“And if she meets someone else?” Analisa could not hide her worry.
“That’s a chance I’ll just have to take. After what I’ve put her through, I’ll be lucky if she’ll have me. I want your word that you won’t tell her that I’m staying. If I haven’t made any progress in two to three weeks, I’ll meet you in Boston.” If there was no sign of progress, no hope of him ever walking again, Kase knew he would not care where he lived. “Quentin has agreed to stall Rose on the sale of the restaurant. That will give me a little more time before she leaves. Zach has agreed to take over as acting marshal.”
“It sounds as if you’ve already thought this all through,” Caleb said.
“I have. I woke up in the middle of the night with one hell of a hangover and nothing to do but think.”
“We will stay to help—” Analisa began.
“Anja—” Caleb warned.
Kase interrupted them both. “This is something I have to do alone. You need to get home to Ruth and Annika. There’s no telling what the two of them have gotten into.” They all laughed, reminded of Caleb’s stepmother, the self-proclaimed astrologer and the young beauty at home alone together in Boston.
“We’ll go into town and get our tickets tomorrow,” Caleb decided.
Kase looked at his mother and could almost see her mind at work. “Mother, promise me you won’t say anything to Rose when you go into Busted Heel.”
“Kase—”
“Promise me.”
“Ik beloof je. I promise.”
Kase concentrated on the cup and saucer in his hand. “Good. I’ll wire you in two to three weeks. Ik beloof ja.” He smiled.
Silver dollar-sized flakes of snow drifted lazily to the ground on a windless morning two days after Christmas. Unable to stand the silence in the empty restaurant, Rosa tied on her scarf and donned her coat, trudged through the snow to the Davis shack, and asked permission to take G.W. and Martha home with her. Zetta readily complied, thankful for some reprieve from the two small children now that a new baby had joined them in such close quarters.
It did not take the children long to tire of playing underfoot, so Rosa decided to let them help her make some bicciolani di vercelli, the sweet spiced cookies Zia Rina always made at Christmastime. She pulled two chairs up to the worktable in the kitchen and had the children stand on them. They laughed and chattered as Rosa opened tins and pulled ingredients off the shelves. She let them sift the flour, and within moments she realized the idea had been a mistake. By the time they were finished, there was more flour on G.W. and Martha than in the bowl. As she scooped more flour out of the tin, Rosa shook her head and finally laughed for the first time in two days. There was no possible way she could scold the children for having such innocent fun. They were dusted with the powdery flour, their dark eyes and hair stood out in stark relief.
“Here,” she said, breaking two eggs into the flour and sugar mixture in the bowl, “see if you can stir without making the mix fall out from the bowl.”
She dampened a dish towel as they worked and was busy wiping flour off Martha’s cheeks when Flossie opened the back door. Floss was bundled against the falling snow, a dark wool cape pulled tight across her overabundant bosom. The cold had heightened the color of her heavily rouged cheeks until they shone like polished red apples.
“Howdy, Rosie gal. I came to see how you’re doin’, but it looks like you have your hands full.” Flossie eyed the children as if she was not quite sure whether she should stay and witness the destruction of the kitchen.
“Benvenuto, Signora Flossie. Come. I will pour you coffee. We will talk.”
Floss removed her cape and gloves and shook the snow from her hair. They sat at one end of the worktable so that Rosa could watch the children and occasionally add another ingredient to the cookie mixture.
“You plan on servin’ those when they’re finished?” Flossie asked skeptically.
Aware that G.W. was listening to her every word, Rosa assured her friend, “Of course, signora. These will be the best bicciolani ever.”
G.W. smiled with satisfaction as his sister sneaked a lump of dough into her mouth.
Flossie’s face mirrored the seriousness of her next question. “Are you of a different mind today, Rosa, or are you still set on leaving Busted Heel?”
Rosa tried not to show her sadness as she thought of leaving her dear friend behind. “Yes, signora. I must.” There was no way she could remain and not be reminded of Kase everywhere she went.
“I sure wish you’d reconsider. If it’s money you need, I’ll give you whatever you want.”
Rosa shook her head and blinked back tears. “No, signora, it is not money I need. In San Francisco there are many Italians. I will live among my own people. It will be easier.”
