A Rose Blooms Twice

by Vikki Kestell

  The volume and enthusiasm increased with each chorus and Rose sang out, feeling the hope “whosoever will” spoke to all men and women. Her voice, true and clear, unconsciously rose above the others. She had no way of knowing how her own awakening faith was transmitted into her singing, blessing and bringing a touch of that freshness to many around her.

  Song after song, nearly every one unfamiliar to Rose, was taken up and sung with heart-felt expression. Hands would clap out the rhythm and toes tap in time during some; others were sung with such a sweet hush of worship that Rose’s eyes would prick with tears. Never had the singing at home been like this! Again and again Rose would open up and express her feelings to the Lord after she felt confident in knowing the chorus. When the song service concluded, Rose was both surprised and disappointed. Forty-five minutes of singing! Unheard of in her other church. And Rose would have gladly sung longer.

  As Pastor Medford came forward to deliver his message, Rose glanced to the girl sitting on her right. Sigrün’s returned look was full of admiration. Rose smiled, thinking in puzzlement that she hadn’t heard Sigrün’s voice during the song service but clearly recalled Søren energetically rumbling along and Amalie crooning the choruses by rote.

  Pastor Medford called for the ushers to receive the offering. A jubilant emotion ran through Rose as she withdrew her check from her purse, holding it folded and hidden in her hand.

  “Oh, God,” she prayed. “I am so grateful for all you have done for me just since I’ve been here. I gladly give this to you for your service and your servants. Please bless Pastor Medford and Vera for their work.”

  Rose was so excited about putting her offering in the basket that she was actually grinning.

  “Silly!” she chided herself. Trying to look suitably dignified again, she glanced to the other side of the church. Ah! The McKennie clan had made it after all. Rose chuckled (to herself this time) over how uncomfortably scrubbed and proper Brian and Fiona’s boys appeared.

  “My text for today,” began Pastor Medford, “is the Gospel of John, chapter 10.”

  How coincidental! Rose realized. The very passage Pastor Greenstreet chose the first Sunday I went back to church at home. A trickle of disappointment threatened to snatch away the joy from the preceding parts of the service as the depressing sermon recalled itself to her.

  Pastor Medford began, “It is so essential that every man, woman, boy, and girl hear the message of the Gospel of Jesus. The Gospel simply means Good News. Good News!” he repeated. “God sent Jesus to be the bearer of good news to a troubled world. Yes, everywhere there is trouble in the world. Not one of us, not any life in this room or anywhere in the world is free of trouble. Are you in troubled waters? Thank God, who sent Jesus, that we can be saved in our troubled circumstances.”

  “Jesus says, ‘I am the door; by me if any man enter in, he shall be saved, and shall go in and out and find pasture.’”

  “Any man means every man, and just as the song said, ‘Whosoever will’ may come. There is no person excluded! No sinner is too sinful. There is no hurt, no problem, no situation that Jesus cannot save you in or from. Only two things can keep Jesus from saving you. The first is ignorance. ‘How shall they believe?’ the Bible asks, ‘In him of whom they have not heard?’ Every person can choose to believe on Jesus if they hear about him. The second thing that will keep Jesus’ saving power from you is to not choose to receive him. In our country today, most people have heard the message of Jesus in someway or another. But many don’t realize that to hear is not necessarily to believe. To believe means to choose. Jesus said, ‘I am the door . . . if any man enter in he shall be saved.’”

  “When you enter into the kingdom of God it must be through Jesus. No one else and no other way are effective. If you are desiring to be received by God into his kingdom, the door is wide open today. Jesus is waiting for you.”

  He paused as if listening.

  “There are Christians here today who can testify to the saving ability of Jesus. Do you wish to ‘enter in’ to his kingdom also?” He looked over his congregation lovingly. “Now is the day of salvation. You don’t have to wait!”

  Rose’s heart quickened in anticipation as she followed, hung on every word.

  “If you want to ask Jesus to save you right now and remove your sins, pray with me—from your heart.”

  Rose closed her eyes and clasped her hands earnestly.

  “Pray with me now,” he repeated. “Lord Jesus, I ask you to forgive me and receive me as one of your sheep. I turn away from other gods, other desires, other paths. I will follow you. I will listen for your voice and live for you. Thank you for dying for my sins, amen.”

