To Walk In Sunshine

by Sally Laity

  A soothing peace began to flow through her as thoughts of Ken pushed aside all morbid fears. He loved her. He hoped to take her to meet his family soon—and if heaven smiled down on them one day, he dared to hope they could make the ultimate commitment.

  Recalling the words she’d read in Ephesians regarding God’s plan for husbands and wives, she imagined the joy it would be to have a kind husband who would treat her with respect and consideration. It would be a taste of heaven on earth.

  The infinitely precious vision wrapped around her like a warm shawl, and her mind filled to overflowing with love for her Welsh miner.

  A tangle of phrases began to take shape in her head, and she felt overcome by the need to put them on paper. Somehow she would get it to him. If worse came to worse, and things did not work out as they hoped, at least he would know she loved him. She removed a pencil and tablet from her bedside stand and let all her wishes, hopes, and dreams flow onto the page in a poem of love. The words poured from her heart with scarcely a pause:

  To Walk with You in Sunshine

  To walk with you in sunshine,

  To never have to hide. . .

  To wear displayed upon my face

  The love I feel inside;

  To have my hand entwined with yours

  For all the world to see. . .

  To let it show, how proud I am,

  To have you there with me;

  To say your name out loud, my love,

  For anyone to hear. . .

  To have my family know and love

  Those things that make you dear

  To be there when you need someone

  To listen or to laugh. . .

  To share the joys of being whole

  Instead of only half;

  To lavish all my love on you

  As long as life shall last. . .

  To know a present strong enough

  To blot out all the past;

  To let myself be lost inside

  The wonders of your kiss. . .

  To fall asleep within your arms—

  I often think of this;

  To know at last the warm glow of

  Your body next to mine. . .

  To bask in all your gentleness

  Until the end of time;

  Such priceless joys, and yet I ask

  Above all else in life,

  To walk with you in sunshine,

  To love you. . .as your wife.

  When the final line had been completed, Rosalind added a note of regret for not being there to see him and folded the paper, tucking it under her pillow with the New Testament. Then she laid her head down and listened to the night sounds while she waited for sleep.

  Awakening later than usual after endless sleepless hours, Rosa found the mood in the house to be one of guarded politeness. Gone was the anger, but also missing was the sense of warmth that had been such a part of her life. She felt as if she were a visitor. “May I help with breakfast?” she asked her grandmother.

  “There is no need. We are done. Your grandfather is gone already with the wagon.”

  “He left without me?”

  She didn’t even look up, but one shoulder beneath the straps of her bibbed apron moved up and down in a shrug. “You were asleep.”

  Rosa said nothing. She cut herself a slice of bread at the table and spread it with butter and peach preserves, but the first bite tasted like sawdust. When her grandmother’s back was turned, she slipped outside and broke the rest into chunks for the birds. After a quick trip to the outhouse, she went back into the cabin.

  “Is there something else you would like me to do? Anything you need from the forest? I have been cooped up for days, and my ankle is much better now.”

  The older woman turned with a look of incredulity and planted a fist on her hip. “You think I would send you up there again? Ever?”

  “Not by myself,” Rosa replied, “and I understand that. But I thought maybe Philip could come with me when he comes home from his job. We would come right back, I promise.”

  Surprisingly, her guardian turned to peruse the herb shelves. After thinking for a moment, she relented. “I do not have any more elecampane for fever. If you could find some, that would please me.”

  Rosa smiled. “As soon as Philip returns, I will look for some, Grandmother.” And she rounded the table and gave her a hug. Then, without being asked, she got the broom from where it stood in the corner and swept the house, shook out the rag rugs, and dusted the furniture, anything to keep busy through the long hours until it was time for her cousin to arrive.

  At last she saw him get off the wagon he and the others used for traveling to and from their jobs in Wilkes-Barre. She looped the strap of her tote over her shoulder and hurried to meet him.

  Philip caught her gaze and waved, his boyishly handsome face breaking into a grin.

  “I hope you are not too tired from work,” she blurted in a breathless rush, falling into step with him. “Grandmother needs something from up on the hill, and I am not allowed to go alone.”

  “Oh, so they are speaking to you again,” he said. “That is good.”

  “They are speaking, yes. And thank you for that. But it is not good—at least, not as good as I had hoped.”

  He searched her face, then placed a hand on her arm and gave a comforting squeeze. “Well, you can tell me all about it while we climb the hill.”

  “Thank you, Philip. I have always been able to count on you.”

  As always, others milled about the camp, tending gardens, seeing to afternoon chores. But no one paid Rosalind and Philip any mind as they strolled the length of the grounds and started up the rise.

  The late afternoon breeze ruffled through the vegetation in rolling waves, turning it into an ocean of green. Philip plucked a piece of timothy grass and put the end of the long stem into his mouth, then turned to her. “So what is the bad news?”

  “My grandparents want to marry me off.”

  “They have spoken of it before.”

  “Not like this. I have never seen Grandfather so determined.”

  “What have you told them about. . .” He gestured questioningly with his hand.

  “Ken and me? The truth. That we met by accident a few times and had become friends. Of course, that made Grandfather furious. I am forbidden to see him again.”

