A Rose Blooms Twice

by Vikki Kestell

  As she straightened up from the geraniums, two men were walking through the Thoresens’ cornfields—Søren and Jan—coming to her house. For the last several weeks Rose had not even had opportunity to speak to Jan. He had seemed strangely distant and unavailable. The two men drew near, both reserved, and perhaps Søren was a bit uncomfortable when he said “Hello”? Jan was his normal self: deep, disquieting blue eyes that added no clues to his expressionless, steady gaze.

  Neither one of them offered a reason for their visit, so Rose invited them in and put on a pot of coffee. She found herself carrying the brunt of the conversation because Jan merely sat, with his arms folded, and Søren, looking more distressed as the coffee perked, would only answer her questions “yes” or “no,” saying little else.

  “Amalie is fine?”

  “Yes.”

  “Has anyone seen Harold and Sigrün recently?”

  Søren muttered unintelligibly and nodded.

  (A new tack) “The corn is growing well?”

  “Yes.” (sigh)

  “How about those calves in your pasture? Aren’t they getting big?”

  No answer.

  “I sometimes watch them in the morning. They are so frisky . . .”

  Rose’s heart began to quicken. She tried to keep up the facade, but was something terribly wrong? Her hands shook as she took down her lovely cups and saucers and set them on the table. She was afraid to ask or say anything further.

  Søren just stared miserably at his feet.

  Jan was looking at her, intent, unreadable.

  Nervously, Rose licked her lips, set out the cream and sugar, and poured the coffee. No one moved, no one said a word. Rose glanced from Søren to Jan. Jan was still watching, silent. She put the pot on the stove and pulled her chair up to the table, sitting down.

  Finally, Jan sugared his coffee as usual, no cream. When he finished stirring it he spoke to his son. Søren sat up straight and ran his hand through his hair in distraction.

  Like Tom, thought Rose and smiled fondly.

  Søren’s smile in return looked like his stomach hurt, and Rose shot him a quizzical look.

  “Ah, Mrs. Brownlee, I ah . . .” His eyes pleaded with his father, but he received no look of relenting. Jan spoke to him again, and sipped his coffee. So far he was the only one even touching his beverage!

  “Mrs. Brownlee,” Søren began again. “I am here as my father’s, ah, spokesperson. He wants to talk to you and is making me, I mean using me to translate.” He sighed again. “I’m sorry—this isn’t very comfortable for me, but, well anyway . . . you understand.”

  Rose’s eyes widened. She didn’t understand at all!

  Jan spoke again; Søren sat up straight and repeated formally:

  “From now on, please disregard me. I’ll be saying what my father says, and you may answer him through me.”

  Perplexed, Rose nodded.

  “Mrs. Brownlee, (this is my father speaking), the first time I saw you in church, I realized you were different from other women I knew. You had a hunger for God on your face. You were searching for him with all your heart.”

  All her heart? He had seen that? Startled, Rose turned to Søren, but he was fidgeting with his hands, embarrassed. She shifted her gaze to Jan. Their eyes locked, and he spoke directly to her, Søren translating.

  “You were also grieving. I knew that because I, too, have grieved for loved ones. I saw it in you right away, and I prayed for you.”

  Prayed for her? Was there no end to the understanding of this man, to his depth? Rose was humbled.

  “When we came to work on your house I saw you had character, determination, and a dream. You worked hard for your aspirations. You wanted to be the whole woman God created you to be, and I admired you for that. I tried to help you any way I could. I wanted to be your friend.”

  Jan paused. Søren paused. Rose waited.

  “Are we friends?” he asked.

  “Why, yes, yes of course,” Rose stammered.

  “Gud,” Jan replied without waiting for Søren, then he continued, and Søren translated.

  “Mrs. Brownlee, I have been alone for a long time now. The Bible says it’s not good for a man (Søren choked in absolute mortification as he repeated these words to her) to be alone. I think it’s not good for a woman either.”

  Rose sat up in astonishment. And there it was again! That determined glint she had seen at Sigrün’s wedding.

