A Rose Blooms Twice

by Vikki Kestell

  “Oh, hello!” Pastor Medford called to her. “Just have to hook him up and you are all set.” He chuckled when he saw Prince ‘lean’ into Rose’s scratching. “Looks like you’ve made a friend for life. Believe me, a better mannered horse you’ll never drive. Only don’t let him make the decisions! He’ll take you into a plowed field and show you the best grazing. Folks ’round here take a short view of that.”

  Rose laughed too. “You wouldn’t do that, would you, old man?” she asked, shaking Prince’s harness.

  Prince opened one eye and shook his head up and down until the tack rattled.

  “Oh, my!” she returned and patted him firmly on the withers. She was wearing leather gloves to drive with today.

  Thanking Pastor Medford for his help, she chirruped to Prince, and he pulled with a will. In front of Schmidt’s mercantile Rose stopped and climbed down.

  “Won’t be but a few minutes, fella,” she whispered, “but the brake is set, so don’t think you can go anywhere!”

  Mrs. Schmidt bustled out from behind the counter, anxious to help Rose, who explained about the items she wished to take today: broom, rake, hatchet, buckets, rags, tea kettle, and soap. Next she picked out a few groceries and paid for them out of her purse. Into a wooden box Mrs. Schmidt packed tea, a small sack of biscuits, an apple and a quarter pound of mild cheese.

  “Would you add a little paper of sugar too, please—oh, and a teaspoon and a paring knife and that little cup and plate.” The last items were of the plainest serviceable tin.

  Mrs. Schmidt nodded mutely, but her kindly eyes were eager to ask questions. Her friend, Gertrude Grünbaum, would never forgive her for not being able to tell her what the wealthy eastern lady was up to. Still, Mrs. Schmidt experienced an uncommon reticence with Rose. Most of her life she’d worked hard and been poor; around this lady and her nice dress she became shy.

  Rose thanked Mrs. Schmidt graciously as she counted out her money. Casually she remarked, “I’m driving Pastor Medford’s buggy today. You see, I bought the Anderson’s homestead yesterday, and mean to settle down in RiverBend, so we’ll be neighbors now. Won’t that be nice?”

  Mrs. Schmidt’s mouth made a little “o” and she moved her head up and down.

  “When I am finished putting things to rights you may come and visit, and we’ll get to know each other, all right?”

  Mrs. Schmidt nodded again.

  Rose caught movement outside the front window. Four small faces peeped in at them.

  “Are those your children, Mrs. Schmidt?”

  Another nod.

  Rose looked over the candy jars atop the counter. “May I please have a packet of lemon drops?”

  She paid and walked to the door, leaving her other purchases leaned against or on top of the counter. When she opened the door, the children stared silently at her. The youngest, a tiny boy of three or so with a grubby hand in his mouth, hid behind his sister’s skirts. The girl was ten, Rose judged, and another brother and sister looked about six and seven.

  “Hello!” Rose offered. No one as much as flicked an eyelid back, but the little boy’s hand “smacked” between his lips.

  Hiding a smile she continued, “I have some lemon drops here. I like lemon drops, don’t you? If someone were willing to help me put my things into this buggy I would love to give that someone my lemon drops.”

  The older boy’s eyebrows went up, and he glanced to his sister. The hand even came out of the little boy’s mouth, and he whispered, “I vant dem.”

  The four moved as a unit, and Rose chuckled inside to see how they worked with a will, obeying the unspoken commands of the elder girl. Even the little one helped, carrying Rose’s buckets. Rose buckets. Rose took the items one by one and carefully set them on the floor of the buggy. The rake and broom had to be leaned out the back, but she managed it.

  “Thank you all very much. You did well.” Rose handed the packet of candy to the older sister, who received it solemnly.

  “Well, goodbye.” She turned to get in the buggy.

  A gentle tug at her skirt held her. The younger girl said softly, “Danke Schoen, Frau Brünlee.”

  “You’re very welcome, sweetheart.” Rose hurried to drive away before the tears came. So even the children knew her name. Well, soon everyone would know she was here to stay, too. Mrs. Schmidt would surely take care of that.

  Prince was as happy as Rose was to be out where the fields stretched far and wide. There wasn’t another soul to be seen and Rose began to hum softly, then sing,

  When we walk with the Lord,

  In the light of his Word,

  What a glory he sheds on our way.

