The Ways of Heaven

by Lindsey Barlow

  Take my baby girl away from the South, Rose. Nell had pleaded. Keep her safe, and love her as your own. My parents will never deign to look at her, and she is far too precious to not be fiercely loved.

  Rose blinked rapidly, her mind whipping back from the host of memories she held. “Is there no chlorine in the water system here?” she asked softly. She knew the answer; only modern neighborhoods had chlorine to burn away deathly sickness.

  The man shook his head. “Not in parts like these,” he sighed. “Look here, Miss, a woman like you shouldn’t be walking around door to door. Allow me to go and fetch Martha for you.”

  Rose nodded her gratitude and waited agitatedly for him to return. A baby, she would have a baby to care for. The thought filled her with wonder and dread. Had that not been her life the past few years? Emotions at war with one another? Feeling both intense love and hate for a man. “Miss Rose Castle?” A small dark woman dressed in a pale yellow dress and carrying a bundle came hobbling down a set of cracked stairs. Rose hurried forward, eager to see Nell’s daughter.

  “Martha Smith,” Rose greeted her with a smile as she waited at the bottom of the stairs. The woman smiled, gingerly patting the bundle.

  “You look like her, you know, Miss Nell. She had them blue eyes too with corn-silken hair.” Martha slowly made her way down the rest of the stairs. “I just fed her some canned milk and burped her real nice so she’d not fuss for you. Took her about two weeks to get used to canned milk. She’s a bit on the thin side because of it.”

  Rose swallowed what seemed like a giant rock in her throat at the mention of her cousin.

  Martha turned the bundle outward, and Rose couldn’t help the gasp of joy that escaped her lips. A baby of five months blinked at her. She was the color of Christmas caramel with eyes of light turquoise and warm brown hair that fell in ringlets around her cherubic face that dimpled at the cheeks.

  “Daisy.” Rose breathed. A weight seemed to fall from her as she reached for the little girl. “Daisy, Daisy, Daisy,” she repeated, kissing the warm skin and snuggling her nose into the folds of the baby’s neck.

  Martha dabbed her eyes. “My Thomas kissed her that way, too.”

  Rose looked up at the woman with a sad smile. “I wish I could have known your nephew. He must have been a wonderful man.”

  Martha chuckled. “He was the kindest minister there was, almost as kind as Miss Nell herself. She weren’t scared of what might happen, marrying him. Her pretty curls and big eyes hid a strength not seen often. Only for Daisy did she worry. She worried her baby being half white and half colored that—” Martha bit her bottom lip. “Well, you know.”

  Rose closed her eyes for a breath to hold back the wave of tears threatening to break.

  “Was she sick long?” Rose asked.

  “Three days. The typhoid hit this area hard. When my nephew Thomas crossed that river into Heaven, it was then that Miss Nell wrote you the letter entrusting little Daisy into your care. She was calm after she wrote it, and then said she’d be meeting with Thomas. Next morning, she,” Martha cast her eyes down, “she was gone.”

  Rose looked down at Daisy, focusing on the precious life that had been entrusted to her. “At least they had love.” Martha’s additional words shook Rose out of her thoughts. “The real kind. You know, the love where they ain’t thinking of themselves but of each other? That’s God’s love. You know what I mean?”

  “Yes, that is God’s love,” Rose agreed. Her suffering had cemented her knowledge of God’s love when her own husband’s love waned. Daisy’s soft hand suddenly reached up and grazed Rose’s chin. “And perhaps,” Rose took hold of the little hand and kissed each fingertip, “I will know it again now.”

  Four

  Rose knew exactly how Daisy felt as the little body stretched out with an angry cry. The baby wasn’t hungry, but like Rose, she was tired of the travel and the fuss it had taken to reach Denver. Rose had almost gone straight to Tall Pine, but if she and Daisy didn’t have a warm bath and a feather bed soon, they might both melt into a puddle of tears.

