A Rose Blooms Twice

by Vikki Kestell

  Going to town twice a week were the only things she looked forward to. Then, the last Saturday in February a blizzard set in and stayed until Tuesday preventing the ride in for church. She reassured herself that nothing could hinder her trip in the morning to attend Bible study until she awoke early before daylight to the incessant roar of yet another storm. Through that day and the next she trudged, lethargic and downcast.

  Friday afternoon the weather cleared and Rose stared dully out her window, not really perceiving the brilliant sunshine on the drifted fields. She sat in her chair, letting the tears run down her face unheeded, uncaring.

  The ring of sleigh bells entered the yard and little feet padded up the steps, followed by heavy, firm ones. Rose answered the door, without thought of how she would appear.

  Bounding in, Uli announced joyfully, “Mrs. Brownlee! Onkel is taking me for a ride; do you want to come?”

  Smiling wanly, Rose nodded. They stepped inside while she went for her cloak, bonnet, and gloves. Moving slowly and mechanically, it took her several minutes to find her things and begin to put them on. Uli frowned and looked up at her uncle Jan.

  His face was impassive, almost stern, but he stepped forward and assisted Rose as she fumbled to put her cloak on. Unconsciously she sniffed and rubbed her cheek with a gloved hand.

  Jan suddenly became loudly cheerful and sent Uli into gales of laughter by snatching her up and “whiskering” her cheek. It seemed to wake Rose up a bit, and he added for her benefit,

  “Sun is ver shining today, Mrs. Brünlee; ver gud day drive, Ja?”

  He hustled them out into the sleigh, wheeled the team around and back up the hill. Flying across the snow-crusted upper fields of Rose’s property they sped, the wind whipping their hair and faces, Uli whooping in delight at their speed. Her squeals of excitement were not curbed by Mr. Thoresen, rather there was something in his manner that seemed to encourage her exuberance and glee. With the gleam of reflected sunlight on her face and Uli’s happy chatter in her ear, Rose came to herself gradually. They rode for miles that day and Rose thought the air had never been fresher, the sun brighter. She smiled, she laughed, she sang “Jingle Bells” with Uli as many times as she wished and she talked companionably with Jan when Uli grew sleepy and snuggled against her between them.

  “Vinter most gone, now,” he mentioned. “March haf many nice days; some storm too, but most getting nicer.”

  Rose sighed. “I guess I don’t care much for winter out here, but I can’t say I wasn’t warned.”

  He shrugged. “Vinter ver hard, anyone. Must busy. Must outside some and also wit’ people.”

  “I know. I just haven’t been able to see anyone recently. I guess I let it get me down.”

  “Not eat gud, also?”

  “Hm? Oh. Food hasn’t tasted good to me lately.”

  “Mrs. Brünlee, body belong God; must take care for him, Ja? Take care mind, too.”

  “Your English is improving, Mr. Thoresen,” Rose commented, changing the subject. “Have you been working on it?”

  Glancing sideways at her he responded slowly, “Ja, am learn some.”

  The sun was dipping low when they let Rose off. From around the side of the house Baron streaked, yipping his pleasure at seeing her, displaying his displeasure at the “intruder,” which made it difficult for Rose to say “thank you” to Mr. Thoresen. She managed, while pushing Baron down and over his growling and whining to say how much she had enjoyed the drive.

  “I take Uli Monday,” he responded quietly, staring out over the snow-laden fields. “You like come too?”

  “Yes, I would. I would greatly enjoy it.”

  Rose was able to pull herself out of the deep despair after that: she went to church on Sunday and spent the day with Jacob and Vera. Monday Jan and Uli came as promised. The days were lengthening slowly too, and she found Jan was right; there were some nice days as March approached. On Saturday evening Meg and Fiona drove their sleigh over and spent a few hours sipping tea and sharing the latest news from town.

  Eyes sparkling, Meg predicted, “An I’m havin’ it from a very reliable source that there’s t’ be a weddin’ fair into May what’s bein’ announced next Sunday!”

  “Meg, I wonder who this “reliable source” might be?”

