A Rose Blooms Twice

by Vikki Kestell

  The inside was small—about eight feet, but cool and empty. A musty, earth smell permeated the air. Rose was impressed that a family of four had lived several winters in its small confines.

  “When they built the house it must have seemed like a mansion after this,” Rose commented.

  “Aye,” Brian replied. “Our soddy was ’most twice as big, but we were havin’ more young ’uns at t’ time than Andersons did.”

  “Is your soddy still around, Brian?”

  “Nae. We was usin’ it for cool storage many o’ year ’fore we were diggin’ t’ root cellar closer by. Then we tore it doon. An’ we should be diggin’ a cellar for ye, too, Miss Rose. This is bein’ too far from t’ house, especially in winter—and ye must be havin’ a place for t’ store yer garden produce.”

  “I hadn’t thought about it, but I suppose you are right.”

  As June melted into July and July passed by drowsily, Prince grew fat and sassy along with Snowfoot. Sometimes, on a hot day, just for pleasure, Rose would take Prince and Snowfoot with Baron tagging along and walk up the creek. She turned them loose to wander and play, nibble or graze on the green growth by the water. Prairie dogs, birds, garter snakes, rabbits, all were observed in their tramps.

  Across the creek, beyond Thoresens’ fields, unplowed prairie or other farms stretched out. Very few farmers actually used all 160 acres of their homesteads yet. But every year they could, they would break more ground, sow more crops. Thus, the wild spaces were being pushed back, a little at a time.

  Rose was happy to dip her bare feet in the creek and feel the sandy gravel between her toes. Days they would ramble aimlessly in the sunshine became her fondest memory of that summer, her first year out west.

  Chapter 22

  Corn stood higher than a man in every field, golden-tasseled and heavy-eared. More times than Rose could count she heard the words “bumper crop,” and hopes were running high. The winter wheat crop was in, now the second sowing approached maturity.

  Rose’s garden, too, was yielding enough to keep her canning, pickling, and drying hours every day. Between watering, regular chores and tending the produce, Rose felt there was only enough daylight left to meet herself getting up in the morning. She dined on the best of everything each day: fresh carrots, beans, potatoes, turnips, cucumbers, and tomatoes to her heart’s delight. She anticipated her own sweet corn any day now, too.

  The result of Snowfoot’s abundant milk supply, the fresh, plentiful produce coupled with Rose’s increased appetite was apparent when she dressed that dawn.

  “Dear Lord! My skirt is snug around me again!” Rose studied herself critically in the mirror. What a change! Instead of the thin, inadequate, and pale creature she had been months ago her mirror showed a wiry, healthy—and heavens! brown, yes, brown woman.

  “You look like a pioneer, Rose. Whatever would they say back home? Well, I say you look alive and feel alive!”

  The Baron thumped his tail in agreement. He was waiting for the day to begin; chasing gophers, rabbits, and other “nefarious creatures” was his first order of business.

  For Rose, milking Snowfoot, putting Prince in the pasture, staking out Snowfoot, straining the milk, making breakfast and a long list of other “firsts” were on her mind. Bible reading and prayer followed breakfast and, as today was Wednesday, a trip to town for mail and visits. It was still early, only eight thirty when she left for town.

  After checking the Post Office, she had coffee at Mrs. Owens’. She wanted to enjoy her letter from Tom and Abby. Had the baby come? She forced herself to wait so as to derive the most possible pleasure from the letter. Meg served her coffee and stood by to swap news for a minute. Rose would have loved to share her letter with Meg, but she was working and could not stop long or sit down.

  Rose creamed and stirred her coffee before meticulously slitting the envelope.

  Dear Aunt Rose, (Aunt Rose!)

  We are all happy to tell you about your new nephew, born August 3. He is as handsome as his father and as sweet as his mother. I’m sure if you saw him you would agree!

  Abby is fine, too. I’m not able to judge what it costs a woman to bring a child into the world, but I value my dear wife for the struggle she went through, for it was not easy. However, we are both glad of the results.

  Mother is overjoyed to be a grandmother again. She sends her love, as we both (all three of us!) do.

