Unwashed men in filthy, stained shirts moved past her in an unwelcome abode of tattered and patched tents, abandoned wagons, carts, and other clutter deposited on the ground. The men leered at her without saying a word. She was grateful they didn’t. The hungry, unseemly look on their faces spoke volumes. The stench of rotten food and charred wood from old cookfires hung in the air. She swatted at a large fly that flew by her ear.
“This is the tent city, the place where miners and other hard-working men and women live.” Wyatt swept his hand across the scene before them. A thin, bedraggled woman came across his path, carrying a set of damp, dingy men’s long johns over her shoulder. He stopped her. “This here’s Berta, one of the laundresses. She can show you how to get started. Berta, say hello to Rosalie. She’s seeking work.”
“She doesn’t look very experienced.” Berta turned up a smirk at Rosalie. The laundress’s green eyes were cold and sharp in their assessment. “You think you have what it takes to ply your trade here, little miss?”
Rosalie was confused by her tone. “I thought I was applying to be a laundress.”
The woman gave a single harsh laugh. “The men here want more from you than a clean pair of pants, honey, if you know what I mean.” She tilted her head and clucked her teeth. “But I don’t think you do. You’re about as sweet-looking as strawberry pie.”
Wyatt gave the woman a small shove on her bottom. “That’s enough, Berta. Go on and get back to what you were doing. I’m sure there’s a man around here somewhere in search of his long johns” He rolled his eyes after she glared at him and sauntered away. “You’ll have to excuse her. She gets jealous of all the new girls. She thinks you’re competition, but as you can see, there are plenty of men to go around.”
Rosalie put it all together. The sum was revolting and made her sick to her stomach. She eyed Wyatt with indignation. “I can see why you brought me here, Mr. Lester. This is a den for prostitution. I’m seeking honest work. I’m leaving.”
He blocked her from stepping forward. “Think about it, Rosalie. You’d make more money here than you ever would in town. The miners wouldn’t think twice about paying for a smooth-skinned, clean-looking woman like you. And there aren’t many women here for them to be picky about things like your black skin.”
Rosalie tasted the bile rising in her throat. “I’m leaving right this minute.”
Wyatt shook his head in mock scolding. “Your husband must have never schooled you about your place here, Rosalie. Out here in the west, you don’t tell a man what you’re going to do. You shut your mouth and do what he tells you.”
Wyatt was a disgusting and dangerous man. She should have trusted her first instinct to not leave the safety of Angel Vale. Now she was trapped where he and other men like him could easily have their way with her and she was powerless to do anything about it.
A stir rose from the front of the camp. A large figure sprinted towards them. Rosalie breathed easier when she saw the man was her husband.
“Wyatt, let her alone,” Isaac ordered. “Rosalie’s my wife, and she’s leaving here with me.”
Wyatt shifted to the side when the larger and taller Isaac came up to him. “Your wife was looking for work. I thought I’d help her since you don’t seem to be providing what she needs.”
“She doesn’t need your help.” Isaac took Rosalie by the hand. She eagerly went to his side. “She doesn’t require anything from you. Don’t ever come near my wife again.” His last sentence was low and threatening.
Wyatt’s sneer returned. “Funny how a little gold and a homestead changes a man, makes him think he’s holier-than-thou. It wasn’t too long ago when you pitched your little ramshackle tent right up alongside the rest of these. I also remember you didn’t mind having your laundry serviced.”
Those close enough to hear the exchange roared with laughter. Rosalie was horrified at their cruel humor. She was even more stricken by the revelation of Isaac being a former resident of the vile tent city. She felt her husband’s hand tense around hers.
“It’s not about being holier than thou,” he said to Wyatt. “It’s about choosing to obey the law and give my life to Christ. He’s worth more than all the gold in the world.”
“It’s easy for you to say that after you found your earthly gold. Why don’t you let your wife have some so she won’t have to go panning for her share?”
Rosalie heard a low growl in Isaac’s throat. “If you ever come near Rosalie again, you’ll have to answer to me. The law is on my side, and you better hope the sheriff finds you before I do.”