  “Once before I tried to speak of what is in my heart, the day at the river. But I blundered and you were still hurting and couldn’t hear. Then when we couldn’t find you the morning Baron came to us for help, I knew, I knew then that we must come to an understanding. I am your friend, but now (Søren stumbled over his words here), now I want to have you as my most precious friend. I must know if you could find that possible.”

  Unflinching, Jan’s gaze held hers, and several minutes passed.

  Rose’s thoughts were awhirl. He’d not led her to think of him in that way . . . or had he? He’d always held himself so aloof, so, just so friendly. Yes, so darned friendly.

  She frowned and looked away. This wasn’t right—shouldn’t a man declare his . . . intentions . . . to a woman himself? Poor Søren! She sighed. Yet how was a man to do so and tell her all, everything in his heart when language was such a barrier?

  She frowned again. But how hard is it to learn the word “love”?

  Rose shook herself into action.

  “Søren. Would you please leave us? And thank you.”

  She didn’t look at him. His job had been difficult enough.

  When the door closed behind Søren’s relieved back, Rose got up and went to the stove. Her coffee was cold. She lifted down another cup and filled it with fresh coffee, then she seated herself and stirred cream into it. Without looking toward Jan or saying anything she quietly sipped it. Minutes passed; her coffee was gone. Still she sat, waiting.

  “Rose,” softly.

  Rose! The ‘r’ rolled lightly on his tongue the same way it had when he’d found her in the soddy. Her heart lurched a little. With difficulty she controlled her feelings and glanced up. His gaze was still intense, but guarded. Yes, still guarded! She looked back to her hands folded around her cup. The silence lengthened.

  “Rose.”

  She could not look up again. A tear dropped onto the tablecloth. Another hung on her cheek.

  His large, rough hand moved slowly toward her face and oh! so tenderly touched the tiny droplet.

  “I luf you, Rose.”

  Ah, plainly said at last and surely written on his face? The strong features relaxed their vigilance; his blue, blue eyes at last echoed his heart. Rose and Jan stared, heart to heart.

  “Do I give myself to this man?” Rose asked herself. “This man who has cared for me and been a friend on a deeper level than any I have ever had? Yes, I value his regard and companionship more than I have allowed myself to feel. Lord, is this the reason you brought me here, to this place?”

  Jan pushed back his chair and stood to his feet, hand outstretched. She hesitated. What about the difference in their ages? His tall frame filled the room and denied his age.

  “Rose. Vill you come . . . to me?”

  She touched his offered hand, and he drew her up to himself, into his embrace, stroking her cheek, her hair, saying from his soul so many things she didn’t understand but could feel. Her face was against the rough flannel of his shirt, and she felt his heart quickening with joy.

  She looked up; he bent down to her.

  “I will,” she whispered.

  He kissed her, tentatively, and again, surely, sealing their commitment. With Jan holding her small hand in his so very big one they stepped outside and sat together on her front steps.

  “Rose.”

  “Yes, Jan?” The first time to ever call him that!

  He kissed her hand and held it close.

  “My Rose.”

  “Yes, Jan.” What contentment!

 
“I vill learn. To speak.”

  “Yes. I will learn, too.”

  “Speak Riksmaal?”

  “Ja.” (Giggle.)

  “Ah! Rose?”

  “Yes, Jan?”

  “Am old man.”

  “Yes, Jan.” What pain!

  “I take care. Alvays.”

  Rose didn’t understand. He waved his hand toward the fields and pastures across the creek.

  “Mine. Yours too.”

  Oh! Yes, he would provide for her even if the ends of their lives did not come out evenly. He held her hand to his face, a sun and wind burned face. It didn’t seem old to her now. It seemed . . . dear and noble.

  “Rose.”

  “Yes, Jan?”

  He was silent, so she searched for his question in his eyes—oh, she could read them now!

  “Yes, I do. I love you, Jan.”

  Once more, sweetly and tenderly, he kissed her, then put her hand back in her lap.

  “Vill next wedding be best, ja?”

  Rose finally understood, and they laughed together, sharing the little memory that had puzzled Rose. As they tried, they found they could express one way or another what was uppermost in their hearts.