  “I know, I know,” Rose picked up the baby, nestling her against the silk robe. “The bath is almost ready.” She was suddenly very grateful for the advanced plumbing of the hotel. Usually a maid would be called to help, but Rose had faced enough scrutiny with being a single woman on a train with a little dark girl.

  Rose’s soft touch and the warm water was just what Daisy needed. Instantly she calmed, and afterwards she greedily sucked on a bottle. Rose, however, was still feeling restless despite the fatigue of travel. Of course, being on a crowded train would do that. She had planned on ordering room service once Daisy was asleep, but the child’s eyes were wide and bright and defied the fact that it was her bedtime.

  “I don’t think it would be wise to dine publicly, Daisy.” Rose sighed and placed the baby on the bed. Lying beside her, she held a small toy in front of Daisy and then with a skillful flick of the wrist, she made it disappear and reappear. She used to love doing magic tricks as a young girl, and Daisy seemed to find them very amusing. “Did you see on the train what the newspapers say?” she could not help but laugh.

  No doubt the policeman who had escorted her to Cade’s cell had sold his story to the papers. Though instead of relaying the truth, it had been printed that Cade had kicked out Rose for being unfaithful to him. Rose now had a child—a colored child. Those who knew Rose would know that was not true. She had never been pregnant. Though the reporters justified her invisible pregnancy by writing that she had “disappeared for some time” to hide the pregnancy.

  “Scandal,” Rose breathed, fighting the ache in her chest. She knew what she was doing was right. She knew God had been with her during her years of heartache. Though even with that faith, she still fought off bitterness and self-pity: the two things that had prohibited her from growing and moving on in her life. A scripture came to her mind evoking a memory Pastor Will had quoted from Psalms, saying that those who the Lord loved he chastened.

  A wry smile tugged on Rose’s full lips. “If that is the case, Lord,” she sighed and sat up, “then please love me less.” She did not mean it. Maybe a few years back she had, but now she knew that handing God an agenda for one’s life was not real faith, nor was it real happiness.

  Daisy cooed and began kicking the bed sheets. Rose laughed and scooped her up. “You know something, Daisy, your new grandmother adores a good scandal, and it seems that everybody else does, too. Why don’t we do them a service and add to it, shall we? I could use some anger and righteous indignation to distract me.”

  As if agreeing with her, the dimples on Daisy’s round cheeks deepened with a grin. Rose swung her around and went to the small closet where she’d hung up her traveling dresses, as well as a blue one that she had brought just in case. Her mother always said, no matter where one went, one should always have one nice dress and one pair of nice gloves should occasion call for it. She was glad for that advice, as it seemed occasion had called for it tonight.

  The dress was a robin’s egg blue with lace trimming and a daring square neck. Rose wondered if it would still fit. She’d lost weight since she’d left Cade and had been forced to purchase a new corset to fit her new weight. This dress was one she’d bought for a ball that she and Cade were to attend. Rose’s throat burned at the memory. She had not wanted to start a fight. She’d wanted him to see her and be awed by the blue …

  /

  “You’re late!” Rose sat on the edge of the bed, refusing to cry as her husband walked in. He was handsome: tall and broad, with an athletic shape from his habitual baseball and the recreational boxing that he enjoyed.

  “Wonderful way to greet your husband, Rose.” he said sarcastically. No word on the blue dress, no compliment on how she looked. Just mordant words.

  “I’m sorry, it is just that we were supposed to leave two hours ago.”

  “You could have gone without me,” he said casually. “We have a carriage for a reason.”
/>
  Rose sighed and bit her lip. “Do you know how it would look if I arrived by myself?”

  Cade did not answer and instead took off his shirt and tossed it on the bed. Rose glanced at the crumpled lump of expensive cotton. A flash of color caught her eye and she reached for the fabric. The burning sensation in her stomach intensified as she rubbed the red cream at the collar.

  “Cade,” she stood up and marched towards him, “what is this?” She turned the collar to his face.

  He frowned and lowered her hand away. “I don’t know.” He turned his back, continuing his walk towards the bath. Rose followed.

  “It smells like perfume, too.”

  “I wasn’t at a whore house, if that is what you are asking, Rose,” he snapped.