“When you goin’ away, Miz Rosa?” G.W.’s eyes were wide with disbelief.
“Not for many days,” Rosa said. She had agreed to stay until the end of January. Quentin had asked her to wait until he sold a lot in Cheyenne. Until then, he had said, his funds were tied up.
Over cups of steaming coffee the two women spoke of the weather, of Paddie O’Hallohan’s cough, of the latest news in the Cheyenne Leader. Flossie did not ask after Kase, and Rosa refused to bring up his name. The past was best forgotten.
A knock on the door of the restaurant summoned Rosa to the other room. She recognized Analisa and Caleb Storm at once and unlocked the door, ushering them inside. She was reminded once more what a striking couple they made, he tall and dark, a contrast to the glowing golden blond woman who looked like a queen, cloaked as she was in a rich sable coat.
Rosa immediately feared for Kase, then reminded herself that she no longer cared. But she could hide neither her concern nor the hope that he might have come to his senses. “Welcome, Signora, Signor Storm. Kase is well?”
They exchanged a glance that Rosa could not read, and then Analisa assured her, “He is as he always is—stubborn. But he is fine.”
“I see.” Rosa smiled, trying to assure them that she was over him. “Come in, then. I am happy to see you.”
“We have been meaning to come in before this, but it’s hard to get away from the ranch. Quentin is too kind a host.” Caleb took off his hat and gloves and looked around the room. “You have a nice place here, Rosa.”
“Grazie, signore.”
“It is so warm,” Analisa added. “I am cold from the ride to town.”
“You must stay and have coffee,” Rosa said as she led them toward the kitchen. “You must meet my friend.”
As soon as the words were out she prayed that Analisa and Caleb would not shun Flossie Gibbs when they were introduced to her. If it came to that, she would have to send them away, for Flossie had proven her friendship on more than one occasion and Rosa refused to see the woman hurt. She soon discovered she had worried unnecessarily, for when Analisa and Caleb entered the small back room they had only smiles and kind greetings for both Flossie and the children.
“What’s this?” Caleb asked. “Cookie-baking day?” Making himself at home, he shrugged out of his coat and casually tossed it on the cot in the corner. “Hello”—he stood beside Martha and bent to inspect the dough balls she was forming— “I’m Caleb. Who are you?”
“Martha Washington Davis,” the little girl lisped.
Caleb arched a brow as he addressed G.W. “And I suppose this is George Washington Davis?”
G.W. beamed, obviously delighted that the big man knew him. “Yes, suh. I am.”
Rosa introduced Flossie, who stood up and prepared to leave.
At the mention of the other woman’s name, Analisa Storm reached out and took Flossie Gibbs’s hand and smiled. “I am so happy to meet you at last, Miss Gibbs. Kase speaks of you often and with much affection.”
The madam beamed and Rosa wanted to hug Analisa forher sincere gesture of kindness, but at the mention of Kase’s name, Floss’s eyes filled with unshed tears. “If I’d ever had a son, I’d want one just like him,
” she said as she wiped away a stray tear. “We all miss him like the dickens. Still got his things up there in his room.”
Caleb and Analisa exchanged a look of puzzlement and then Caleb laughed. “His room? We just assumed he had a place in the jailhouse.”
Flossie turned beet red and shrugged before she sat back down. “Guess he didn’t tell ya everything. He was rentin’ a room from me over to the hospitality parlor.” She suddenly flushed and cleared her throat before she took a sip of coffee.
Rosa wondered what was suddenly so amusing. Caleb Storm seemed unable to stop chuckling.
“Hospitality parlor.” Analisa mused over the title. “It is a nice name for a rooming house, is it not, Caleb?”
Caleb winked at Flossie. It was Rosa’s turn to flush. It seemed that Kase had told Caleb more about Flossie Gibbs than he had told his mother.
Caleb carried in two more chairs while Rosa served up two more cups of coffee and added more flour to the now useless cookie dough. The children were still interested and busy, rolling, patting and shaping the dough, and so Rosa let them play while the adults talked. Soon Flossie announced it was time for her to return home. Caleb offered to walk her back, but she insisted he stay where it was warm.
