A Rose Blooms Twice

by Vikki Kestell

  Uli knelt down and placed the bucket where Snowfoot could examine it. The goat was already acclimating to her new home, helping herself to strands of hay projecting from under Prince’s stall wall.

  Uli demonstrated her milking technique for Rose.

  “It looks simple enough,” Rose considered. “But that’s what I believed about ‘busting sod,’ too!”

  “Now you try it,” Uli urged.

  Rose knelt down where Uli had been and gently grasped and squeezed Snowfoot’s teat. Nothing happened. Two golden eyes with vertical slits paused to examine Rose and the tiny mouth ceased chewing.

  “What am I doing wrong, Uli?” Rose lamented.

  “Grasp higher, ma’am and squeeze downward.”

  Rose tried again. This time the teat twisted under her pull and a hot stream of milk splattered the wall.

  “Point it down, Mrs. Brownlee,” Uli encouraged.

  “How humiliating,” Rose inwardly ridiculed. “Poor little Snowfoot! I hope she survives my learning.”

  It took twenty minutes for a reasonable amount to collect in the bucket and Rose’s hands were cramping. Uli finished, stripping the remaining milk with her capable little hands in just three minutes.

  “You will get good in no time,” she insisted.

  They took the milk to the house where Rose also got a lesson in straining and keeping milk.

  “Shake it up before drinking it and drink all you can every day,” she was instructed.

  “Is that what your father told you to say?” Rose inquired, wondering if anyone had ever drowned in goat milk.

  Uli looked puzzled for a moment. “That’s what Onkel said, yes,” she answered. “He doesn’t think you will make it through the winter if you don’t get strong like us Thoresen women.” She stated “us Thoresen women” proudly.

  “I’ll try, dear. I promise.”

  “What were you sick from, Mrs. Brownlee?” Uli questioned without preamble.

  “Oh! I was . . . it happened . . . and well, Uli, I was in an accident and it took a while for me to get well.”

  “Is that when Mr. Brownlee died?” It came out before Uli could stop it, but Rose still responded sharper than she meant to.

  “I don’t like to discuss my private affairs. Uli.”

  Large tears formed immediately in her blue eyes, eyes just like her father’s, Rose realized.

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Brownlee; Mamma says I don’t think before I talk. I’m sorry—truly I am.”

  Rose wanted to shake herself. “Uli. I’m sorry too. Don’t worry about it, all right? It just hurts still to talk about it.” Rose stroked her sunny head while Uli wiped the dampness from her face.

  “I had a little girl who might have looked a lot like you. She was six.”

  “Oh!” Uli was quiet and then timidly asked, “Did she die too?”

  “Yes she did.”

  “Oh.” Meditative silence reigned for a moment. “So now she’s with Jesus, isn’t she? Just like my cousin Kristen.”

  Rose hadn’t examined it from that angle before.

  “I suppose she is, Uli.” The realization gave her a small smile. “Yes, she must be, mustn’t she?”

  Uli nodded her head “yes,” smiling, too.

  “O.K., then. We have a little secret, Uli. No one else knows about it so we’ll just keep it that way, hmm?”

  Uli nodded again. Impulsively she hugged Rose around her waist. “I won’t let you get lonely, Mrs. Brownlee! I will be your friend.”

  They went back to the barn arm in arm and fetched out Snowfoot.

  “You must use a stake and put Snowfoot out to eat in the grass every day,” Uli informed Rose. “She will keep your whole yard clean and eat all the weeds too. Only don’t let her eat any milkweed or bad grass that will sour her milk. And never let her near your flowers. She will eat them right up! Mamma had beautiful sweet peas one year, and the goats got loose and ate them all. Ohh, she was very angry! We have to be very careful to keep them tied up or in the pen. But you’ll like how she keeps the grass down in your yard. Snakes don’t like to live where the grass is short either.”

  Rose was quick to see the benefits to that and selected a patch of grass by the well for Snowfoot to dispatch for her. Uli got a mallet from her father, and they pounded Snowfoot’s stake firmly down. Tiny green shoots were finally making their way out of the hard bought earth in Rose’s garden. She was determined not to allow Snowfoot to lunch in style on their tender beginnings.