  Rose didn’t hear the dismissal. She was caught away somewhere . . . People left quietly from the service aware that God was at work. Pastor Medford and Vera were praying with a grizzled farmer and his wife, and Rose sat, eyes closed, utter peace resting on her brow.

  Peace! Finally. Rose knew she had finally found God. But how long have you been looking for me? she wondered.

  Her Bible was still open to John 10 and she read it from verse one to the end with new eyes. How could Pastor Greenstreet not see, not understand? It seemed so obvious to Rose at that moment. It wasn’t about joining a church. It was about Jesus, the shepherd. He loves his sheep and willingly gave up his life for them. Now she was one of his sheep.

  Rose got to her feet, aware that nearly everyone was gone. She floated down the aisle, smiling at Vera on her way out. The Thoresens and McKennies gathered around her outside, hugging and exclaiming in joy.

  “You’re born-again now, Miss Rose! Praise God for his loving kindness! We’re seein’ it all over your face. Sure an’ it’s like glory in your eyes!”

  Rose didn’t say a word. She hugged Fiona, she hugged Brian and Meg. Amalie squeezed her enthusiastically and Søren shook her hand while Sigrün’s beautiful smile beamed on her. Even the smaller boys grinned their appreciation of what had happened.

  “I don’t know what to say,” Rose finally managed. “It’s so big! I never knew God was so . . . so . . . ”

  Mr. Thoresen took Rose’s hand, shaking it gently. In his staid, matter-of-fact way he summed it up.

  “God is gud, ja?”

  “Yes!” Rose declared. “That’s it exactly! I’ve always believed that, I’ve just had . . . some questions.” She was unable to go on from there for the time being.

  Fiona put in, “We were to be havin’ ye for dinner again t’day, boot it’s with Thoresens’ ye’ve been invited first, I’m hearin’. Well, get ’long wi’ ye. An’ maybe next Sunday ye’ll be coomin’ t’ owrn home?”

  “Thank you, Fiona, that will be a pleasure to look forward to,” Rose replied.

  Even though the sky began to drizzle just then, nothing could dampen Rose’s mood driving the road to Thoresens’. Just beyond the turn off to her house a small bridge spanned the creek and the road continued on to their farm. She was ushered into the large white farmhouse and seated in the enormous kitchen across from the stove.

  With a cup of coffee in one hand and the constant flow of activity all around, Rose was happy to nod and smile while Amalie chatted on in Norwegian as though no language barrier existed at all. And indeed, Rose didn’t see much problem in differing tongues. By gesture or occasional English word, Amalie indicated the topic and being a very animated speaker, kept Rose interested and entertained.

  The children had their jobs to do and went in and out of the house in succession, each time lingering to stare at Rose or listen in on the conversation. The little bright-eyed girl, Uli, made herself useful in the kitchen so as to be allowed to stay and mix with the “company”’; Sigrün was there too, hands working the quick bread for the meal, but never saying a word. This puzzled Rose who attempted once or twice to speak to her to no avail. On top of that it seemed that Amalie would intentionally steer the conversation away when Rose spoke to Sigrün. And all along Rose was still blissfully aware of the momentous
occurrence in her heart. Nothing dislodged the strong peace that had wrapped itself in and around her.

  Amalie’s kitchen was as different from hers as Fiona’s was—and they were worlds apart too. The ceiling was high and the whole room plastered and painted white. Against the white backdrop, ceramic tiles of blue and white with occasional dabs of yellow were set in the wall behind the stove. Even the stove itself was inset with beautiful tiles on the doors. One entire wall was given to shelving—also white but trimmed with beautiful and colorful painted designs. An enviable display of dishes and crockery lined the shelves, and the plain wood floor gleamed. Rose was curious as to how Amalie managed that gleam. One door led off the kitchen from which Amalie fetched potatoes, carrots, apples, and the like.

  Dinner was wonderful. Not just the food, but the topic of conversation. It seemed that on Sundays the family would discuss the pastor’s chosen text and sermon. Mr. Thoresen showed his apt knowledge of the Bible as he point by point led the children as well as the adults into a real discussion. Søren tried, in English for Rose’s benefit, to keep abreast of the running and sometimes lively dialogue.