  Keeping a straight face, Rose stared innocently at Meg, who blushed and hedged. “And could the happy couple perhaps be Harold Kalbørg and Sigrün Thoresen? But probably not; after all he’s never at their house.”

  They laughed gaily. It was well known that young Kalbørg was present for nearly every Sunday dinner at Thoresens’ as well as Saturday afternoon rides and Saturday evening company.

  “Aye, an ye know ’tis,” Meg giggled. “Mrs. Thoresen has ordered for the weddin’ dress already t’ be makin’ and Harold is t’ be addin’ t’ his house soon as t’ snow is clearin’.”

  “He’s not the only one waiting for spring,” Rose sighed. “I’ve planned my garden three times thus far.”

  “Well an’ ’tis bein’ a while afore ye kin be plantin’, Miss Rose,” Fiona wagged her head knowledgeably. “Spring is bein’ a ways off, and terrible fickle she is too when coom. Many as sowed in April has froze in May for not waitin’ long enow.”

  Late winter storms pounded the area again the first days of March as if to emphasize Fiona’s words and left a six-inch layer of fresh snow. It seemed that just as Rose wanted to go crazy from the inactivity, Uli would skip up her front steps to include her in a ride out in the brisk air with “Onkel.” How much Rose enjoyed and needed those hours skiing atop the brightness, leaving her gloom at home, she couldn’t say. Mr. Thoresen was always the same, kindly aloof, reserved yet friendly. Still Rose felt that her thanks was received with a subtle satisfaction and he always left mentioning the next time he would be taking Uli driving so that Rose began to expect the jingle of the sleigh bells and Uli’s trip up her porch steps.

  The second Sunday in March as she left church after service, Mary Bailey met her. Rose hugged her warmly and received a fond greeting in return. There was a restraint of some kind in Mrs. Bailey’s manner, though, that prompted Rose to inquire with concern,

  “Mary, is something the matter?”

  “A mite, yes. I’ve brought you a wire from your brother, come this mornin’ early.” Her face was expressionless and a chill went through Rose as she took the folded paper. Mary patted her on the arm and moved off a few steps for Rose’s privacy.

  Mother passed away in sleep Saturday a.m.

  Funeral Tuesday. Come anyway.

  Tom

  Great, silent sobs welled up inside her, and Rose bowed her head on her hands.

  Chapter 25

  Rose spent two weeks with Tom and Abigail. When they met her train she requested to be taken directly to the cemetery as if it would somehow make her mother’s absence more real or tangible. It did in a way. She stared intently at the new stone side by side with the discolored twin bearing her father’s epitaph and part of her grief subsided. Tom and Abby described the funeral, the friends and loving tributes paid to Mrs. Blake, and it helped Rose to hear all the details.

  When Rose was ready to leave, Tom hesitated.

  “I had thought we would be coming here tomorrow and would have an opportunity to tell you that, well . . . we want you to come with us over there, too.” He pointed to a stand of trees near the center of the yard. Rose knew it was the Brownlee family plot.

  “James,” Rose whispered.

  “Yes.”

  She walked steadily toward the black iron fence enclosing the plot and opened the gate. Tom and Abby followed at a discreet distance. In a tidy little row the markers stood; James, Jeffrey to the left, a space to the right, Glory and Clara.

  “The space is for me,” Rose realized.

  Tom’s hand touched hers. “We had a small service in July. You never asked, and I felt there was no need to mention it before you came back to visit. I just didn’t know Mother would be here too when . . .”
His voice broke.

  Rose consoled Tom as best she could. It struck her that she was somehow now cast in the role of the comforter, that a change in their relationship had made her the “strong” one—or was it just a change in her? They stood there, arm in arm, Abby, Tom, and Rose, gazing at the row of graves and the torrent of grief that Rose expected did not materialize. Instead, in the bottom of her soul where she had thought the desolation and despair of the last year would take her, a deep peace rested, but pulsing and alive. It was as if she’d opened a door that she’d really believed contained the ultimate in pain and fear and found instead Another, a person who contradicted death by being Life himself.