  By the way, your nephew’s name is James Jeffrey Brownlee Blake. We think it’s beautiful. He will wear it with pride.

  Our love and affection,

  Tom, Abigail, and Jamey

  Rose took her hanky from her pocket and dabbed at the tears. Precious baby! Tom and Abby couldn’t have honored her more.

  She flagged Meg with her fluttering kerchief.

  “Oh, Meg! I’ve had the most wonderful news! My brother Tom and his wife Abigail just had a baby boy, their first! And such a blessing! They named the baby—”

  Rose caught herself.

  “What were they namin’ the bairn, Miss Rose?” Meg’s eyes were sparkling with happiness for her.

  “They . . . named him James Jeffrey Brownlee Blake,” Rose said lamely.

  “‘Tis a foine name, Miss Rose. Is it having a special meanin”?

  Crookedly, Rose smiled at Meg. “Yes. It has a very special meaning to me. It is . . . was . . . my husband’s name and also my son’s.”

  “Yes’m. That would be makin’ it most special.” Meg was gentle and compassionate.

  “Well, anyway, I’m an aunt now, Meg. That’s good news.”

  “As ye were sayin’—’tis a blessing!”

  Finishing her coffee, Rose paid a few calls. Vera was pleased to hear her news, and as they quietly talked, Rose found herself opening up, sharing her joy for Tom and Abby. Somehow she found herself sharing the details of her own losses, felt afresh in the shadow of their gain.

  Her young friend listened, nodding and patting her hand occasionally while Rose unburdened herself.

  “In one respect I thank God for this change in my life,” Rose pondered. “I mean if I hadn’t needed him so badly when it happened, I might have gone on as before, without him and not seeing that I was lost myself. But one thing still bothers me, Vera. The Bible says that God is good, that he loves us as a father. Can you tell me, did God do this? Did God kill my family?”

  Vera shook her head. “I don’t believe so. Do you remember the Sunday you were saved? Jacob preached from John chapter 10. In that chapter Jesus says he is the good shepherd who cares for his sheep. A caring shepherd lays down his life to save his sheep. In verse 10, he says it is the thief who comes to steal, kill and destroy—that Jesus came not only to give life, but to give it abundantly.”

  “So who is this ‘thief,’ Vera?”

  “He is God’s enemy and our adversary, the devil.”

  “The devil! Is there really such a thing?”

  “Not a thing or a person, but a being. The devil was formerly an angel who lifted himself up in pride and rebellion against God. God had him thrown out of heaven, and because we are created in God’s image and likeness and because God loves us, the devil hates us fervently. He tempted Adam and Eve and tricked them into sin. Ever since, sin has been in the world producing sorrow, sickness, and death. But God didn’t leave us without hope, Rose! He sent Jesus to buy us back from sin’s grasp. Legally, sin has no more control over us when we believe on him, but because we still live in this fallen world in fallible bodies, we struggle and fight against circumstances and yes, against real personal attacks by the devil. The Bible says ‘your adversary, the devil, goes about like a roaring lion seeking whom he may devour.’”

  “But how do we protect ourselves from him? What can we do?”

  “Jesus said that he gave us authority over the devil. When we use God’s word against him and trust God to be our deliverer, we can win in our situation. Sometimes we don’t win at first, for one reason or another, but God will always make a way for us th
rough any circumstance. And his peace is our greatest joy in every situation.”

  Rose pondered this. “It’s hard for me to understand what you are saying, but if I hear you correctly, then God didn’t cause or direct the accident that took my family?”

  “That’s right. This world is caught in sin and death, but God sent his own Son to die so that you would have help in your time of need. Has he helped you, Rose?”

  “Oh, yes, but I’ve been blaming him, you know, for being ultimately responsible.”

  Vera understood. “I can’t answer all your questions, Rose. I do know that God wasn’t responsible for sin, and we are all sinners in one way or another. Yet he still sent his precious Son as the answer. He didn’t have to, you know.”

  Rose felt like she was as close to having a real solution to her enigma as she had ever been. For nearly an hour more they talked on. Vera had such a great knowledge of the Bible that Rose was envious. She not only shared bits of good things with Rose, but where to find them herself so Rose could have them later to study. Once again Rose was utilizing her now dog-eared notebook.

