The Woodsman's Rose

by Gifford MacShane

  “No, my love.” He lifted her face to his. “How could I believe anything so silly? Jesse.” Deep and tender, yet with the hard edge of steel. “Jesse, mavourneen, I know I am the only one.”

  Annie sank to her knees and blessed him. For his words had struck Jesse’s heart, removed the fear she’d lived with for so long, that he’d someday hear the rumor and believe it. Annie heard the groan that went up from Adam’s soul.

  Let it be over! Let this be all. I do not know how much more I can stand.

  As she reached for him, Annie caught Jesse’s hand also, and the girl looked up at her. Her tears had stopped falling and there was a serenity in her smile that went beyond the surface. Went all the way down into the depths of the spirit on which she lived. There was no more. No more fear. No more secrets. No more. Annie took her hand and closed it around Adam’s, then wrapped her own over it.

  It is over.

  Relief flooded his being as he freed his hand to stroke his wife’s bright hair. He looked down at Annie. Thank you, his heart said, and her soft smile acknowledged it. He turned to the woman in his arms, wiped the traces of tears from her face with an edge of the quilt.

  “Did Doc say why he wanted you to stay in bed?” he asked.

  “He said not to worry. There’s nothing wrong. But the baby’s getting so big and I’m so little—he doesn’t want it to come too soon. We have to defy gravity and keep this little one in here a few more weeks.” She held his hand against her. “But I think he’s got a mind of his own.”

  “He? Does ‘he’ have a name?”

  “I think we should name him after your brothers.”

  “Brian?”

  “Mmmm.” She cocked her head at him. “I thought after all of them.”

  “But, Jesse, how many names can he have?”

  “Oh, we’ll pick out one for everyday. You know, when we call him and such.”

  “You don’t really mean you’re going to name him ‘Brian Daniel Frank Geordie Jake’? Be serious, love.”

  “You forgot Conor,” she told him, “and Henry.”

  “Jesse...” He knew she was teasing him and was thankful for it, for the calmness he felt in her. So he sighed in mock exasperation. “All right, love. If that’s really what you want.”

  She was still giggling at him when Daniel came for Annie.

  “What’s the joke?” the woodsman asked.

  “No joke,” his brother responded. “Just a name for the baby. Jesse’s sure it’s a boy.”

  “Great! So what’s his name?”

  “I thought we’d name him after his uncles,” Jesse replied.

  The woodsman was quiet for a moment. “I think that’s a fine idea.”

  “Daniel!” Adam found himself laughing. “Okay, I’m outnumbered. Poor kid’s gonna have seven names. But what if it’s a girl?”

  Suddenly serious, Jesse replied, “Katherine.” For his grandmother.

  He took her hand, raised it to his lips and kissed it with utmost tenderness. “Thank you,” he whispered in a voice thick with emotion. “You wonderful girl. I love you so much.” He hugged her close and Daniel patted her bright hair.

  “We’ll see you tomorrow,” he said. But Annie shook her head.

  “Tomorrow’s Sunday,” she said in a strained voice. “We’re going to Evelyn’s.”

  “Monday, then,” he told Jesse.

  “Say hello to little Adam for us.” She grabbed for Annie’s hand and pulled her down to kiss her cheek. “Thank you so much.”

  Annie smiled but didn’t respond.

  Chapter 52

  Annie remained silent as Daniel helped her into the buggy and they drove off. After a few moments, he asked, “You all right, aroon?”

  “I want to go to town.”

  “It’s kind of late. Sure it can’t wait ’til Monday?”

  “I want to go now.” Her voice was small but fierce.

  “Tell me what’s wrong. What happened?”

  They were several miles away before she answered him and when she did, he had to piece together her narrative, for it was broken by sobs and a struggle for words. When it was over, he was holding her tightly against his side. “Oh, for— What on earth ever possessed that woman? She’ll be lucky if Adam doesn’t kill her.”

  “I’m going to tell her. I’m going to tell her what she’s done.”

  “You can’t do that, aroon.”

  “I can!” Her pale eyes flashed at him. “I can and I will!”

  “No, Annie—”

  But she’d realized they were on the trail to Sidhean Annie. “Take me to town,” she demanded. “I want to go now.”