  Oh, Lord, it’s you! I can feel you! Tears splashed on her coat, and she smiled tremulously through them. Death cannot hurt me ever again because of you living inside of me! I know that now. And I don’t belong here where they have made a place for me. I’m not dead! I have a life to live and I have a mission, a work to do for you. Maybe someday someone will put my poor body in this piece of ground, I don’t know. But it won’t be ‘me’ because the real me will never die! Oh, I’m so glad, Lord, Thank you.

  Rose took her hanky, dried her face and suggested, “Isn’t there a little nephew waiting at home for me to meet?”

  Tom and Abby looked surprised, but Abby embraced Rose. “Yes, and he’s been wanting to meet his Aunt Rose, too!”

  Purposely, Rose made an effort to draw their attention from the sad events of late by describing her winter in RiverBend, the Christmas celebrations, sleigh rides, and most of all, her precious ladies’ meetings. Everything intrigued Abby who questioned Rose vociferously, and Tom showed a keen interest too, especially in her descriptions of milking Snowfoot, the amount of work she did caring for her animals, and her little farm.

  “Rose, you were so fragile and timid before you left home. You never did a lick of hard work in your life! I see now you’ve grown hearty—not overly plump yet, more than that, you have an air of . . . I can’t put my finger on it exactly . . .”

  “Self-assurance,” Abby nodded in admiration. “I like it very much, Rose.”

  Tom lifted his brows at his wife. “And would you like me to advertise my business for sale this week so as to engage in such a venture, my dear?”

  “No, Tom, but we should visit there this summer without fail,” she responded positively. “And it isn’t as though there were any reason not to now . . .”

  “Now that Mother is gone? Yes, Rose is my only kin, and we can afford to. We’ll see.”

  “Thank you, darling.”

  They ushered Rose into the Blakes’ house where they had taken up residence only the last week, and Abigail called for the nurse to bring Jamie. Before Rose even got her coat off she was face-to-face with a chubby little fellow, wearing honey brown curls and brown eyes in a rosy face that displayed no fear, only curiosity. While Abby held him, Tom intoned formally with a grin:

  “Mrs. Rose Brownlee, I have the pleasure of introducing Master James Blake; Mr. Blake, your Auntie Rose.”

  While crooning a “hello,” Rose slipped her coat off and a servant took it away. She casually fingered her brooch, making it glint in the light and, as she hoped, Jamie noticed it and after a moment, reached out a pudgy fist to “see” it. Soon he was cuddled in Rose’s arms and examining all her buttons and bonnet ribbons gleefully, perfectly content to sit with his Aunt Rose all that evening.

  “I have a beautiful pull toy for him, Tom,” Rose mentioned after dinner. “Carved by my nearest neighbor Mr. Thoresen. The man is a genius with his hands and so thoughtful. When their family heard I was to leave in just two days after your wire, they came and took my animals to their farm to care for them, and Mr. Thoresen drove me to the train with his little niece Uli. Mr. Thoresen is a widower and his sister-in-law, Uli’s mother, is a widow. They share a home all together. Uli is the darling of their family and a very staunch friend of mine. She told her “Onkel” that I should have a present for Jamie, and he made the most darling thing in just a few hours.

  “Speaking of your stock and farm, Rose,” Tom began carefully, “You know, we are both inheriting Father and Mother’s house and properties; there’s more than enough room here, more than enough money for . . .”

  “Tom,” Rose interrupted gently, “If it had ever been a matter of money, you know that I never needed to leave here. Believe me, I have found a happy home where I am and cannot imagine leaving it to live here again.”

  Tom frowned. “Is there any man out there paying you attention, like that Morton fellow?”

  “Mr. Morton?” Rose was astonished and chuckled. “He is so pompous that I embarrass him just by living on a homestead. And attending church for that matter.”

  “What about that Thoresen guy?” he shot back.

  “Tom, Rose is not here to be interrogated. Be polite,” Abby remonstrated. “Now, what about this Mr. Thoresen, Rose?”

  “Well, you both wouldn’t even ask if you knew him. He’s almost twenty years older than I am. We are good friends, though.”

  “Oh.” Abby appeared disappointed, but Tom put in a last remark.