  Uli showed her ability to handle a hoe when they worked in the garden that day, too. The recent rain was giving both the vegetables and the weeds a real boost. Rose and Uli took turns chopping at the resilient prairie grass while the other gathered them up and carried them to the burning pile.

  Lunch was companionable. Uli chattered happily and Rose and Mr. Thoresen ate in leisurely silence, content to take a quiet rest from the hot sun.

  After clearing the lunch things away, Rose and Uli worked on sanding the cabin floor. First it had to be sanded smooth, then oiled deeply and rubbed. Rose was determined to have a “shiny” floor when her things arrived.

  “Another two weeks at the most, I hope,” she told herself patiently. Counting on her fingers, she estimated that her mother, Tom, and Abigail received her letter no later than today. Barring a flat refusal on Mother’s part to send her belongings, a few days to pack them up and nine to ten days for travel made two weeks. She pressed harder on the stone she was rubbing the floor with. Only about half of the floor was done at the end of three hours, but she refused to be discouraged.

  “Out here I’m learning that everything worth doing takes twice as long as it should, and anything else only half of that. Well, at least I am developing perseverance!” Rose sat back on her feet. “Uli, how about tea and cookies?”

  Uli’s face brightened. They washed the dust off their hands and faces out at the pump and brewed the tea hot and sweet. While it was steeping, they examined the progress of Rose’s porch.

  “Oh, it’s going to be big!” Uli exulted.

  Mr. Thoresen had dug the holes and planted half the poles that would support the porch frame. Sweat dripped from his burnt brown face. They watched him heft the next twelve-foot pole into its hole and pack dirt around it. When the pole was steady, Mr. Thoresen used a mallet and a short post to pack the dirt down, hitting the post with the mallet all around the foundation pole. Finally the pole stood rock solid.

  “Tea, Mr. Thoresen?” Rose invited.

  “Ja!” He spoke a few words to Uli before disappearing around the side of the house.

  “Onkel is going to wash up too, Mrs. Brownlee.”

  Rose spread the tea things (such as they were), and they sat down to wait for Mr. Thoresen.

  “Uli, I just remembered something,” Rose puzzled. “Who is Kristen?”

  “Kristen was my cousin, but she died.”

  “Cousin!” Rose was surprised, but Mr. Thoresen entered right then, thirsty for his tea. He drank deeply of the strong brew and sighed appreciatively.

  “Cookie, Mr. Thoresen?” Rose offered the plate of plain sugar biscuits. He helped himself to two. She poured him another cup of tea and asked again. “Another cookie, Mr. Thoresen?”

  “Nei.” A few more sips drained his cup, and he waited while Uli finished her cookie before stating kindly, “Uli, home now.”

  She reluctantly but obediently rose and cleared off her dishes. Mr. Thoresen stood too and bowed to Rose. “Takk, Mrs. Brownlee.”

  “You’re very welcome, sir.” She saw them to the door where he gathered up his tools.

  After they left, Rose untied Snowfoot and scratched her pretty head affectionately. Snowfoot was feeling frisky and gamboled about Rose in circles, but came tamely when presented with a bucket of cool water.

  “How sweet you are, little one,” Rose crooned. Prince hung his head over the pasture fence, curious about the newcomer so she introduced them. Snowfoot hung back, but Prince looked her over thoroughly before l
osing interest.

  Since it was only four-thirty, Rose moved Snowfoot’s stake to fresh grass and tied her up again. Down the creek she wandered, girl-like, slipping barefoot over the rocks and grassy banks. She had discovered that she liked to walk barefoot occasionally. She also enjoyed letting the breeze blow freely through her unconfined hair. Yes, she was working “without her hat” some of the time, too. The result was a brightening of her complexion and bright streaks in her ash hair. Rose knew the hard work coupled by good food and fresh air was improving her health, even if she was still thin.

  “Not,” she added, “as thin as I was a month ago.”

  Uli came with Mr. Thoresen Friday and Saturday also and kept Rose company while he worked nearly nonstop on the porch. Rose grew so fond of the little girl that she knew she would sorely miss having her every day.

  Friday, Mr. Thoresen completed the frame and laid the planks. Saturday the roof went on and in the afternoon, the steps took shape, one set from the front door, another off the southwest corner of the house in the back. At the end of the day, Mr. Thoresen, hot and obviously tired, told Rose he was finished.