  “Well, I don’t see how you could expect otherwise,” Philip chided.

  “Yes. But I thought if I was honest, they would understand.”

  “I am sure they understand, Cousin.” Taking her hand, Philip drew her to a stop and turned to face her, his sable eyes gentle. “Your grandparents love you very much. You are all they have. Hearing that you have become friends with a miner has put fear into their hearts, and they want to protect you from being hurt. You must see that.”

  Rosalind gave a grudging nod. “But it is not being with Ken that would hurt me; it is keeping me from him that causes pain. And I have fear in my heart, too—that they will force me to marry a man I do not love. How could I endure such a life?”

  “You would not be the first,” Philip said, his tone consoling. He began walking again.

  “But I want something better than that,” she insisted. “If I am to share my whole life with a man, I want it to be one who will not treat me as his possession, his servant. I want someone who will be tender and loving. Someone who will respect me.”

  “Then I wish you luck.”

  Rosa turned to look at him. “Will you respect and honor the woman you marry?”

  “To tell you the truth, I never thought much about it until I started listening to you. I would hope to love my wife, as some of my friends at the warehouse love theirs, and not just expect her to keep our home and bear my children. I know that as a man, I have more control over such matters as finding a bride. When I find a woman I have strong feelings for, I will be the one to make the offer. For the women of our people, that is not always the way, I know.”

  The conviction
that her cousin did not hold out much hope for her happiness was more than a little unsettling. “I need to go to the place where I meet Ken,” Rosa said, halting him in his tracks.

  “What?”

  “Do not worry; he will not be there. I have written something for him and want to leave it where he will find it. He must wonder what happened to me, why I have stayed away.”

  Philip expelled a worried breath. “I hope you know what you are doing, Cousin. Leaving secret messages is not much different from secret meetings.” Nevertheless, he went along with her.

  The secluded thicket seemed especially charming in late afternoon, with filtered sunlight slanting through the treetops and speckling the ground in spots like golden coins. The sight caught at Rosalind’s heart, knowing she would not be there to enjoy sweet times with Ken, and she had to bite the inside of her lip to keep back tears. Reaching into the pocket of her skirt, she took out the folded paper containing the poem and note she’d written and tucked it into the hollow interior of the old log. I will always love you, her heart added silently.

  “There,” she said, straightening to her full height. “He will read it and know that if I could be here to meet him, I would. Now I must find the elecampane Grandmother needs. Help me look. It has a yellow flower.”

  By the time they found the proper plant and headed home, supper smells floated enticingly on the breeze.

  “Food!” Philip said on an exaggerated moan. “I’m famished.”

  “So am I.” Rosalind quickened her pace to match his, and they swiftly covered the remaining distance. She knew her grandmother would be pleased that along with elecampane, she had found a supply of two of her other most used herbs.

  “So, Cousin,” Philip said, giving a jaunty wave as they reached her house. “I’ll see you later, or tomorrow, or whenever.”

  “Yes. Thank you for coming with me. I—”

  The door opened just then, and Nicholas Habib stepped out, a huge smile of triumph on his face. “Ah, the lovely Rosalind, back from her stroll. And just in time to hear the good news.”

  “What good news?” Rosa asked, dread rising to the fore.

  Philip came to stand behind her, his hands on her shoulders.

  “Why, the best news of all,” he gloated. “I am to be married. And so are you. Your grandfather accepted my offer at last.”

  Rosa felt all the blood drain from her face.

  Twelve

  Since not having seen Rosalind at the thicket the previous Saturday, it seemed to Ken that the next several days dragged by at a maddeningly slow pace. His mind was so occupied with all possible reasons for her absence and the hope that she’d come to his haven on the weekend, that he had to reread the same text in the engineering textbook a dozen times before it sunk in. He finally gave up and closed the book.

  Hannah’s light rap on the bedroom door couldn’t have been more welcome. “Supper’s on,” she announced in her airy way.

  “Be right down.” Ken stood and stretched the kinks out of his back and shoulders, then descended the stairs two at a time and entered the dining room.

  Timmy came in through the squared archway from the kitchen at the same time, freshly scrubbed, his white-blond hair slicked back. He grinned and claimed his chair. “Boy, oh boy,” he exclaimed hungrily, rubbing his callused, banged-up hands together in anticipation. “Beef stew. Hope it has lots of potatoes.”

  “That and everything else,” Hannah said, bringing in a plate of thick-sliced bread, while their mother set a pitcher of lemonade on the table. They both took their places and bowed their heads for the blessing.

  “How’d work at the breaker go today, Runt?” Ken asked after the prayer. He waited for the womenfolk to serve themselves, then pulled the tureen a few inches closer so he and Tim could dish out their portions.

  “Same as yesterday, ’cept Andy Demko snitched on two of the other guys for throwin’ grease balls. They got ’im back, though. Somebody nailed his lunch pail to the floor, an’ when he picked it up, he only got the top half!” He sputtered into a guffaw.

  “How terrible,” Ma said, frowning.

  “That was only part of it,” Tim went on. “Somebody else tied his street clothes into knots an’ nailed ’em to the wall.”

