coming winter but had, as usual, kept his views to himself. And the finished product was beautiful—a small white house with green trim and silvery cedar-shake roof. It reminded him of home.

  Geordie’s house had been built—the ranchhouse in miniature, with two stories instead of three, and a single porch across the front. There were details still to be attended to, but they’d accomplish them as soon as the fabrics and wallpapers Suzette had ordered arrived. The orchard and gardens would wait for spring, but the all-important outhouse was finished.

  And the cabin now standing on Sidhean Annie, finished and furnished. Water flowed in two pipes to the kitchen—one hot and one cold, for Daniel had added a covered porch outside the kitchen door, taken the brazier and built it into a well of bricks, and hung an iron cauldron on a frame above it. A series of pipes kept the cauldron full. Annie had only to step out and light the coals; in twenty minutes she would have warm water, in an hour it was boiling. She could pump it directly into her kitchen sink, or into a large canvas tub. She’d have the luxury of a hot bath without the chore of heating a dozen kettles of water, all because Daniel had discovered that hot compresses brought some measure of relief for the pain in her head.

  And they’d built a smokehouse, an outhouse, a post-and-rail corral, and a fence for the garden she’d plant in the coming spring. The pine bark Daniel had saved was too rough for shakes, so it became kindling, and this cabin, too, had a cedar-shake roof. They’d grafted fruit trees from the Donovan orchard to transplant, and Jesse had donated cuttings of her mother’s favorite roses for the square columns of the porch.

  The roses blended perfectly into the scene, for they were almost the same light yellow as the cabin. They glowed with peach undertones, and John Patrick felt they were a perfect symbol of their Annie, with her light golden hair and peachy complexion. He’d mentioned his feelings to his son.

  “There’s something called the wood rose, isn’t there?” Daniel had inquired. “That might fit her—she’s always seemed to me like a little sprite in the forest.”

  “But the wood rose, now, ’tis brown and crinkled. Not like our Annie at all. I’d say,” he’d added with a twinkling eye, “she is more like the Woodsman’s rose.”

  He could see he’d pleased his son, and Tommy had told him the name had been accepted by the tribe in the mountains. How it had traveled that far, he wasn’t sure, but Daniel had long been known and respected among the Navajo, and his father felt there must have been some good deed done and never mentioned. On the other hand, Tommy had a way of taking the puns and proverbs John Patrick spoke and broadcasting them far and wide. And without much concern for the interest of his audience.

  He wrote those two words on the page now, and let his thoughts wander to his younger daughter. Irene was as deep as her eyes. Not serious and shy like Suzette, nor a flighty hen like Patricia, she is nevertheless a vexatious little minx, sure of her own beauty and her power to persuade. She’s had us all ‘round her tiny finger since the day she was born. And she’ll have her pick of the men in this Territory. There were already three of them looking wistfully at her: Michael Flaherty, not quite as empty-headed as his sister; Alec Twelve Trees, somber and silent in love as in grief; and Ben Thatcher, the banker’s son, who’d come home briefly after graduating college, before his parents sent him on the Grand Tour. Ben had asked her to wait for him, but she’d turned her eyes down and answered demurely, “We’ll see.”

  Vexatious minx, to give the boy hope. For it will be a man who wins her. A man like her brothers, solid and true and strong enough to be gentle. It’s a shame Owen hasn’t another son, for certainly Evelyn and Lowell have made a happy union.

  As for Jake, it seemed that at seventeen, his youngest was a man. His voice had settled to a deeper register. He was taller now than all of the
m, and had spent the better part of the summer in the mountains with Alec. They’d brought back a dozen mustangs, including a blue roan that had caught John Patrick’s eye. He found his son an astute trader—they’d haggled the price down to the penny and he’d been happy with the value of the mare for the money. Then Jake had laughed, handed him the reins, and ruffled his hair.

  “Do you think I’d sell you a horse?” he demanded. “Did you sell me my bed? No, Dad, take her. You’ve paid more than enough for her.”