  As the conversation ranged back and forth, Rose was amazed how much of the Bible even the children knew. More than a little ashamed of their superior understanding, Rose silently vowed, “I’m going to spend more time reading my Bible!”

  After dinner, her offer to help clean up was graciously accepted, and Amalie, Sigrün, and Rose dispatched the dishes quickly then sat down to enjoy the afternoon off.

  Before long, Søren found them and invited Rose out, saying, “Father thinks you might enjoy seeing the farm and stock, Mrs. Brownlee.”

  Amalie objected to her guest being “dragged out to weary herself on some cows,” but Rose stood up at once exclaiming, “Oh, no! I’d love to see everything. I’ve never been on a real farm except McKennies’ and that was such fun.”

  Søren laughed at Rose’s idea of “fun” and took her to view the stock. Mr. Thoresen had brought the milk cows out of the rain since it was darkening early and their stomping, shifting, and lowing filled the huge barn. Even the air in the barn was a new experience to Rose. It was warm and moist from all the cows, with its distinct, pungent odor.

  A few of the cows had calves with them still although most had already been weaned off. Mr. Thoresen beckoned her to a stall where a newly weaned calf stood, rolling his large eyes at them. When he saw Rose, he startled, jumping backwards a bit. Rose did too, while Søren and Mr. Thoresen laughed at her discomfiture. Mr. Thoresen took Rose’s arm and led her into the stall. Søren handed him a quart-sized bottle filled with milk and complete with rubber tip with which he indicated to Rose she ought to feed the calf. Hesitantly she offered the bottle to the calf. Rolling his eyes again, the calf edged up and took hold of the bottle. Rose gasped at the calf’s pull. She held the bottle with both hands while the calf alternately pulled and pushed against her. When Mr. Thoresen offered to take over Rose gratefully let him.

  “He’s so strong for just being a baby,” she marveled.

  Mr. Thoresen nodded, his glacier-blue eyes glinting in the dim barn light. “Haf strong life,” he stated.

  Rose toured the entire length of the milking barn, impressed with what she saw. Twice a day, Søren, his father and the other three boys, Little Karl, Arnie, and Kjell (Chell), milked thirty cows. Rose wondered why they called the one boy “little” Karl, when even at thirteen or fourteen he was a good-sized lad and far taller than Rose. Arnie and Kjell weren’t far behind him either!

  “All of these Thoresens are big and hearty. I’m a real ‘puny’ even compared to the ladies,” she remarked to herself ruefully.

  Across the barnyard a short distance was another building, a small one. Mr. Thoresen conducted Rose to it. Inside, in one large pen were several goats. Their miniature, dainty bodies were a joy to Rose who exclaimed in delight over each one. They obviously knew their master, for they crowded up, bleating and shoving to be caressed and fondled. Mr. Thoresen spoke to each by name and had Rose pat and scratch their tiny, knobby heads.

  “Ver gud milk,” he stated succinctly. “You try.”

  Catching up a three-legged stool and tin cup from a peg on the wall, he called a white and brown doe to him and held the cup under her while he milked. Steamy and frothy, the streams of milk filled the cup until he offered it to Rose. She drank readily, but crinkled her nose at its strong taste.

  “Make fat.” He nodded, satisfied, at Rose’s thin waistline.

  Rose flushed, a little irritated. Søren was right. His father was outspoken and didn’t take feelings, or propriety for that matter, into consideration.

  “Thank you for the milk,” she answered politely. She hung the cup on its hook and walked away to find Søren. He showed her the pigs. There were three sows with sounders, several just being raised for “feeding out,” and an enormous boar kept in a pen off by itself. They were all of them white, except for the newest litter, which were still so young that they were pinkish.

  “My father brought that boar’s father and mother to America from Norway sixteen years ago. They were from my grandfather’s good Norwegian Landrace herd. Actually he brought five weaners on the boat, but only two survived. Praise God they did, too,” Søren commented.

  Rose listened with interest.

  “We will slaughter three of the ‘feeders’ in the fall for our family and sell the rest. Then of the weaners, we select the best for next years ‘feeders’ and sell the rest of them also.”