  “Tsk, tsk, tsk. Such behavior.” Her head wagged back and forth.

  His grin sobered. “Well, nobody likes a rat, an’ that’s what a snitch is.”

  The story revived some of Ken’s own experiences in the breaker, but rather than venture further into that area, he opted to change the subject entirely. “What about you, Sis? Same old grind at the silk mill?”

  “Not quite,” she replied. “We had an incident there, too. Seems an embossed compact disappeared from Susie Row-land’s purse while we visited the lavatory at the lunch break. Nobody saw it happen; but as we were gathering our things at quitting time, the compact fell out of a Lebanese girl’s skirt pocket. Of course, the supervisor fired her on the spot.”

  Ma stopped chewing. “Isn’t that just the way with those people? Gypsies have always been nothing but thieves and ruffians.”

  “Ma! I can’t believe you said that,” Ken retorted. “Lumping a whole group of folks together and judging them by one individual’s actions. And here I thought we were supposed to love our neighbors, as the Lord instructed. Isn’t that what you always preached to us kids when we were growing up?”

  She had the grace to flush. “Well, some neighbors are easier to love than others.”

  But Ken wasn’t about to let her off so easily. As the oldest son, he was now the man of the house and knew he should speak up. He did his best to keep his voice at a respectful level, however. “You told me you’ve never personally met any of the folks from Lebanon, isn’t that right?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Well, I have. In fact, I believe I already mentioned the young woman I met from the encampment on Larksville Mountain. Her name is Rosalind Gilbran. Our paths have crossed several times since that first day, and I’ve found her to be intelligent, thoughtful, wise, beautiful, and a whole bunch of other things you’d admire. She and I have become good friends. . .and at this point I’m ready to consider taking our relationship beyond mere friendship, if that’s in the Lord’s plan for us.”

  Ma’s hand flew to her throat. “You can’t be serious.”

  “Actually, I am,” Ken said, his tone softening. “What I’m saying is that no one can judge an individual from a distance, without giving her a chance, getting to know her. Just because someone’s ancestors come from a different place in the world, that doesn’t automatically make him or her worse than anyone else. And the Lord sure doesn’t measure us by our roots.”

  “And you would actually become. . .involved. . .with—with a heathen,” she said, her face devoid of color.

  “Not would, Ma. Have. And Rosa is far from being a heathen. She has a very inquisitive mind when it comes to anything pertaining to the Lord. She and I have had many lively discussions about Bible passages. One day soon I hope to bring her to meet you all. I wanted to lead up to this gradually, get you used to the idea, but now that it’s out in the open, I guess it’s for the best.”

  For several minutes, no one spoke.

  Hannah reached over to give his arm an understanding pat. “Well, except for the Lebanese girls at work, I’ve never gotten close to a gypsy myself. But I know you, Kenny. You’ve always been a good judge of character. If you say this girl has all those good qualities, I believe you.” Her lips curved into a smile. “And if she’s attracted to you, no one can fault her for her taste in men.”

  Tim remained silent, his gaze moving from Ken to their mother and back.

  But Ma’s expression never warmed. She just sat rigid, her arms folded across her bosom.

  Ken’s optimism plunged like a mine cage. He had really believed the tough part would be getting Rosa’s grandparents to accept him. Now it appeared he would have to win his mother over as well. And that meant he had his work cut out
for himself.

  ❧

  Rosalind lay in bed on her side, listening to the supper sounds while her grandparents feasted on delicious-smelling Fatayr Bi Sbanaka. But not even for those tasty spinach pies would she emerge from her self-enforced confinement. She had not eaten for two days, despite the protesting of her empty stomach, and had not spoken a word since uttering her refusal to marry Nicholas.

  Equally stubborn as she, her guardians had immersed themselves in plans for the wedding. Grandmother declared that a marriage should be performed at the full moon to ensure good luck. Already they were spreading the word and accumulating all the food and wine needed for the celebration feast. But though Nick came by to pay the final amount of money he and Grandfather had agreed upon, Rosa would not leave her room to see him.

  There had to be a way to escape her sorry fate, she mused. . . but how to do it when her grandparents never left her alone? Then it came to her. While they were sleeping, before the first light of dawn, she would run away. After all, she knew the surrounding area better than any of her people. No one would know where to begin looking. She wouldn’t even be missed for hours.

  Rosa remained fully clothed beneath the light blanket and coverlet on her bed. And though she tried to stay awake the whole night, she nodded off several times. But the third time she jerked awake, she cocked an ear and listened to the snores from her grandparents’ room. Then, satisfied that they were sound asleep, she stole silently from her room, a rolled-up blanket under her arm. She took a loaf of bread from the bread box and some apples from the basket on the table and tiptoed to the door.

  Outside, Rosalind smiled with relief. But she knew she still needed to get away without rousing Maloof or any of the other loose camp dogs that roamed at will and slept wherever they curled up. She scarcely breathed as she moved stealthily away from the settlement and started up the hill. By the time the sun sent its shafts of light over the land, she would be well within the confines of the forest—and from there, she could fly free.