  While we do his good will,

  he abides with us still,

  And with all who will trust and obey.

  In full voice she let the chorus out:

  Trust and obey,

  For there’s no other way,

  To be happy in Jesus,

  Than to trust and obey.

  Prince put his ears back and snorted, jumping ahead and giving the buggy a little jerk.

  “Oho! Don’t you like my singing? I’ll sing it again, thank you!”

  Soon the McKennie farm came into sight, and Rose turned down the long track past their front fields. Brian McKennie was plowing, putting his shoulder to the plow to help his mule. He waved when he saw her, and Rose gaily waved back. Chickens scattered and dogs barked and howled as she drove up to the house. Prince examined the hound and her two pups regally—just before he ignored them altogether.

  Striding out the door and wiping her floured hands on her apron, Fiona spontaneously hugged Rose the minute she stepped down, and Rose surprised herself by hugging her back with enthusiasm.

  “Lor’ an’ I was believin’ t’ preacher was coomin’ to visit, when behold, ’tis Miss Rose I’m seein’! An’ ’tis welcome ye air, too. That is bein’ t’ preacher’s rig?” She was curiously taking stock of the rake and broom handles sticking out the back.

  “Yes it is, Mrs. McKennie,” Rose answered. “He was kind enough to let me use it today.”

  Fiona gave her attention back to her visitor. “Miss Rose, I’d be fair honored to have ye be callin’ me by me Christian name. Would ye be doin’ so?”

  “I’m the honored one, Fiona. Thank you.”

  “Well then, be coomin’ inside for a cup o’ tea and set doon a spell.”

  “Only for a bit. I’ve come to tell you some news, and then I must go again.”

  They were in the kitchen, and Fiona put the kettle on the stove.

  “So. Time’s coom already to be a leavin’?”

  A tiny smile pulled at the corner of Rose’s mouth. “Well, I can’t be living forever in a boarding house.”

  “Aye, that’s so, I’m sure.” Fiona’s enthusiasm faded a bit but she kept putting muffins on a lovely pale blue plate. Just at that moment Brian McKennie tramped in the door.

  “Sure an’ ’tis Miz Rose Brownlee coom to call!” He shook her hand vigorously and “smacked” Fiona’s cheek.

  “Aw Brian, what a way t’ be behavin’! An’ Miss Rose just sayin’ as how she’s going away.”

  Brian clucked his tongue disapprovingly.

  Rose turned red and interjected immediately, “No, no, Fiona, I didn’t finish. That is, what I said exactly was ‘I couldn’t live forever in a boarding house,’ and that’s because . . .”

  Brian and Fiona were waiting, blankly.

  “Because I . . . yesterday I bought the farm down the road!”

  Brian looked at Fiona.

  “The Anderson’s old place? You know it, don’t you?” Rose added hopefully.

  “Bless the Lord!” Fiona uttered softly. “An’ just what air ye plannin’ t’ be doin’ with it, ye ignorant, wee city lass?”

  “Why, I’m going to live there,” she stated brightly.

  “Air ye now?” Brian began to guffaw and turned to Fiona. “T’ grand lady ’tis havin’ more spunk than we credit her for, love. ’T
is good we’re bein’ her close neighbors so as t’ be pointin’ out to her which way t’ creek be runnin’.”

  “I know which way the creek runs,” Rose responded, her face reddening further. “And I’m not entirely ignorant. I’m willing to work and learn. As a matter of fact, that’s why I came today. I . . . I had hoped you would come with me and look it over and tell me what needs fixing first and what you think and . . .Well, I guess you did tell me what you think . . . ”

  Rose suddenly had a vivid picture of how foolish she must appear to these people, people she really didn’t know all that well. Almost as quickly, her “guidance” from the Lord shriveled into silly imaginings with wicked speed and clarity. She was so embarrassed and crushed that she made to stand up and leave. Brian McKennie’s hand on her shoulder kept her in her chair.