Wyatt didn’t open his mouth again. Rosalie turned away from him and followed her husband, hand in hand. The other men stood down, averting their eyes and returning to their activities. No one attempted to stop them on their way out of the tent city.
“Why didn’t you tell me you needed money, Rosalie?” Isaac asked when they were almost to Angel Vale. “You know I would’ve given it to you.” He moved his head to look directly at her.
She felt a stab of pain. “I didn’t want to ask you for money because I didn’t think our marriage would last past Christmas. It didn’t feel right.” She bit her lip. Though the subject was painful, she had to continue talking. “I was going to find work in Angel Vale so I could repay you for my keep. It’s only fitting. I couldn’t do much else for you on the homestead.”
“Rosalie, as much as it hurts to hear you say you intend to leave, I wouldn’t have forced forced you to stay. Even if you don’t want to be my wife, you’re your own woman and a child of God. I never thought of you as a maid to cook and clean up after me. It takes husband and wife to make a homestead a home.”
They arrived on Main Street again. The boardwalk in front of the buildings had returned to being bare and quiet as the residents completed their rounds earlier in the day. Isaac headed to the livery instead of the restaurant. It was fine by Rosalie. She had lost her appetite on account of her experience in the tent city and the tough truth she had to swallow concerning the fragility of her marriage. Why was she such a failure?
Isaac retrieved the wagon from the livery. She got in it with him and they drove home. After a time of no words being exchanged, her husband opened his mouth to speak. “I was eventually going to tell you about my stay in the miners’ camp,” he remarked, much quieter than he had been before, “but I couldn’t think of the right moment. You saw how they live in sin. I did, too, once.” He lowered his head. “It was before God got into my heart. I’m not proud of those old days.”
Rosalie absorbed the impact of his confession. He was such a strong man in body, will, and heart. It couldn’t have been easy for him to admit to past weaknesses and sin. He told her about them, anyway, not knowing how she would react. A lesser man could have taken the easy route by not saying a word. She felt admiration for her husband. Surprisingly, emotions of compassion and love swept through her, stronger than the discomfort she felt when he revealed his past. “Isaac, I’ve been listening to Jake’s sermons. One Sunday he preached about forgiveness, how God doesn’t hold our old sins against us after we repent of them. If God wouldn’t do it to you, how could I?”
He fixed his eyes on her, full of intensity. “I took a coward’s route by not telling you sooner. A wife has a right to know the things about her husband, good and bad.”
“You wanted to show me your best. That’s not being cowardly. We all want people to think highly of us, especially when we first meet them.” Rosalie put a hand to her waist at the sign of a nervous fluttering. They would reach the homestead soon. She could see the house and fields on the horizon. “I think that’s also why I was too shy at first to speak my mind. I didn’t know to tell you how scared I was to get married, to live in a new town and be around people who are nothing like what I used to know back east.”
He placed his hand atop hers. “Did you think I would get angry if you told me how you really felt?”
“Yes,” she forced herself to admit. “Why wouldn’t you? You paid
for the mail order bride service, the wedding fee, and opened your home for me to stay.”
“Remember what I said. You don’t owe me anything.”
Rosalie dabbed her eyes. “I never wanted to hurt you, Isaac.” But she had already done it. Several times. It was pointless to make the statement.
Isaac sighed. “This is a life I wanted to share with you. I fell in love when I first saw you, but my love has grown since. I’ve asked God to help me show you.”
She wiped her eyes again as the tears fell. “I don’t deserve your love. I don’t have what it takes to survive out here. Isaac, please don’t say—”
He stopped the wagon. “I will say it. I may never get the chance again. You stayed with me, though you were scared and unsure of yourself. You made our house feel like a home when you didn’t know how long you’d live in it. You showed hospitality to my friend and his family when they were strangers to you. Don’t you see how strong you are, Rosalie?
She had never thought about it that way before. “I was doing what I thought a wife should.”