  Rose admired the porch, walking its distance across the front and down the one side, exuberant over the shaded view.

  “Its a beautiful piece of work, Mr. Thoresen,” Rose told him. Uli translated. “I’m sorry you had to work so hard to get it done on time—I very much appreciate it.”

  “You like?” he queried. Even in his weariness his blue eyes were unreadable, scrutinizing.

  “Yes. It’s everything I wanted and more.”

  He smiled briefly and bent his head once. “Dat’s gud den. Come Uli, go home.” Without another word he gathered his tools and trekked across the wide field just beyond the creek. Uli’s small figure in the distance turned once and waved.

  Chapter 18

  Saturday night or rather Sunday morning in the dark, still hours before dawn. Rose awakened from deep sleep. She lay entirely alert, listening. Something had penetrated her slumbering consciousness and triggered an alarm. She heard nothing, however. Even the crickets were silent. But they shouldn’t be, should they? Unless somebody or something . . .

  Rose threw back the covers and stealthily found her slippers. Opening the back door just a crack she peered out. Minutes went by, but she still didn’t see anything amiss. Then Prince snorted angrily and kicked at his stall. Whatever it was, was by the stable.

  “What do I do?” Rose was frantic for her animals. She glanced in agitation around the cabin. The largest skillet hanging behind the stove caught her eye. Softly she removed it and a long metal ladle from their hooks. Fear for Snowfoot and Prince made her bold as she crept out the door.

  Desperate bleating broke out from Snowfoot and Prince was thrashing inside his stall: Rose threw caution aside and sprinted for the stable. There she saw three shadowy figures leaping at the stable doors and trying to pry them open. Shouting, she rushed at them banging the ladle and spoon together angrily. The dark forms melted away into the tall grass and she charged after them, pounding her “weapons” and yelling crazily.

  Finally Rose came to her senses and rushed back to the stable calling reassurances to Prince and Snowfoot. Inside, the two animals both expressed their relief at seeing their mistress. Rose patted and stroked Prince, speaking gently to him while he calmed down. Snowfoot trembled and bleated plaintively until Rose opened the stall door. The little goat came to Rose’s arms like a frightened child so she sat in the straw and cuddled her. Afraid of another attack that night, Rose decided to stay in the stable. She went back to the house and pulled a blanket from her bed. Back out in Snowfoot’s stall with the stable door tightly closed, she made herself as comfortable as possible wrapped in her blanket and sitting against the wall. Prince was quiet and Snowfoot lay beside her, her knobby little head resting on her thigh.

  She finally drifted off fitfully until just before dawn when a chorus of yapping and howling in the distance stirred her again. Coyotes? She was sure they were her visitors—would they be back?

  When she departed for church, bleary-eyed and fearful, Rose left Snowfoot in her stall and securely tied the doors of the stable closed. Only human hands could undo those knots! But the tracks of several four-footed animals were all over the yard. They had been through the garden, on the porch, and even at her pantry door! They seemed to have no fear at all, and Rose was outraged by the intrusion.

  After service Rose couldn’t wait to pour out her indignation to Brian and Fiona.

  “Sure an’ them coyotes be terrible thick this year,” Brian commiserated. “Folks wi’ large flocks o’ sheep be takin’ the worst o’ it for th’ divils go after th’ wee lambs an’ even t’ growed sheep if they be bold enow. Yer goat is being their look-out, an’ a tidy morsel she’d be makin’ for five or six o’ ’em.”

  “But what do I do about them? They came into my yard while I was asleep! Should I get a gun?” The idea seemed ludicrous even to Rose who had never handled a firearm in her life.

  Brian’s mouth twitched. “Well, an’ that’s bein’ the ‘hit an’ miss’ idee to be sure. Jist be doin’ what ever’one does. Get a dog.”

  Rose’s face fell. “I don’t like dogs, Brian. They scare me almost as much as the coyotes do.”

  Yet Fiona nodded agreement when Brian responded, “Ye’ll have to be gettin’ o’er yer fear, Miss Rose. A farm is needin’ a good dog whether for one woman or a whole family. I’m thinkin’ a woman alone is needin’ one that much more.”

  “Aye, Miss Rose. My Brian is tellin’ ye true. Had we a right proper watch dog th’ day we ‘cleaned’ yer stove, he would have been lettin’ us know directly ’bout t’ snakes afore we found ’em our ownsel’s.”