  “Nae, lass. Ye don’ be mindin’ us. Ye are havin’ your reasons, I’m thinkin’, and it’s certain we’ll be helpin’ ye what we can, and ye can be sure o’ that. When ye are carin’ for someone, ye dinna like t’ be seein’ them hurt. But ye must ken this, Miss Rose; ’tis harder work than ye have ever been knowin’, livin’ on t’ prairie.” He sighed a soft sigh. “Boot, aye, we’ll be helpin’ ye.”

  Rose’s tears trickled down her face and she wiped them away, ashamed. They cared? Brian worked studiously on a chain he was whittling, and Fiona finished making the tea while Rose regained her composure. The three of them drank the hot brew together and, through Brian and Fiona’s questioning, Rose gradually unfolded her plans, her hopes. When they finished, Brian was ready to take a look.

  “I’ll be gettin’ t’ team and unhitchin’ t’ mule. Fiona, me love, be fixin’ our lunch t’ take and readyin’ th’ wee un, if ye will.”

  Brian drove his wagon behind Rose as she led the way back down the road. Rose’s tools were in his wagon now, and Fiona sat beside her, nursing the baby. They drove in companionable quiet, their eyes following the movement of the prairie grass undulating like waves on the ocean under a light breeze, while baby Sean made little sucking and mewing noises.

  “Fiona, may I ask you how old you are?” Rose queried.

  “I? ’Tis being thirty-eight this year I am. Is’t because o’ t’ bairn ye be askin’?”

  “I suppose so. I had always assumed that having babies would be over at your age, at my age now for that matter. Did you mind?”

  “Mind t’ baby? Nae. ’Tis makin’ ye young when a wee one cooms. ’Sides, ’tis t’ grandest gift a man is givin’ a woman and a woman is givin’ her man, even now.” She cuddled little Sean as if to assure him of her love and his importance.

  The creek glistened in the sun ahead. Excitement began to well in Rose’s heart when they turned up the little rise. Across the stream and fields she saw the Thoresens’ barn, the cows grazing, the house and other fields as she remembered them.

  “I’ll have to meet them soon,” she made a mental note to herself.

  Then, Oh, yes! There it was, nestled by the slope below them. Prince took them into the yard and stopped in front of the house.

  Rose didn’t wait, but jumped down as soon as he stopped and ran to the door.

  “My door, my house,” she whispered. Inside, she began an imaginary cleaning, nodding her head as she looked about. The sound of Brian’s wagon in the yard had her running back to unload her things. Fiona helped her and they mapped out a plan of attack that would commence as soon as they had the buckets, soap, and rags ready.

  Brian examined the stable, the outhouse, and lean-to. Pulling the wagon up to the house he used it to climb up on the roof and came back down shaking his head.

  Meanwhile, Rose and Fiona, after bedding down baby Sean on the floor of the carriage, were sweeping and wiping the walls and ceiling free of dust, dirt, and cobwebs. A fat spider gave Rose a turn, but she pressed her lips together and vowed to overcome spiders and blizzards. Right then Fiona lifted the lid to the stove and dropped it in haste.

  “Brian! Brian—Oh, L-Lord!” she stuttered.

  “What is it, Fiona?” Rose begged.

  “Naught but a nest o’ snakes, Miss Rose!” Fiona gasped while backing toward the door.

  “Snakes!” Somehow Rose had never dreamed of snakes. Had not even considered snakes. Snakes had never entered her mind.

  In her stove!

  Concern was on Brian’s face as he rushed in. “What is’t, Fiona?”

  “There be a nest o’ the Divil’s offspring a-livin’ in t’ stove, Brian McKennie!” Fiona’s tone implied “And its your fault; do something about it!”

  “Oh?” Gingerly he raised the lid and received a warning rattle.

  Backing off to a safe distance he muttered, “We’ve got t’ kill ’em, sure, or they’ll be tryin’ t’ coom back inside.” He thought a moment. “First t’ be pluggin’ their way in so’s they canna be goin’ out, eh?”

  Rose just nodded, but she was cold and shivering.

  They collected her rags, bits of wood chunks, paper and anything small that would burn. The plan, Brian decided, was to trap them in the stove, open the flue and rain fire down on them from the stove pipe on the roof. Any snakes that managed to get out must be killed. They would either be asphyxiated, burned, or hacked to pieces if they managed to crawl out. For that last, Rose lifted her hatchet with a questioning look. Brian approved and fetched a hoe from his wagon, too.