  Reluctantly they parted.

  “I’ve enjoyed this time so much, Rose,” Vera said with sincerity.

  “But not as much as I have! And what’s more, I will continue to enjoy it all week.” Rose felt inspired just then. “Vera! What would be the response from ladies in the neighborhood to having a sort of ladies’ tea or lunch every week for the express purpose of learning the Bible?”

  “Why, I know several who would most definitely be interested. Why don’t we try it?”

  “If no one else ever comes I would be there. Yes! Could you ask Pastor? Maybe he would make an announcement on Sunday!”

  “That I will. Where shall we have it? Our apartment isn’t large enough, and it should be in town, don’t you think?”

  “Vera, I have a daring plan. How about Mrs. Bailey’s? I believe if someone showed her God’s word that she would become a Christian almost immediately.”

  Vera looked doubtful.

  “You don’t know her like I do. She’s so hungry for God’s love. Our meeting would be perfect there; the ladies all know her, and the unsaved ones would come to her house.”

  Becoming thoughtful, Vera answered slowly. “It may be right. Yes, I think so. Listen, I will discuss this with Jacob. Oh, he will be so thrilled! On Sunday I’ll let you know what we can do.”

  Rose drove down the road in such excitement that Prince must have felt it. His ears pitched forward, and he trotted quickly, taking little, short jumps now and then that jerked the carriage.

  Oh, Lord! Oh, I know you are going to do something wonderful through this—starting with Mrs. Bailey. This could be the way to the ladies I’ve been concerned about! She found herself praying so earnestly that tears ran down her face in her desire to see God show his love and mercy in a personal way to Mrs. Bailey and especially the lonely, unknown woman Rose had seen only the one time.

  The sun was hot overhead as she neared McKennies’. She saw a wagon turning in and another right ahead of it down the lane. Rose scanned farther back—more wagons! What was happening? On the track behind her she heard another rig rattling along. It was coming at breakneck speed. Rose moved her buggy over and saw Harold and his team fly by. What was in the wagon bed? She looked again, anxiously, toward the McKennies’ house. No flames, thank God! No perceptible difference. Her eyes scanned the fields behind the barn. Nothing. No, wait; was it her imagination? She made the turn into McKennies’ herself. Down the long lane she kept her attention fastened on the far fields. They were planted in corn, she knew. What was bothering her about the way they looked?

  She pulled Prince up behind Harold’s team. Everyone was on the far side of the house toward the fields; Brian, Fiona, Mr. Gardiner and his two sons, Harold, Jan, Søren, Søren’s friend Ivan, about five other men and several of their wives.

  “What Jan says will be workin’, boot ’tis meanin’ we’ve got t’ break our backs in t’ next hour or two, three at t’ moost, or our chance will be goon. Your fields may be next!” It was Brian, voice harsh with strain and fear.

  Søren spoke up. “My father says if Brian McKennie is willing to sacrifice his corn, we should be grateful to take advantage of such an offer.” There was a buzz of talk and Brian spoke again.

  “Well, laddies, let’s to it! Th’ Lord be blessin’ ye all. Even ye women what feel ye can help, we’ll be needin’ ye.”

  The group of men dispersed into action, but Rose still didn’t know what was happening.

  “Fiona! Fiona, tell me what it is!”

  Fiona’s usually ruddy face was ashen gray. “Look, Rose, ’tis a cursed thing.”

  Rose did look. In the far part of the cornfield it seemed that the tops of the corn lifted slightly, in a wave, or a blanket. The blanket lifted several feet and settled down again, a great, gray-brown blot on the field. Her mind took several seconds to understand what it saw.

  Locusts.

  The men were hitching up their plows, following Brian’s directions even as he hitched his own. Meg’s brothers with shovel, hoe, and scythe, were already running into the fields, circling far to the right of the hideous enemy.

  “What can I do, Fiona?” Rose fought down her panic.

  “I’m takin’ me shovel out to t’ field. Do ye be thinkin’ ye can handle a hoe?”

  “You know I can. What’s to be done?”