  A viper suddenly sprang up in Rose’s soul. She threw down the shirt. “If I were to check your pockets would there be fresh new bills? Coins? Were you gambling again!?”

  Cade’s blank face told her the truth, and Rose rubbed her temples. “Cade … I know what goes on in places like that. I know there are women, drinks, opium and all sorts of things.”

  “Rose,” Cade’s voice was clipped. “It is none of your business where I was or what I do with my money. I support you, I give you a home—you should be grateful for that instead of always complaining. That is all you do: complain, complain, complain!”

  She glared and reached down for the shirt again. “So this lipstick just happens to be here for no reason? I am not an idiot, Cade. Gambling, drinking, it all leads to adultery. You can’t place yourself under a rockslide and expect for only one rock to hit you. They all go together. They—”

  “Stop preaching!” Cade roared. “You sound like a lunatic!”

  “Why is that whenever a woman expresses suspicion or concern she’s labeled a lunatic!?” Rose did not want to shout. She had wanted a magical evening, and she had wanted to look pretty, to have cake and make love to her husband afterwards. Instead, she stood with angry tears, holding a makeup-stained shirt and arguing. This was her marriage, this was her life, and no matter how much she showed her hurt or tried to get Cade to see what he was doing to her, nothing changed.

  “Rose,” Cade stormed over, “go to the cursed party if you want, but I’m staying. I do not need to stand here and listen to your ravings!”

  “But we promised our friends that we’d go. What will they think if we don’t show?”

  “I don’t care at this moment what our friends think!” His voice grew louder and his handsome face clenched in rage. “Who can blame me for gambling, for drinking when I have this—” he waved at her, “waiting for me at home.”

  Rose shook her head with disbelief. “So you are blaming your habits on me?”

  “You certainly don’t help them diminish.” With a shake of his head Cade walked into the luxurious bathroom and shut the door.

  The tears fell with abandon, staining the silk dress. Rose held her hand over her mouth not wishing for any of the servants to hear her sobs.

  “How could you do this to me?” Rose cried. She was not sure if she was talking to Cade, or to God. All she knew was that bitterness was growing within her every day. She had done the right thing hadn’t she? She had prayed about her choice to marry Cade. Pondered, fasted, prayed some more. When she walked down the aisle, she knew that this was the man she was supposed to marry. Why then had it turned into this? Her marriage was broken and Rose was unsure if she could fix it. She was becoming increasingly unsure every day if even God would fix it. How then had she ended up here? Why would God direct her on a path that only led to disappointment?

  Five

  The dining hall was exquisite, if not incredibly opulent. Daisy’s head whipped around like an excited puppy as she tried to take in all the sounds and movements going on. The tables were placed spaciously apart and set with crystal vases full of long stemmed roses. In the center was a large circular bar with several engraved mirrors on a gold-plated overhang. Soft classical music played from an ornate xylophone, and everyone appeared to be dressed elegantly.

  Rose walked in with Daisy, her insides twisting while she held her head high. She was breaking several unspoken laws of society: She was dining with a child—certainly not a white child—and she was a single woman wearing a daring dress. She might as well have been wearing a scarlet letter on her chest.

  The bee-like hum of dozens of conversations softened to a gentle murmur as all eyes focused on Rose. She had always been good at reading people, and in an instant she saw shock, disapproval, and superiority.

  Squaring her shoulders, she walked in and seated herself at a far table. She knew she looked good with her pearl-drop earrings to show off her swanlike neck. She may be squirming on the inside, but she would not allow anyone to know that. Besides, such an appearance would hit the Denver society pages and Cade would hear of it.

  Good! She didn’t care if he thought her base and improper. He needed to know she was not crying in a corner muttering his name through tears. She had always admired strong women: Joan of Arc, Catherine the Great, Queen Victoria. She liked the idea of a woman breaking rules and expectations. Now was her time to take part in that legacy, and she would begin by choosing not to pine for a man. Rose shifted Daisy, who rewarded her with one of those smiles that took up half of her face. “You know Daisy, it is a bit easier to be strong when you look at me like that.” She nuzzled noses with her baby and heard several gasps from a nearby table of elderly women drenched in pearls. Rose looked over at them and gave them a charming smile.