Once Floss had departed, Caleb said softly, “We came to tell you good-bye, Rosa.” He took his wife’s hand in his own and pressed it reassuringly. “We just came in today to see about tickets and to arrange for the trip to Boston.”
And so the time had come. Rosa was grateful to them for warning her. She would not be anywhere near the front window tomorrow; she could not risk seeing them heading toward the station with Kase.
“We welcome you to stay with us in Boston if you ever wish to visit,” Analisa added. “Our Annika would be happy to show you the city.”
Caleb pulled a folded square of paper from his pocket. “Here’s our address.”
“Grazie. Molti grazie.” It was all she could manage with her heart in her throat.
Caleb stood and collected their coats. He held Analisa’s fur as she slipped it on. The deep sable created a startling contrast against her golden hair. Rosa watched them as they prepared to leave. There was nothing more she could do or say. She warned the children to stand still and not to make a mess while she walked her guests to the door.
“Safe journey,” she bade the Storms. “I wish you well.”
They walked through the dining room in silence. Analisa stayed behind with Rosa while Caleb stepped outside to untie the horses and brush the snow off the seat of the sleigh. The moment Rosa had dreaded was at hand.
Analisa reached out and took Rosa’s hand in hers. For a moment she seemed to wrestle with her thoughts before she spoke softly, her accent heavily laced with Dutch. “Many times, Rosa, when things seem to be the worst, life brings to you a special gift. Never forget this in the days to come.”
Rosa thought of all Analisa Storm had been through in the early years of her life. She remembered the story Kase had told her about his mother’s rape, her family’s murder, his own birth. Indeed, when Analisa’s life must have seemed not worth living, she was given the gift of a son. Rosa tried to smile. If Analisa had survived so much tragedy, surely she could survive a broken heart.
“Sì, signora. I will remember.” Rosa hugged Analisa and then stepped away. “Ciao.”
Analisa nodded. Her blue eyes glistened with unshed tears as she stepped outside. Rosa stood in the doorway and watched until the sleigh disappeared down Main Street.
Chapter
Twenty-One
The days passed slowly—frigid days with few hours of sunlight and many long, empty hours of darkness. Rosa kept the restaurant open, but heavy snow and fierce winds prevented most of the inhabitants of outlying ranches from coming into town. Paddie had a fierce cold for weeks. Afraid that he might develop pneumonia, Floss and Rosa combined forces to make certain he stayed in bed. Rosa hung a wreath of garlic about his neck and poured gallons of chicken soup down the little man while Flossie kept his bar open and liquor flowing for the few men who ventured into town every night. The two women talked of cutting a door through the wall of the Ruffled Garter into Rosa’s, certain that it would be more convenient than having customers of both places face the cold walk back and forth. Flossie thought the idea a good one for Paddie, but not so good for Rosa. She worried that the proper ladies who ate in the café would not relish being in a room that opened into a saloon. Rosa finally agreed. She would leave the decision up to the new owner.
Two weeks earlier Zach Elliot had disappeared, so Slick Knox took over as acting marshal. Zach finally came to town once to let Rosa know he was working for Quentin and that she could send for him if she needed anything. She did not mention Kase, nor did he. She had hoped Kase’s friend would return to tell her good-bye before she left for California, but now that her last full day in town had arrived, it was not likely that he would reappear.
Dawn imbued the frosted land with sparkling colors. Rosa drank in the scene from the wide front window of the café and considered it a parting gift from nature. When the sun was well up, she had a cup of coffee and then began packing a basket with baked goods she had made the day before. There was something for everyone—nut bread for the Davises, bicciollani for the Yees. Slick Knox favored her wheat bread and so she had made him two large loaves. There were two more for the Wilkies. Paddie would have a huge pan of rice pudding; for John Tuttle and the girls at Flossie’s—more bicciollani.
She had decided to present Flossie with one of the crocheted doilies her zia had made, along with a bottle of the fine cabernet she had ordered from New York. Colorful grosgrain ribbons adorned each lovingly tied package.