  “Annie—”

  “If you don’t take me, I’ll walk myself.” Her chin was quivering. “Stop this buggy here and I’ll walk myself.”

  “Let’s go home and talk about it.”

  She pushed away from him. “I don’t want to talk to you. I want to talk to Sarah. If you’re afraid to come with me, I’ll go by myself.”

  “Aroon—”

  “Will you take me?”

  “No, Annie, I won't. I—”

  “Then don’t speak to me! I’ll go by myself.”

  She sat on the outer edge of the buggy seat in stony silence, turned as far away from him as she could. He saw that her jaw was set but her fist was pressed against her mouth to control its trembling. For once she didn’t look at the meadow, didn’t admire the few flowers still braving the cold.

  My sweet girl. There’s been nothing in her life to prepare her for something like this. But she’d never forgive herself. She’d never forgive me for letting her go.

  “Aroon...”

  “Will you take me?”

  “Annie, we need to talk about this.”

  “I don’t want to talk about it! Don’t you understand? Don’t you know what she’s done? He hurt her because he believed it! He killed Elena because he believed it! She’s a wicked, spiteful bitch and she’s responsible! Don’t you understand?”

  As he pulled the horses up at the cabin he turned to her, but she jumped from the carriage and ran across the meadow toward town.

  He sprinted after her, gaining slowly, close to being winded when he caught her by the arm. They went tumbling, but she was on her feet in a flash. She turned to scream at him and he caught her, slung her over his shoulder. She was still screaming, kicking her feet and pounding her fists against his back. She pulled his hair and he grunted in pain, but continued his march to the cabin. She flailed at him but the blows had no strength. He was more worried about the harm she might do herself than any she’d do to him.

  He kicked the door open with his foot. Annie was startled into silence—violence was no part of his nature. He took her in and dumped her on the bed, then slapped the bedroom door shut. He leaned up against it for a moment, breathing deeply.

  She sat on the bed, her face buried in her hands. He approached her on silent feet and touched her hair.

  “Aroon...”

  She pulled away from him, back to the wall, shaking her head and sobbing.

  “Annie. Look at me.” Never had he used that tone—a command that wouldn’t be brooked. She was frightened again, but still she shook her head. “Look at me.”

  He knelt beside the bed, one hand almost touching her. She looked and sobbed, looked again, and turned her eyes away.

  “Annie, look at me,” he repeated. “You’ve got to listen to me for one minute. For just one minute. Then if you still want to go to town, I’ll go with you. Will you listen?”

  “Yes.” It was barely even a whisper, but it was enough. His hand found her knee and this time she didn’t draw away.

  “I know you’re upset, Annie. I am, too. But I don’t think you should do this.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it would hurt her.”

  “What do you care about her? Why should you care about Sarah?”

  “Do you think I give a damn about Sarah Taylor?” he bit out. “Do you think I wouldn’t li
ke to see her flogged? Do you think I could care less if Adam kills her? That I don’t want to kill her myself?”

  Annie’s fists were pressed hard against her mouth, her eyes huge gulfs of fear. He realized he’d been shouting, grabbed a lungful of air and let it out slowly. He got up and sat beside her. She stared at him for a moment, then reached out tentatively.

  “I’m sorry, aroon,” he murmured as he drew her into his arms, “I didn’t mean to shout at you. But I don’t care about Sarah. They could take her out and hang her and it wouldn’t bother me at all. But don’t you see who’d really be hurt? Don’t you see what would happen if this started all over again?

  “We have to think of Jesse. Of how much it would hurt her. Annie, you don’t want to do this.”

  Her eyes grew wide, a fist once more pressed hard against her mouth.

  “Oh, no,” she sobbed. “No, no.” She wrapped her arms around him. “Daniel, I’d never hurt her. Never.” Her face was hidden on his chest as she sobbed again, “I’m sorry.”

  “All right, aroon.” He held her close, his hand gentle in her hair. Poor little girl. Such a heavy burden for such a little girl. “Sweetheart, don’t cry. It’s over and no harm’s done.”

  “I hit you.” Her voice betrayed her shame.