  “You like live here?” he asked.

  Rose surveyed her little domain, her yard, garden, tiny house.

  “What about your farm? Amalie and the children?”

  Soberly he considered. “New life now, t’ink” He scanned his property and home. “Close, can valk. Søren marry too. One year, two year. Bring bride home.”

  “Jan?”

  “Ja, little Rose?”

  “When . . . ?”

  “Ah!” he grew mischievous, something Rose had only seen in unguarded moments with his brother’s children.

  “You like big man, me?” Chuckling at her discomfiture, he put his arms around her to draw her to him, then as quickly removed them. He was serious again.

  “Rose.”

  “Yes, Jan?”

  “Not vait much.” There was longing in his look.

  “No.”

  Chapter 30

  Sleep was elusive that night. Rose tossed and turned until the early hours of the morning and, when she awakened, the sun was just melting the dew off the ground as she stared with longing across the fields to the house in the trees.

  Would she see him today? Would he come?

  Before noon the Thoresens’ buggy rattled down her lane into the yard. Beside Jan rode Uli, who jumped down, ran to Rose, and threw her sturdy little arms about Rose’s waist in joy.

  “Oh, Mrs. Brownlee,” she whispered. “Onkel told me!”

  “What did he tell you?” Rose whispered back.

  “He told me that you are going to be my Aunt Rose. Is that right? Are you?”

  Jan was standing back, listening to Uli’s question and waiting.

  Smiling at Jan, she answered Uli, “Yes, that’s right. I’m going to be your Aunt Rose.”

  Wide was the smile he returned to her. He was dressed in his suit, hat in hand. His blonde hair, usually covered, contrasted vividly with his deeply tanned face.

  “Uli,” he called and gestured toward the buggy.

  Clapping her hand over her mouth she skipped to the buggy, scampering back with an armful of pansies bundled up in a clean cotton cloth. Rich in fragrance, they were deep, silky purples and reds, glowing yellows and blues. Grinning, she handed them to Rose.

  “For me, Uli?”

  “They are from Onkel—he cut them himself this morning for you. He says you love flowers.”

  Rose stole a look at him again. “Yes, he is right; I do.”

  “Uli,” he called again, “Go, take Snøfot play, Takk.”

  “Yes, Onkel!” Uli ran obediently away.

  Now he came and took her hand, kissing it tenderly. He held it and drew from his pocket something shining, golden, and blue. Jan slipped the ring on her finger and kissed her fingers again.

  “My Rose!” he murmured.

  The circlet set with sapphires sparkled in the light.

  “It is beautiful, Jan.”

  He led her to the porch where they sat down together.

  He still held her hand possessively.

  “You come today?” he asked.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Come dinner—see fam’ly.”

  “Have you told them yet?”

  His mouth creased into a slow smile. “Not tell—vit vords.”

  “Oh! Do you think they guess?”

  “Søren, ja, Amalie . . .” He shrugged by the missing word. “Ve tell all fam’ly . . . both.

  “Together.”

  “Ja,” he smiled. “Toget’er.”

  “I should change my dress first.”

  He examined her and nodded. “Wear for me, please, dress from Sigrün’s vedding?”

  She agreed. “Jan, does Søren approve of us . . . does he like the idea?”

  “Ja. He ver happy.” Suddenly he grinned. “But not like be fat’er’s . . .” frowning, he searched for a word. “Not like talk for fat’er,” he chuckled as he concluded.

  “No, I don’t suppose so. I wonder, will he take you with him when he proposes to Meg?”

  Jan astonished Rose by roaring with laughter. She had hardly ever heard him laugh out loud. It pleased her. Reluctantly, she went inside and changed, taking especial care in her toilet before declaring herself ready. When she stepped back outside, Jan was still seated on the step, and Baron lay beside him, head in Jan’s lap.

  “Ve er venner,” Jan explained. “Friends.”

  “He must love you now because you saved me that day.” Sitting beside them she went on. “I never thanked you for that, Jan. I do thank you, you know.”

  “Ah. Rose.” He pointed to his heart. “God bring you to me, make live, not die. I t’ank him I find you dat day. I luf you, little woman.”