“And you did it well. You even dared to go out to the chicken coop to face Essie and Maybelle by yourself.”
She laughed. “If I had known about your mad hens, I would’ve thought twice.”
“The fact remains, you’re willing to do things you’ve never done before. That’s what you need to survive here.” Isaac turned serious again. “Still, if you feel you must leave me, after Christmas I’ll see you have everything you need to make a new start. I love you, but I know I can’t make you love me.”
Without another word, he started the wagon again for home.
***
December 22, three days until Christmas
I’m so confused, Lord. Is leaving Isaac the best choice? Rosalie bent forward from the heavy weight forming in the middle of her chest. She’d spent many hours thinking of what Isaac told her. The more she prayed for clarity, the more new feelings surfaced. She felt like she was getting nowhere. It had been that way since she and Isaac came home from town three days ago.
It was three days until Christmas. She could see her husband was getting overwrought as the deadline grew closer for a decision to be made about their marriage. While he gave her a respectful distance in order for her to think, his tension manifested in more hours working outside and less hours resting in the evenings.
He often came home after dark, eating the lukewarm leftovers from supper she set out for him. Then, instead of warming himself by the fire in the sitting room, he’d get up from the dining table and go to work on another chore he could find in the house. Last night it was repairing a loose floorboard in the kitchen. She wondered what he’d find for tonight’s task. He already cut down a tree this morning and brought it into the sitting room to decorate for Christmas.
Rosalie set supper on the table. She decided to try her hand at roasting salt pork again. This time, happily, she managed not to set the kitchen on fire. She and the stove were on better terms these days.
She chuckled to herself while she poured two cups of water for herself and her husband. Then realization dawned on her. When she first began using the kitchen, it took a while to learn which cabinets the utensils were located, what food was stored in the pantry, and how to properly light the stove. Now it was second nature. Maybe life worked the same way. If she could be patient with a stove, she could be patient with herself as she adjusted to life with her husband. Patience was all it took. Wasn’t that what Pauline told her in the very beginning?
A cold draft blew into the house when Isaac opened the door and came inside. Anticipation seized Rosalie and made her body’s reaction to the sudden draft all the more intolerable. “Hello,” she greeted him.
He removed his hat and dusted it of a fine layer of snowflakes. “It looks like a winter storm is coming overnight. I’ll need to go out there again after I eat to secure the barn and gather more firewood.”
Rosalie heard him about the storm, but she had something to say to Isaac and could barely wait to tell him. “Please have a seat at the table.”
He gave her a surprised look, though he also smiled. “Let me get my coat off first.”
She curbed her show of eagerness, tapping her feet under the table instead. After Isaac removed his outer garments, he came over and gave her a kiss on the cheek. He pulled out her chair for her to sit. “Are you anxious for me to try a new recipe?”
“Well, I didn’t burn the salt pork again, if that’s what you mean. But no, it’s actually something else I want to tell you. I’ll be nice enough to let you eat first. You look famished.”
“I am. I promise to eat fast so I can hear your news.” He took a seat in his chair and folded his hands to say grace. “Thank you, Lord, for our food. Bless the hands that prepared it. May we honor you and your Son’s birth as we get ready to celebrate Christmas. Amen.”
“Amen,” Rosalie seconded him. She passed him a bowl of mashed potatoes, seasoned with plenty of butter and herbs. She waited for him to fill his plate with potatoes, meat, and roasted carrots before helping herself to a small portion.
“Aren’t you hungry?” He asked between bites of mashed potatoes. He had already cleared through a third of the food on his plate.
“Not much, but don’t worry. I’m not feeling ill, just excited.”
“Alright.” He wiped his mouth with a napkin. “You look like you’re about to bounce your chair to the ceiling. What’s put my wife in such good cheer this evening?”
Rosalie pushed aside the plate of food she picked over like a bird. “I’ve been thinking about what you said to me and asking God to give me guidance. He’s been showing me that if I allow Him to lead, He’ll make me able to walk the path He has for me.”