  He’d protested but Jake stood firm. The summer sun had browned his skin and burned the childishness from him forever. And yet there is still an innocence there, a simplicity. Like Daniel, he’s in love with life. As well as with our little girl.

  He gave thanks again to his Lord, for Jesse was well—the lassitude she’d suffered in the spring had evaporated over the summer, and there was no doubt now she was stronger and healthier than she’d ever been. And why not? Since she was thirteen years old she had the care of an invalid and her brother’s brutality to contend with. And then her baby’s death, the illness following, her husband’s withdrawal into grief, and my own mother’s death—all had sapped her strength. But she is pampered now, waited on by Adam and Brian and Rebecca. Her fears have been calmed, the scars of abuse almost healed. And she has a family to depend upon—to love her and protect her. And to bless her for bringing Adam back to us.

  He almost wept with gratitude. He hadn’t known what to do when Adam withdrew from them. He hadn’t been able to find a way to comfort him. But Jesse had somehow brought him back. He knew his son didn’t believe that he deserved her love, but faith had returned, and he accepted it now on the basis of his grandmother’s words: Love is a gift.

  Ah, macushlah. Her son’s heart was still sore from the loss he’d suffered. How much we miss you. How much you are still a part of our lives.

  He owed gratitude there as well to Rebecca. She has filled a place in our lives we never knew was empty. She gives so much, wants nothing in return but our little girl’s happiness. But each time there is need, this loving woman steps in to lend her hands.

  And the family at the Rocking Chair Ranch would not have been complete without Brian. No home and family for his son, except that which he shared now. It might have been sad but for the obvious happiness the big man had gained. Like me, my sons have been late to find their heart’s mates. Even my younger twins are twenty-five. It seems the past two years have given them something they lacked before—a vision of the future. And it is all since our little girl came to us. And the most deeply affected has been Daniel.

  The woodsman has changed. No longer totally independent, no longer remote and restrained. Jesse’s advent into our lives has given him an opportunity for happiness he never thought to have. He’s loved his Annie since childhood—even through the years when it seemed she would marry his brother. He could never understand why Brian didn’t return her love, yet Brian would not have been the right man for her. None of us had seen it, until Jesse came. She loved Adam, but she needed Brian, too—needed him to be the brother she didn’t have to fear. Needed his strength, his kindly wisdom to help her through her trials. She does not know that Brian loves her as a man, not as a brother. And we will not tell her. But his dedication to her happiness has made Daniel’s dream a reality.

  There is a bond between my son and Annie that defies description. It is as if they are one person in two bodies. The strengths of one are physical, logical. Of the other, insightful and giving. They have both changed these past months—they have grown more like one another. My son will never have insight, yet he has come to understand our small sorrows and joys. His wife will never have physical strength, yet he has taught her that it is enough to do all that she can. He is so solid, so earthy—she is a fairy-child. And their love has given all of us a double blessing. For he is more ours now, and less his own. And she has taken us into her heart.

  And finally, his thoughts turned to his Molly. What would his life have been like without her? He shuddered at the thought. An empty landscape, he answered himself, with nary tree nor bird nor cottage to redeem it.

  She was fifty-one years old, but it seemed to him she was still the girl of seventeen he’d met and married in an instant. She’d given him a look full of promise before she retired, then turned as Brian spoke to her. Longing now for the privacy of their bed, John Patrick tucked the journal into his vest pocket, dropped the pencil into the desk drawer, and stirred the embers in the fireplace before wending his way up the stairs.

  Chapter 51

  Annie began to spend more time with Jesse, who was convinced now her baby would be healthy. Annie’s presence made the days of confinement easier. Jesse wondered aloud if she’d ever get to the Christmas party. Annie’s eyes twinkled as she promised, “I’ll bring you a piece of cake!”

  Daniel was hunting with Jake and Alec most days, and was happy to leave Annie in the canyon. Jesse pestered her for news, and Annie revealed that Norah Riley had started to go to school, and Jane Barber was “stepping out” for the first time in her life.

  “With John Riley?” Jesse asked. Annie nodded sagely then giggled. She bit her lower lip.