  The thought of the tiny piglets growing to the size of the sows in only a year and a half amazed Rose, but Søren assured her that not only did they mature quickly, but the sows also sometimes had three litters a year.

  The sky began to look threatening again, and Rose was ready to announce her need to leave when Mr. Thoresen appeared. He spoke authoritatively to Søren and gestured toward Rose.

  “Father says I’m to drive you home and put up your horse and buggy so you don’t get caught in the rain.”

  Trying to control her annoyance, Rose responded with a cheerful but firm tone.

  “Tell your father thank you, but I was just about to leave, and I can handle getting a little wet. I had better go and say goodbye to Mrs. Thoresen.”

  Søren shrugged as she walked back to the house and they followed.

  Rose was liberal in her praise of Amalie’s home and the fine dinner she served. Amalie responded by hugging her tight and asking Rose to come visit often. Then Rose took her leave of Sigrün who nodded shyly and, addressing Mr. Thoresen and Søren asked, “Will I be seeing you both tomorrow?”

  Søren answered in the affirmative while Mr. Thoresen who had been leaning against the wall calmly watching Amalie’s affectionate leave-taking merely nodded and came forward to shake Rose’s hand.

  The rain was descending in sheets when Rose climbed into her buggy. She hadn’t even driven off of Thoresens’ road before Rose realized how foolishly she had acted in refusing Søren’s help. Fortunately, Prince was steady and wanted to go home too. When they slogged at last into her yard, Rose had to fumble with the wet tack several minutes longer than usual. She led Prince into his stall, left him while she pulled and pushed the buggy into its lean-to cover and went back to feed and dry him. By the time she dried the tack and waded through the yard to her own house, she was thoroughly drenched and cold. Not only that, but a large puddle of water stood on the floor under the trap door.

  “Well, so the roof leaks,” Rose fumed.

  She built up the fire, dropped her dripping clothes on the floor and rubbed herself dry before dressing. Even though it was only near six o’clock, night had come with the rain, so she put on her warm flannel nightgown, wrapper, and slippers. After mopping and wringing, finding a bucket for under the trap door, and hanging her clothes about the bare studding, Rose was exhausted.

  She cuddled up in her chair before the stove, supper and Bible on the table beside her. The earlier portion of the day came back to her and eas
ed the irritation of the last few hours.

  So many wonderful things to be happy about! she mused as she reread John 10. I’ve really found God, just like he promised I would. Soon I’ll have the answers to my questions, just as Pastor Medford said. “In the meantime, Lord,” now she addressed him, “Thank you, that I didn’t die in that river, for I realize I would never have known you!”

  Rose found herself drowsing in her chair and forced herself to bank the fire and go to bed. How strange, Rose wondered idly, that Sigrün is so shy at her age. In fact, I can’t recall hearing her speak to anyone! Rose’s memories of the afternoon replayed themselves, including Mr. Thoresen’s rather rude behavior.

  “The Thoresens’ are good people, even if Mr. Thoresen is a bit outspoken. And I believe Amalie will become a close friend. Amalie and Mr. Thoresen are so opposite each other though. A very contrary union.”

  She slid into dreamless slumber to the accompaniment of the easing rainfall.

  Chapter 16

  Mr. Thoresen and Søren returned Monday morning with their tools, saw, and lunch pail and the work went forward quickly. As soon as they saw the damage from the heavy rainfall, they switched their labor from the interior to the roof. Actually, the roof had been their first concern, but without the materials and needing an entire day to strip off the old roof and replace it, they had opted to work inside the first day. Now with all their needed supplies the old roof would come off and the new one would go on.

  Rose’s task for the morning was washing clothes. Scanning the sky and finding it once again free of clouds gave her the determination for the job.

  While the men pried the rotten boards off and tossed them to the ground below, Rose built a fire in the pit she assumed was used for laundry purposes by the Andersons. Bucket after bucket she pumped and hauled to heat in the washtub until there was enough to respectably soak her clothes.

  Since any clothesline was long since gone, Rose strung a piece of rope between the corner of the stable and its lean-to. It was only about nine feet long, but she didn’t have many things to dry today.