“I’m happy you’re finding encouragement,” he said, supportively. She could tell he didn’t quite understand what she was alluding to.
“I’m not afraid of the hardships of homesteading anymore. I won’t let them sway how I feel about you.” She learned across the table, not caring a whit about the proper placement of her elbows. “Isaac, I’m saying I want to stay here with you.”
He rested his hands on the table and stared at her. “You mean, you want to remain my wife?”
“Exactly.”
He rose from his chair so suddenly it tilted back and veered on the point of falling. He ignored it and rushed to her side. “Rosalie, you’ve made me the happiest man in Angel Vale. No, Wyoming. No, I’d say, the whole world.”
She laughed and went into his arms for an embrace. The kiss they shared was warm and tender, brimming with new love and the desire for more intimacy. Rosalie wrapped her arms around his neck and moved her body closer. She sensed Isaac halting. “What is it?”
“As much as I don’t want to do anything to make this moment end, I have to go outside and make sure the animals are secured in the barn. This storm could keep us indoors for a few days.”
“That might not be such a harrowing ordeal. Unless,” she remarked playfully, “you’d rather not be cooped up with your wife.”
He traced the outline of her face. “When I get back, I’ll show you how I feel about waiting out a storm with you.”
“In that case, hurry. I’ll be waiting for you.”
Isaac put on his coat and hat again before going outside. A flurry of snow blew into the house before he shut the door. It looked like the storm was starting already.
Rosalie was never so happy about a snowstorm. She cleared the dishes from the table, washed them, and went to the bedroom to prepare herself for a night with her husband.
Chapter 7
Rosalie woke up in bed to find the candle on the nightstand had burned down to the last two inches of wax. The room was dark. It was night, but the bed was empty on her husband’s side. Where was Isaac?
She turned the covers down and rose in a single action. She must have fallen asleep while waiting for him to return from securing the barn and gathering firewood. That was hours ago. Surely he must h
ave returned.
She took the nub of a candle and left the bedroom. The hallway was pitch-black. Her candle provided just enough light to navigate. “Isaac?” she called. No answer came. Could he have come home later than expected and fallen asleep in the sitting room?
Rosalie turned a corner. Light from the fireplace flickered in the sitting room. The tightness in her chest began to ease. Her first guess was correct. Isaac was either in there sleeping or building the fire to keep the house warm.
She went into the sitting room and found it empty save for the burning kindling in the fireplace and a new stack of wood drying out next to it. Isaac was nowhere to be seen. She called her husband’s name again louder. Still no answer.
Something was very wrong. Isaac brought in firewood earlier and went back outside, but didn’t return. Panicking, Rosalie dashed to the bedroom. Her fast movements made the candle flicker and threaten to go out.
She changed out of her nightgown into a pair of Isaac’s pants and wool shirt. She tucked the long hem of the pant legs into her boots. She wrapped a thick scarf around her neck before going to the front of the house. There, she threw on her coat and used the candle to light an oil lamp she could carry with her outside.
She tugged the door open. A large gust of wind flew past her into the house, blowing the tablecloth halfway off the dining table and rattling the dishes stacked near the kitchen sink. She slid the handle of the oil lamp over her wrist in order to use both hands to pull the door closed.
The world outside was awash in violent, drifting snow. It blanketed the ground while a mixture of snow and ice pelted her face from overhead. She lowered her head and pulled the scarf high over her mouth and nose. Her ears remained uncovered. The wind knifed past them, trying to slice them off.
She turned to look at the landscape in front of the house. The snow had already fallen to cover the earth in half a foot of accumulation. Where could Isaac be in this fierce storm?
Rosalie squinted as the light from the lamp and the stark whiteness of the snow affected her vision. She lowered the lamp to her side. The flame danced behind the glass and made leaping shadows across the snow. It was then Rosalie found a set of men’s footprints near the porch. She bent to look at them before raising the lamp to see where they led. They made a meandering path to the chicken coop and the barn.
Christmas Mail Order Angels: The complete 11 Volume Set Page 27