Delivering the parting gifts proved harder than she had imagined. At each stop her friends alternately begged her not to leave and then—once they were convinced she would not change her mind—wished her a good journey. By the time she completed her rounds, Rosa had repeated her plans so often that she was tired of hearing the details: Quentin would come by in the morning to escort her as far as Cheyenne; yes, she would take the train directly to San Francisco; no, she had no one to meet her there, but she would locate the Italian quarter and find a place to stay; yes, she would write to them all. It was as hard leaving the people she had grown so close to as it had been to leave her family.
An early dinner with Flossie and the girls in the hospitality parlor kitchen was a subdued affair. Even Mira, who had never been as cordial to Rosa as the others, seemed genuinely sad to see her leave Busted Heel.
“Now we’ll have to resort to eating Bertha Matheson’s cookin’ again,” Flossie admitted through tears. “An’ besides tastin’ terrible, it’s a pain in the neck to buy. I have to send Slick or Paddie by for my order. The hypocrite’ll take my money, but she don’t want me to be seen orderin’ from her.”
Rosa tried to smile as she reached out to pat Flossie’s hand. “It will be only until I send someone to cook. Soon the restaurant will be open again.”
A tear streaked Floss’s powdered cheek. “Aw, Rosie gal, it’ll be different without you here.”
When the meal ended and Rosa announced it was time for her to leave, they all lined up in the front parlor to bid her farewell. Chicago Sue, her round china-doll eyes brimming with tears, hugged Rosa and sobbed until Flossie announced that the girl was ruining both her eyes and the front of her red satin gown. Ever cool, Mira didn’t shed a tear, but she took Rosa’s hand and wished her well. Satin, her plump cheeks ruddy with embarrassment, presented Rosa with a fine lace-edged handkerchief that had been doused with perfume. Felicity, with the bouncing black hair Rosa so admired, gave her a swift, tight hug and warned her against taking up with strangers on the train.
Finally it was time to bid Flossie farewell. The buxom redhead wiped her eyes on her own kerchief time and again as she stood with an arm about Rosa. “If that cussed mule Zach were here, he’d say I was spoutin’ like a watering can.” Flossie laughed through her tears.
&nb
sp; “And so you are, my friend. Maybe you will come to San Francisco to visit me?” Rosa’s expression was hopeful.
“You better believe it. I always wanted to see the place. Why”—Floss began to brighten—“I sometimes think I’d like to spend my old age in a warmer climate. Why not?” She shrugged, smiling once more. “Plan on it, Rosie gal. I’ll be there before you know it.”
“I will write to you as soon as I am there.”
“You better,” Flossie admonished. “And I’ll let you know how everybody around these parts is gettin’ along.”
The time had come to end the farewells. Rosa gave them all a last look, a smile, and then kissed Flossie Gibbs on her rouged and powdered cheek.
“Ciao, signora.” When Rosa stepped out of the door, she was hit by a cold blast of wind. Quickly she wiped the tears from her cheeks before they had a chance to freeze.
The black velvet dress had been relegated to the very bottom of her trunk. Too practical to toss it out entirely, Rosa decided to take it with her, although the sight of the dress she had worn on Christmas Eve still conjured up far too much pain. Also packed safely away were her candlesticks and handmade cloths and runners—and one brittle, dried red rose from the bouquet Kase had given her. Determined to carry no reminders of him, she had nearly thrown it away, but then changed her mind. It was only a small token of what they had shared in happier times, so she decided to keep it a while longer.
The dishes and cooking utensils she would definitely leave behind; she considered them part of the place now. For a moment she wondered what kind of position she would find for herself in San Francisco. Maybe she would teach English, she thought, or perhaps find a job in a big hotel like the Inner Ocean in Cheyenne. Surely San Francisco had far bigger, grander places where she might find work.
When everything was safely packed away in her trunk, Rosa glanced around the kitchen to be certain she had not forgotten anything. Except for the pots, pans, and food tins on the shelves, the walls looked as bare and forlorn as they had on the day she moved in. The photographs of her mother and father no longer hung on the wall above her cot, nor did any of her clothing. There was a fire in the stove, but nothing simmering on top, no warm loaves of bread in readiness for tomorrow, no hint of cinnamon or other spices on the air. Her sauce pots were all clean and empty, hanging on the wall near the worktable.
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