  “Just remember, because there’s snow on the roof, doesn’t mean there’s no fire in the stove.”

  Rose dismissed the suggestion and moved the subject to more comfortable things. The week went quickly, and even though they begged her to stay longer, she refused gently. Her old acquaintances and connections seemed superficial and her friends’ lives were entirely concerned with improving their social positions and their children’s accomplishments. Not one meaningful relationship from her hometown induced her to lengthen her stay except for the time spent with Tom, Abigail, and baby Jamie. She would miss him the most, she knew.

  “Tom, everyone at home is getting ready to plow. The prairie is turning green and coming to life, something I have pined for all winter. Even my own garden needs planting and my animals will be missing me, too. Won’t you promise to come this summer? Come during harvest! It gets into your blood and you’ll never forget it,” she begged.

  “If I have any influence at all, we’ll be there, Rose,” Abigail replied with confidence.

  Tom merely repeated, “We’ll see.”

  The morning Rose left she insisted Jamie ride to the station with them, and she held him during the drive. What she would have given to take him with her! All the tears she shed when the cars rolled away from the platform were for missing his sweet baby face already, and she had again pleaded with Tom to come out the end of summer.

  “If business holds steady, it’s possible, Rose,” was all Tom would promise before he hugged her boyishly and kissed her loudly on the cheek.

  “Tom, behave yourself!” Abby chided.

  “He is,” Rose just laughed. “Like he always does and has. That’s my baby brother!”

  “All right! Time for you to get on the train,” he responded, chastened. “At least I feel better about this than last time. Take care, Sis. We love you.”

  As the train steamed west, Rose looked anxiously for the signs of spring. It was only two weeks earlier in the year than when she had come out last year, but it had been a harder winter, folks were saying, and longer, too. Miles of farmland, as yet still bare and gray, lined the way home. Rose curbed her disappointment, but still she impatiently longed to get home and plant her own little crops.

  “This time last year Fiona had planted hers,” she reminded herself stubbornly and counted off the hours before she would see the longed-for prairie.

  Every part of her being beat with gladness and with relief when Rose descended the train steps back in RiverBend. The scents of the prairie filled her nostrils; the breath of spring had touched it while she was away.

  Quickly, she located her bag, smiling at the folks she knew, looking for someone dear, Vera and Jacob, the Thoresens, or McKennies. Her wire to Vera had requested her to arrange transportation out to her home, and Rose’s thoughts kept turning to Prince and Snowfoot—had they been all right at Tho
resens’ while she was gone? Oh, to be back at her little house watching the sunset with Baron contentedly sprawled by her side!

  Golden hair and short skirts flying, a small, sturdy form raced toward her.

  “Mrs. Brownlee! Mrs. Brownlee!”

  Rose scooped Uli up and smothered her round cheeks with kisses while Uli squeezed Rose’s neck and matched her kiss for kiss. At a more dignified pace, Amalie and Jan Thoresen followed, and soon Rose was engulfed in Amalie’s loving arms and enthusiastic chatter while Mr. Thoresen stood calmly waiting his opportunity to shake her hand and say, “Velcome home!”

  They had brought their wagon to take her out to her homestead, and while Amalie ran on, with Uli trying to translate, Rose found out that the boys had been sent ahead to put Prince and Snowfoot in their stalls and open the house for her.

  “And Baron? How is Baron?” Rose questioned.

  Jan snorted and through Uli responded.

  “Onkel says your dog is fine even if we did give up trying to keep him at our house. He chewed through two ropes and went back home, so we just let him stay there. He’s waiting for you right now.”

  Rose smiled broadly, and Jan clucked his tongue in mock disapproval.

  “Dog ver gud now, eh?” he commented wryly.

  When they let Rose off, she babbled her thanks and good-byes and ran to the porch. A long, drawn out howl from back by the stable was her first greeting from Baron, and by the time she reached the steps, she heard his fast approaching barks. Around the corner he flew and unleashed his excitement and joy. Rose was nearly as overcome and allowed him to jump up and muddy her dress while she patted, scratched, and hugged him. Søren and Karl joined them in the yard right then and over Baron’s yips and barks “hello-ed” and grinned.