  “The idee is t’ be makin’ a swath around th’ field—a fire break they calls it. We will set t’ corn all afire around th’ field at t’ same time. If it works, them divil’s own will be caught in t’ flames or t’ smoke.”

  “Let’s go then.” Rose sprinted to the right side of the field and spaced herself about 50 feet from one of the boys. The area to clear had to be at least three feet wide, judging from what she saw them doing. Rose attacked the corn, Brian’s beautiful corn, hoeing it down and throwing it back into the field to fuel the fire. All around, the sounds of hacking and shoveling grew. More farmers were arriving. Where the corn was cleared, the plow turned up the damp, dark soil.

  If the locusts lifted, Fiona repeated, they had instructions to torch the field immediately, but without the firebreak, the possibility of a wildfire across the dry prairie was nearly as terrifying as the locusts.

  Gunny sacks of burlap to beat the fire if it went out of bounds were being distributed along with torches made by tying rags securely around stout sticks and dousing them in kerosene. Still the firebreak was unfinished, not wide enough in many places and disconnected yet for several lengths. The men were heaving from the sheer fury of the work, driving their horses or mules at a merciless pace. The women and children went before, chopping and cutting, ripping up with bare hands even, to clear the corn before the plow. Others followed behind, spreading the dirt out, tossing any remaining cornstalks into the field, hacking deeper into the field to widen the swath.

  A great warning shout lifted, and Rose caught her breath as the cloud swarmed upwards. Torches were readied for the signal shot—but the hovering mass descended again, just a trifle farther from where it had been feasting.

  One hour, two hours; no rest, no water. Rose could see that few would be able to continue much longer at that frantic rate. She was dizzy and nauseous, and Mr. Gardiner, plowing behind her was drenched in perspiration, and his face was pinched and gray.

  Up ahead, a swath was growing toward them. Jan Thoresen drove a mule harnessed to a disker, followed by several boys and Søren with shovels and rakes, spreading the dirt. Mr. Gardiner swung his plow to the left, and they drove by each other, connecting the swaths. Shouting orders, the men unhitched the animals and had them led away to safety. Torches were given to each person able to hold one and they lined the perimeter of the field, waiting for the signal. Several men were liberally sprinkling kerosene on the edges of the cornfield. One of Brian’s sons lit Rose and Fiona’s torches, continuing down the line. The acrid smoke burned their already dry and hurting thr
oats.

  A gunshot. Every torchbearer plunged his or her torch into the cornfield, touching off flames in row after row. It seemed to Rose that the corn was too green to burn, that the fire couldn’t possibly take.

  “Lord, I rebuke the devourer in Jesus’ name, according to your word,” she prayed aloud.

  A breeze freshened. Its coolness soothed her face. From the cornfield thick, dense smoke billowed upwards, growing, spreading. The fire caught and began to burn freely and the slight wind helped it. Through the smoke Rose strained to see the locusts. What would they do? The men and women on the other side of the field were working hard to keep the fire on the right side of the break, while the breeze drove the fire on Rose’s side into the field, toward the infestation.

  Then she heard a strange whirring, clicking noise, the sound of thousands upon thousands of insect wings. The smoke and the locust cloud seemed to merge; the insects fell away in the other direction, escaping. That’s when it happened. The wind veered. It shifted. On the other side of the field, the fire roared up before the flight of the locusts. The sounds of their frenzied buzzing coupled with the crackling flames. She heard shouts and the beating of burlap bags. The circle of men and women tightened around the field as the flames moved inward, where its fuel was.

  Out of the air fell dead or stunned insects. The beaters descended on them with their bags. Rose felt a fury toward the winged creatures that drove her beyond her own strength. Beating and slapping the burned areas and the fallen bugs was her only goal. It seemed that it was all she had ever done, all she would ever do. The other people became shadowy and vague. Only killing the enemy was real. On and on, deeper into the field, over the hot ashes and smoldering stubble.

  Rose didn’t remember quitting but eventually it came to her that she was sitting against McKennies’ barn. Fiona was slumped at her side. All around the yard, men lay prostrate on the ground, and women and children were scattered by the buildings. Every piece of shade was occupied.