  “I’m a big boy, sweetheart. You didn’t hurt me.”

  “I’m sorry.” A tiny voice now, like a frightened child.

  “It’s all right,” he soothed her. “Don’t cry, my love. Everything’s all right.”

  “Forgive me?”

  “Of course, aroon. Here...” He lowered her to the pillows. “Lie down with me. That’s better. Now stop your tears.”

  But it was several minutes before she stopped crying and several more before she spoke.

  “Daniel?”

  “Yes, aroon.”

  “I love you.”

  He kissed her forehead. “I love you, too, Annie.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I know, sweetheart. It’s all right.” With a tender hand, he lifted her face to his. “Got a kiss for me?”

  She did, and it left him breathless. He nuzzled into her hair and heard her whisper his name again.

  “Mmmm?”

  “Don’t you think something should happen to her? For being so wicked?”

  “Yes, I do,” he answered, “and tomorrow I’ll go tell Dad about it. He’ll find a way to handle it without hurting Jesse. As Gran would say: “Coimhéad fearg fhear na foighde.”

  “What does it mean?”

  “Beware the anger of a patient man.”

  Annie nodded against his shoulder. “Daniel?”

  “Mmmm?”

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome, aroon,” he answered, and again his rough voice was sweet as honey in her ear. “Got another one of those kisses?”

  Chapter 53

  John Patrick withdrew his custom from Taylor’s mercantile. He marched in on Monday morning and canceled his outstanding orders for both winter feed and spring seed. He left the merchant stuttering behind him and paid no heed whatsoever to the pleas raining down upon his back.

  He’d thought it through carefully: there’d be enough time to wire Prescott if necessary to arrange for winter feed. First, however, he’d try the new shop. It had been established only a few months before, but Evelyn had told them she was pleased with the yard goods. The quality was better, she’d said, and the choice wider. And Jake had found new pants there when the mercantile had none long enough for him.

  John Patrick led his mare down a side street and came upon an unpretentious sign: Hardware, Feed and Dry Goods, Wang Shen, Prop.

  He had Molly’s Christmas list in his pocket and found every item save one. He approached the small man who stood behind the counter. “Have you something called a camisole?”

  The proprietor turned to the shelves behind him. He had a long, thin braid that reached past his waist. Pulling a box from the shelves, he asked, “What size, sir?”

  “Don’t know.” The list in his hand simply said white camisole for Irene. “Got a white one?”

  “Oh, yes, sir. All white.” The proprietor held up a flimsy piece of silk which looked like no more than two handkerchiefs sewn together. The old man let out a sound that was close to “Hrrmmph.” Eyeing the silken trinket in perplexity, he muttered, “Needs to fit Irene. How would I know?”

  “Irene, sir? Irene very pretty girl. Very tall, very slender. Very beautiful. This one fit Irene.” He took what to her father seemed an even flimsier garment from the box. The older man touched it tentatively.

  “You’re sure this is a camisole?” Where on earth did his Molly ever hear of such things?

  The proprietor nodded.

  “All right, wrap it up. All this other stuff, too. Can you deliver it?”

  “Yes, sir. To Donovan Ranch, sir?”

  John Patrick nodded, impressed. “Can you get me some winter feed?” He watched the merchant consult a chart of what seemed to be hieroglyphics.

  “How much?”

  “Four wagonloads to start.”

  “Yes, sir. Tuesday week, two wagonload. Thursday week, two wagonload. Deliver to Donovan Ranch?”

  “No, to Rocking Chair Ranch—out in the canyon. You know where?” Again the man nodded and Donovan asked, “Shall I pay for them now?”

  “Not necessary. Pay on deliver. Or in town next time.”

  “All right. How much for everything?” The merchant named his price and John Patrick was satisfied. “By the way, do those camisole things come in different sizes? Bigger, I mean?”

  “Yes, sir. All size—fit woman big and small.”

  “Well, why don’t you wrap up another one? For Molly,” he added cagily. Wang Shen shook his head. “You know Evelyn?”

  “Oh, yes, sir. Evelyn with beautiful hair like flame. And lovely baby boy.”