  “Tell me. Tell me what you know!”

  “I think,” said Annie, “I think they’ll get married.”

  “Oh, how wonderful! Everyone should be married—don’t you think so?”

  ADAM WENT TO TOWN ONE day with Jesse’s Christmas list and returned to find the doctor had visited in his absence. Rebecca met him at the door with the news. She was wringing her hands, a gesture completely at odds with her normally stoic character, as she told him the doctor had ordered Jesse to bed.

  “What else?”

  “Jane came with him, and after the doctor was finished, she asked to see Jesse alone. I don’t know what she said, but our little mite’s been crying.”

  Adam went in and sat beside his wife. She was asleep, lying on her side with her hair falling over her face. He brushed the tawny curls back to find her cheeks wet with tears. I’ll kill her! If she’s said anything to hurt her, I’ll kill her with my own bare hands.

  “Jesse... Mavourneen, wake up.”

  “Adam,” she murmured, and one little hand came out from under the quilt. He took it in his and touched her hair again.

  “How are you?”

  “All right. Just tired. Doc said to rest as much as I can.”

  “Are you warm enough?”

  “Shore am,” she drawled. “Y’all did a wonderful job with this room—I’m snug as a bug!”

  He glanced around at the yellow pine walls, the cheerful blue striped curtains, the white quilt Moira Flaherty had made for them. Then his left eyebrow curled up from the middle as a frown furrowed his brow. “Rebecca said Jane came to see you?”

  She closed her eyes and nodded. He saw a tear in the corner of her eye and wiped it away.

  “Tell me, mavourneen. What did she say?” When she didn’t answer, he repeated, “Tell me.”

  “She said she was sorry. For all the mean things she said. She said she was wrong, she was jealous. And she was sorry.”

  He wiped her tears with a corner of the quilt. “All right, love. Don’t cry. Please, mavourneen, don’t cry.”

  She reached for his hand again and took a deep shaky breath.

  “It’s just... it makes up for so much. She didn’t have to do it. She never said anything to me, so I wouldn’t have known. Don’t you see?”

  “Yes, love, I do,” he answered. “And I’m glad she did. But, mavourneen, don’t cry. Please.

  “Come here, love. I want to hold you.” He lifted her in his arms and took her out to the old rocking chair. She snuggled up close to him and he covered her with an afghan and held her tightly. But she was quiet. Too quiet. I will kill that woman. I’ll kill her right now. Because I know she’s done something—said something that hurt.

  “Jesse, what else did Jane say?” He felt the little start she gave. “Tell me, mavourneen.”


  Tell him, a lilting old voice said. Tell him all. He will understand.

  “She...” She caught her bottom lip between her teeth, trembling violently. Her breath came in little gasps. “She said... that Sarah Taylor told her... that...”

  Tell him, it crooned. Tell him and let him heal it. He will understand.

  “That Tommy... that Tommy and me... we... we...”

  “Hush, my love,” he whispered. “Hush. That wicked old bitch doesn’t have enough to do. That’s why she makes up stories. No one would believe that, Jesse. No one at all.”

  But her trembling didn’t subside and a sobbing noise escaped her.

  Tell him.

  “Russell... believed it... that’s why he... he said if I... was good enough... for... an Indian...” She clutched at him frantically. “Adam... Adam...”

  He held her even closer, whispered in her ear. Any words of comfort he could find while in his heart, he cursed her brother to hell for all eternity. Cursed the wicked woman who’d manufactured that lie, who’d put them through this horror.

  God damn that Taylor woman! Keep me away from her. Keep me away from her or I will beat her to death. I want her to hurt, to bleed, to be terrified. I want her to feel what she has done to this innocent girl. My little girl. Oh, dear God, how could you let this happen?

  He felt Annie’s hand trembling on his shoulder and looked up into her tear-streaked face.

  She needs you, said the pale eyes. He controlled his rage, and pressed his lips again to his wife’s forehead. He murmured into her hair.

  “Adam?” It was a plea. “You don’t...”