  Rose thought she would be ill from fear. Poisonous snakes! Finally Brian chose her to be the one to drop the burning debris on them from the roof, and secretly she sighed in relief. The tricky part was plugging the holes in the stove. Circling at a discreet distance, they examined the stove from all sides, looking for openings, when Rose exclaimed,

  “The pipe! It’s off the back of the stove!”

  Brian maneuvered to where he could see and “hmm’ed.” “T’ be puttin’ t’ pipe on is needed, sure. An’ I’m hopin’ t’ snakes will nae be wantin’ oot t’ same time!”

  “Aw, Brian, use yer head an’ dinna be takin’ chances,” Fiona entreated from several feet away.

  “Nae.” He took a deep breath and in one movement put the piece of pipe on the stove back, where it promptly fell off again. A symphony of rattling began. Brian paled and they all stepped back.

  “It dinna fit tight,” he muttered.

  Rose bolted and ran outside. Her heart was pounding, and she found it hard to catch her breath. She stumbled and looked down. A long, twisted length of baling wire was snagged on her shoe.

  “Brian! Can you make the pipe stay on with this?”

  Brian picked up the strand and untangled it, then bent it in half.

  “If I can be gettin’ t’ pipe on again, I must be holdin’ it whilst some’un else fits t’ wire an’ twists it tight.”

  Fiona and Rose looked at each other.

  “I-I’ll do it,” Rose stammered. “It’s my stove.”

  And your snakes, too, she sneered at herself. Her stomach pitched uneasily.

  Brian helped Fiona onto the roof and handed her a bucket with paper, rags, and kindling in it and two matches. He climbed up after her, pulled the roof off the stove chimney, and explained what she must do.

  “Ye mu’ be certain t’ catch the rags on fire; t’ soap on ’em will be burnin’ well. When t’ paper and sticks are doon t’ pipe, drop t’ rags ont’ ’em an’ be puttin’ the lid back on t’ pipe quick like.”

  Brian dropped to the ground, and he and Rose went back inside.

  “Dinna ye lose yer nerve, lass. When t’ pipe is on, I’ll be holdin’ it there. T’ snakes canna coom out if I am holdin’ it. Only be makin’ the wire tight an’ twist t’ ends well. D’ ye ken?”

  Rose swallowed and nodded again. Together they approached the now-quiet stove. That was when they saw the large snake slither from the back of it. Rose shrieked, but Brian calmly got his hoe and standing between the door and the snake, waited until he had a clean shot. In one blow the snake lay twisting and dying—its head severed about four inches from its blunt
nose.

  “Now, if we dinna want t’ fight ’em all,” Brian urged. “An’ the wee ones can be killin’ ye same’s the great ’uns—so ye canna be takin’ chances wi’ ’em.”

  Rose clenched her teeth to keep them from chattering while her hands shook badly. They approached the stove again, Brian poised to fit the pipe and Rose with her double strand of wire. In a flash Brian fit the pipe; the snakes began their warnings, and Rose, trembling all over, fumbled to loop the strands around the pipe. She pulled the ends together and, following Brian’s hissed instructions, twisted the ends until they tightened about the pipe and made it secure. Brian gave it a few more turns to be sure before opening the flue and calling to Fiona,

  “Now, Love!”

  Bits of twigs, shredded paper, and other flammable materials fell down on the hapless reptiles. Inside the stove they were angry, rattling and slithering convulsively against the walls of their prison. Both Brian and Rose stood back, weapons ready. The pipe echoed with the thump of the snakes’ heavy bodies as they attempted to use their former exit. Atop the roof, Fiona lit her rags in the bucket to shelter them from the wind. When they were full aflame she dumped them into the chimney and threw down the remaining fuel.

  As the flames caught, the snakes went crazy, bumping and turning, trying vainly to escape. The sounds of their death struggles made Rose’s skin crawl. She and Fiona linked arms while they waited outside, and it comforted Rose to feel Fiona trembling, too.

  Brian gathered more sticks and a few larger chunks of wood. When he judged it safe, he lifted the stove lid and fed them in. The snakes’ bodies sizzled and crackled as they burned. Brian used the hoe to pick up the decapitated remains of the other snake and added them to the pyre of his departed brother snakes.