  Arm in arm they strolled to the buggy, Jan calling for Uli, and they set out for his farm. Søren heard the buggy coming and was there to meet them.

  Helping Rose down he said softly, “I wanted to be the first to say ‘welcome to the family’.” He kissed her cheek, a little awkwardly, but sincerely.

  “Søren, that means so much. Thank you.” She kissed him back, making him grin crookedly.

  At the kitchen door Amalie stood. For once she didn’t say anything. There was an anxious, unspoken question in her eyes. The family gathered and sat down to eat, and Jan blessed the meal. Then before the food was served, he stood up and called their attention.

  The boys, Karl, with his hands on the biscuits, and Arnie and Kjell, both with serving spoons uplifted, looked up surprised; Uli had a smug little grin on her face.

  “Fam’ly,” Jan began, “Haf happy news today. Soon,” he glanced at Rose, “Mrs. Brünlee and I marry. She be mine vife.” His blue eyes danced. “She be Aunt Rose for you.”

  Karl and Arnie were astounded, but Kjell let out a whoop and Uli clapped her hands in jubilation. Amalie pressed a satisfied and teary face against Rose’s cheek while all three of the younger boys and Uli clamored for details until Jan spoke at length in Norwegian, answering the children’s questions. Too excited to eat much while they discussed and planned, the food grew cold until Amalie insisted they eat or go hungry during the afternoon’s work.

  Chapter 31

  Sunday, Rose greeted Meg and Fiona warmly, not saying anything out of the ordinary. Jan had buttonholed Pastor Medford and, out of the corner of her eye, she watched as he, in his normal mild manner, informed Jacob of the news. Pastor Medford’s expression became in turn amazed and elated. Enthusiastically he pumped Jan’s hand up and down while Jan remained nonplussed. Rose had to hide a giggle when Vera remarked,

  “What can Jacob be so excited about? He’s practically taking that man’s arm off.”

  Considering Jan’s stocky frame, Rose didn’t think it likely!

  Service began as usual with Rose sitting next to Amalie as she frequently did, only instead of a li
ne of children between them and Jan, he took his rightful place beside her. She thrilled at his obvious (to her) satisfaction and glanced around. No one seemed the wiser. Even Harold and Sigrün just in front of them hadn’t noticed. Only the four smirking faces next to Jan might give it away. She put a warning finger to her lips and they tried to restrain themselves.

  At the close of his sermon, Jacob paused. When he had the congregation’s notice he again shook his head in bemusement.

  “Folks, I’ve been asked to make an announcement. There’s going to be another wedding shortly.”

  Now he had their attention! Speculative glances considered Søren, Ivan, several of the other young men and women.

  “Hrmm! Since I’ve only just been informed myself, I know you’ll be as surprised and certainly as delighted as I am. Folks, I am happy to announce the upcoming marriage of Mrs. Rose Brownlee and Mr. Jan Thoresen!”

  Amidst the burst of amazed congratulations, Sigrün turned in joyous tears and embraced Rose.

  In her ear Rose heard a soft whisper, “Oh, Rose, you will make Onkel so happy!”

  “What did you say?” Rose grasped Sigrün’s shoulders. “Sigrün! You talked!”

  A silence fell. In embarrassment, Sigrün shifted from one foot to the other. Everyone was watching, breathless.

  “I’m so happy, Rose,” she whispered again. “For you, for Onkel.”

  A roar of approval went around the congregation, Amalie and Sigrün clung to each other, weeping, while Harold pounded Søren on the back. The joy of their announcement was swallowed up in a greater event—a healed heart.

  Every day after their engagement was announced, Jan would visit Rose. Sometimes in his work clothes, he would bring a lunch and they would picnic, talking and planning contentedly before he went back to the fields. Mostly though, he came of an evening, driving the buggy, in his dress clothes, and bearing a gift or some other sign of affection, courting her with all the “trimmings” of that time-honored institution. And always, Uli was with him.

  Rose finally understood that from the very start, Jan’s undeclared love had caused him to protect her reputation, never allowing appearances to give feed or fuel for evil talk.