  After a good five minutes, Rose saw the owner of the Red Bear Hotel make his way to her table. He was a large, powerful looking man with a nose that was lifted in such self-superiority that Rose thought it made him look like he was sniffing sour milk.

  “Mrs. Walker, I presume?” He grinned and then shook his head apologetically, “Oh, I am sorry, it is Miss Castle now, is it not?”

  Rose arched an eyebrow. Technically the divorce was not final until she heard from the attorney, but she didn’t want to seem eager to keep her married name. “Yes, it is Miss Castle. You are Charles Lars, I presume?” She knew his name from her good friend Jonathan, a doctor who frequented Denver every few months for supplies. He had declared the Red Bear Hotel to have the best food in the state.

  He gave her a regal nod. “I heard we were honored with your presence, but I assumed you would be more comfortable dining in your chambers.”

  She tilted her head. “Well, do you know what is said about assuming?” When he frowned, Rose offered a sugary smile, “It is usually wrong.”

  Charles Lars’s face tightened, but professionalism held that stiff smile intact. “Generally, we discourage children from dining here.” He glanced disdainfully at Daisy, and Rose thought her fingernails would cut into her palms as she clenched her fists. “And we certainly discourage those …” he searched for a word, “those born in indecency, to be present among the other guests.”

  Rose held his gaze for a second. Part of her wanted to hustle herself and Daisy back into the private safety of their room. On the other hand, Daisy was hers, the fight for her acceptance was one that Rose would now forever take up. She might as well get used to it.

  “Are you familiar with Castle Dairy, Mr. Lars?”

  He nodded. “Yes it is located in Tall Pine … such a quaint valley, so lovely.”

  “I believe you receive all your milk supply from them, as do most fine restaurants in Denver.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Your parents have a thriving business, and cows that are said to be blessed. I would be a fool not to purchase from them.”

  Rose tightened her hold on Daisy. “Oh, Mr. Lars, I do not believe you to be a fool. That is why I am sure you can see the benefit of having the sole heiress of Castle Dairy feel comfortable? It would be such a pity for you to have to find another supplier because of...” she cocked her head, “indecency.” She enunciated the word slowly.

  The stiff smile cracked and his spine straightened.
“Of course, Miss Castle,” his voice was strained. He knew he’d lost the battle and Rose had the distinct impression that losing to a woman was not something he enjoyed. “I shall have a waiter be with you right away.”

  At his departure, Rose looked challengingly at her surrounding audience that watched and whispered behind lace fans and crystal glasses. Soon the chatter rose to its natural octave; only an occasional sideways look was tossed her way.

  Appetite had not been Rose’s friend of late, but tonight was an exception. Never had she tasted anything so divine. Dinner started with a creamy soup of potatoes, butter, carrots and chives with tender chunks of rainbow trout. Even Daisy was able to gurgle a few mouthfuls, which she enjoyed. The main course was pork stuffed with cheese and mushrooms and covered in a smooth gravy. After eating every bite, Rose thought if she had dessert she might burst. Besides, she was ready to retire and Daisy was still clearly wanting a bottle of milk.

  Rose looked around for her waiter and finally saw him dealing with a very difficult man who was complaining about the wine. After a good ten minutes Rose decided to find the kitchen herself and request for milk to be brought to her room.

  The kitchen was easy enough to find, one only had to follow the waiters down the hall. With Daisy in her arms, Rose lowered herself down a small number of stairs and entered the warm kitchen. A bustle of movement greeted her as the sound of sizzling meat, frying vegetables, and excited chatter collided with the clang of pots and pans. Over a large stovetop stood a small girl, perhaps a woman, though it was hard to tell because she wore her brown hair over half her face. Her delicate hands were working fiercely with a buttery dough that was then passed to two young men who were dropping it into large pots of bubbling oil.