  Rose nodded and turned away disheartened. Her little world was going to be invaded further—by a stupid dog!

  Brian was passing the information of Rose’s night visitors to Jan Thoresen who nodded gravely. They both glanced her way, and she turned her back on them so as not to let them see her mutinous expression. Then Sigrün tapped her on the shoulder.

  “Oh. hello, Sigrün. How are you today?” Rose attempted to be cheerful.

  Sigrün smiled and nodded, but didn’t say anything, as usual. Rose noticed Mr. Thoresen talking now with a young farmer by the name of Harold Kalbørg. They both exhibited the same staid characteristics—hands in pockets or arms crossed, quiet, steady voices, and rigid, work-toughened carriage.

  “That is a fine young man your father is speaking with, Sigrün,” Rose commented. To her surprise. the girl blushed and looked down in confusion.

  Oh! Rose thought, putting it together. Right then Vera approached, inviting her to dinner, but Rose declined, explaining her worry for Snowfoot.

  “I’m going to need to let her out today for a while and watch her closely. I’m sorry not to be able to come. Would you and Pastor Medford be my guests next week?”

  As she got ready to go home, she found herself watching Sigrün and this man Harold to see if they spoke together. But all the Thoresens got in their vehicles to leave and so did Harold. She directed Prince out of town, and expected Harold to turn north toward his own farm. Instead, they all followed each other down the road toward Rose’s and beyond that was Thoresens’.

  “Aha!” she chuckled. “The young man is invited to dinner!”

  Sure enough, the Thoresens’ wagon and buggy led the way for young Kalbørg’s rig and Rose turned off on her own road.

  “Wouldn’t it be wonderful if Sigrün and Harold fell in love and married,” Rose daydreamed. She recalled her own excitement the first time James had dined with her family. Tom had teased her unmercifully. “Sigrün is a capable girl and old enough to marry. Would she ever talk to Harold though? Does she ever talk to anyone?”

  Rose unhitched Prince and put him in his pasture. In the bright sunlight, last night’s events seemed distant, even foolish. Imagine! Chasing coyotes through the grass in her nightgown with a frying pan! She led Snowfoot out an
d allowed her to run free for a few minutes before staking her out. As a precaution, Rose put the stake inside the pasture. Prince would help guard little Snowfoot.

  That evening, Rose securely tied the stable doors again. The idea of setting traps came to mind. She would speak to Brian about it in the morning.

  She didn’t get the opportunity though. About eight in the morning after milking the goat and putting her and Prince out, Jan Thoresen rode over the rise from the direction of McKennies’. He was riding one of his bays and across the saddle in front of him was sprawled a very miserable dog. Behind him rode Uli, holding tightly, for she bounced regularly to the horse’s gait.

  “God-dag, Mrs. Brünlee,” he began. He swung Uli down and then dismounted himself. Uli ran up and chattered to Rose enthusiastically about another “present.” Mr. Thoresen tied a rope to the dog’s collar and set him on the ground.

  It was, as Rose feared, one of the McKennies’ half-grown pups.

  Ugly didn’t satisfy her need for a word to describe him. In the weeks since she’d first seen the mongrel he’d gotten a lot bigger, too, even though it was easy to see from his gangly legs that he hadn’t finished growing.

  “See, Mrs. Brownlee? We brought you a dog to chase away the coyotes. We had to carry him all the way here ’cause he didn’t want to come.”

  “Good boy!” Rose encouraged silently.

  Mr. Thoresen led the dog to Rose. The pup pulled at the rope and growled at Jan. Suspiciously, he eyed Rose. Rose eyed him back with distaste.

  “Put your hand out to let him smell you,” Uli suggested.

  “Will he bite me?” Rose asked.

  Uli looked surprised. “Why would he? He’s only mad at Onkel for making him lie quietly on the horse.” She held out her hand to the dog. “See?”

  The dog licked it.

  “Ugh! I don’t want him to lick me.”

  “Why, Mrs. Brownlee, don’t you like your dog?”

  “I don’t care for dogs, Uli, especially big ones.” And extremely homely ones, she added to herself.

  “But you don’t want the coyotes to get Snowfoot, do you?” Uli persisted.