  “Molly’s like Evelyn.” Her husband’s hands were expressive. “Only just a little more.”

  Wang Shen’s eyes twinkled. “Yes, sir. Deliver, too?”

  “No, I think not. She may open it if she sees it. I’ll come back for it later.”

  “Very good, sir.”

  He heard the merchant humming as he walked from the store. He left his horse there and strolled down the wide main street to the livery, where he expected to find Alec. But Tommy was there alone.

  “He should be back t’morrow,” the blacksmith offered. “He went with Dan’l up t’ the hills for some elk. Got a hankerin’ for it m’self. Anythin’ I can tell ’im for you?”

  “You saw the shamrock he made for Jesse last year?”

  “Sure. You lookin’ for somethin’ like it?”

  “For Molly. But I thought more of a brooch than a necklace, and maybe a little larger. Think he can fit it in?”

  “I’ll ask ’im. I don't like to speak for ’im, but he told me yestidday he was almost caught up. Course I don’t know what might’ve happened since then.”

  “Be grateful if you’d mention it. Tell him to send word if he’s too busy. I’ll have to think of something else in that case.”

  “Sure. Got a price in mind?”

  “Lad’s never cheated me yet.”

  Tommy laughed. “More’n you can say for some folk roun’ here. By the way, you been down t’ the Chinaman’s shop?”

  “Just came back. You’ve been there?”

  “Sure. Do all my buyin’ there now.”

  John Patrick tapped his pipe out over the forge, then refilled and lit it. “Any special reason?”

  “Calls me ‘sir’,” the smith answered, nudging his friend with an elbow. “Nice t’ do business with someone who likes you, y’know?”

  “Aye. Just did some shopping there myself. Took Molly’s Christmas list. Ever heard of a thing called a camisole?”

  “Can’t say I have. What is it?”

  “Come ’round on Christmas and ask Irene to show it to you.” Her father knew he was making mischief, for Tommy would bring his son a
s he always did on Christmas. It would be interesting to see Irene’s reaction to the smith’s request.

  “Where’s Christmas this year? Out in the canyon?”

  “Can’t leave our little girl out of the fun.”

  “She’d never let you hear the end of it!”

  They laughed for a minute at the thought of Jesse being left out of anything, then John Patrick took himself to Owen’s shop. He’d ordered a new holster and belt for Adam, leather gloves for the younger twins, and boots for Jake—two sizes bigger than his last ones. He contrived to bring the conversation around to the new shop and was satisfied to hear Owen was placing all his new business with Wang Shen. The invitation to Rocking Chair Ranch was offered, but the bootmaker had decided to spend a quiet day with Carolyn after seeing his children in the morning.

  John Patrick returned to the shop for Molly’s gift and his mare. As he rode out of town, he decided to pay a call on Jesse, just to see how she was doing.

  He found Annie and Rebecca with her. A short time later, Adam and Brian came in with a fir tree. Rebecca popped some corn and, with the berries she’d dried in the summer, the three women sat with needles and thread and hot cider, making garlands.

  He sat and smoked by the hearth, listening to their conversation while Adam dipped pine cones in the green paint left over from the window boxes. John Patrick took a fine brush and tipped them in white, and passed them to Rebecca and Annie, who tied lengths of red yarn to them and hung them from the tree and the mantle.

  He sent Adam out for evergreen branches and wove a wreath for the front door. Rebecca added a grand bow she fashioned from a length of red gingham. Brian produced sheets of colored paper he’d squirreled away in childhood and cut chains of dolls, birds and stars, while Jesse crocheted some two dozen small white snowflakes to add the finishing touch to the tree.

  As he left, John Patrick called Adam outside and filled him in on the details of the family’s Christmas plans. As he rode home, the old man was happy. Their little girl was well. Her baby would be healthy, and he would see that justice was done.

  Chapter 54

  The first snow fell on Christmas Eve, cloaking the earth in thick white velvet—enough to bring a peaceful hush to the canyon but not enough to make traveling treacherous. It clung to the bare branches of the cottonwoods and sycamore, gave the conifers cat-whiskered limbs. The sun shone pale upon them, making subtle patterns that reflected in the windows of the cabin.