Spring Rose: Historical Western Romance

by Natalie Dean

  The man stepped forward and offered his hand to her. “Hello, Mary Rose. I’m Cyrus James.”

  Rose wished the ground would open and just swallow her whole. There she was in dusty men’s britches and shirt, her hair pinned up in the messiest way possible, and not even a hint of rouge was on her cheeks. Yes, if the ground would just gape open, it would be fine.

  “Please…call me Rose.”

  The man smiled warmly. “I apologize for the short notice, but you did sound desperate.” Rose’s cheeks began to burn, and she lowered her eyes. Cyrus quickly amended his words. “Desperate for the help, I mean. A woman brave enough to run a farm on her own is most likely desperate for nothing.”

  “She’s a hard worker. Harder working than some men I know,” Ruddy beamed as if Rose were his own daughter.

  “That’s a good thing,” Cyrus agreed, his hazel eyes locking with Rose’s brown ones. “So, may I have a tour?”

  “Uh…yes,” Rose stumbled over her words. “Ruddy, it wouldn’t be proper for us to be alone…”

  Ruddy held up a hand. “Say no more! I will chaperone until Mr. James is ready to return to town.”

  “Thank you,” Rose breathed. “Please, Mr. Cyrus, allow me to show you the house.”

  “If I get the pleasure of calling you Rose, I hope that you would take the pleasure to call me Cyrus.”

  Rose stared at him blankly, and she could feel the physical cringe Ruddy exhibited behind her back.

  “Of course,” She finally managed.

  They walked to the front door, and Rose allowed them entry to her humble abode. The front door opened immediately to a large room that served as kitchen and sitting area. The floors were wood but were in much need of repair, and she had to caution her guests lest one or both would fall into the cellar.

  “How many bedrooms upstairs?”

  “Two.”

  “This is a nice setup. I see you have a water pump in your sink. That must have cost a pretty penny.” He smiled kindly.

  “Yes. My late husband didn’t want any time wasted with fetching water from the spring.”

  “And how far away is that?”

  “Quarter mile south.”

  Cyrus mounted the stairs, ducking just before he reached the top. Rose gave Ruddy a nervous glance.

  “He seems very nice,” he whispered.

  “Don’t they all at first?” Rose declined to offer more commentary as Cyrus’s footsteps sounded on the stairs.

  “Very nice, Rose. You have done a fine job keeping your home tidy and fresh. May we see the land and the state of things with your livestock and crops?”

  “Yes.” Rose walked stiffly from her home and moved them immediately to the barn. The cattle were out to pasture, but she imagined Mr. James would want to see the state of affairs in her barn. She felt a twinge of panic. It was her barn. She had earned it by right and flesh. If this stranger offered her an arrangement, by law it would become his too. By law, it would be more his than hers. She felt a wave of regret. Perhaps her decision to seek a husband had been a mistake. Perhaps hiring an extra hand or two would have been better.

  Cyrus nodded his head in appreciation. It was a fine barn by frontier standards. Many settlements further west could only afford lean-tos. Virgil had been a wealthy man. His desire to enter Northern Michigan had been a fire lit by the promise of a growing community and possible wealth. His plan had been to own the largest flax farm in the entire state. He hadn’t bargained on harsh winters and desolate, lonely conditions. Not to mention the still occasional threat of an Indian attack; although they were becoming further and farther between. South, near Detroit, would have been better. Hope was a fine growing town, but it hadn’t been much more than a few sparse buildings ten years before.

  “How many heads of cattle?”

  “Twenty. I mainly have them for slaughter and milk. I only occasionally sell a cow for slaughter.”

  “Very good. Ingenious really.”

  “Thank you.”

  “And how do you plow?”

  “I have two mules, and I use my own hands with a hoe.”

  “Ah,” he nodded, “and are you rotating the land?”

  Rose narrowed her eyes slightly. Was he trying to trick her? Were his dancing hazel eyes there before her holding amusement or mockery? Either way, she didn’t care for it. Sometimes amusement was the predecessor to mockery.

  “My husband died just before last planting season. He had rotated the season before. It isn’t time yet.”

  “I see.” He smiled generously, and Rose found herself momentarily mesmerized by the crinkle at each corner of his eyes and the squaring off of a strong jaw as his lips spread. He was a fine-looking man; far better in appearance than she could have hoped for. It lead her to wonder what he could possibly find agreeable in her countenance.

  Cyrus rubbed the palms of his hands together and looked over the landscape.

  “May I ask what you did prior to answering my ad?

  “I grew up on a farm in Missouri, but I had a calling from God to bring the good news to the Osage. My wife, her name was Mary also, was an eager participant in my endeavors.” His smile faltered. “She died two years ago.”

  “By the hand of the Osage?” It seemed a reasonable thing to ask.

  The comical enlargement of Cyrus James’s eyes as his mouth flew open gave Rose little balm for her frayed nerves.

  “No! They would never have hurt her! She died from Influenza.”

  “You arrived here quickly, Mr. James. How did you accomplish it?”

  “Stagecoach into Chicago and train into Detroit, then stagecoach again to get to Hope. I didn’t want to waste time lest you find another to offer an arrangement.”

  “I see.” Rose ran a hand over her forehead, feeling the dirt and grit that the wind had blown across her skin. She wouldn’t embarrass herself by announcing that he had been the only one to respond.

  “I feel that the Lord led me once I saw your ad. Just the name of the nearby town seemed to point to his divine intervention.” He lifted his chin. “Hope. What more suitable word could there be for a fresh start?”

  “I imagine none.” Rose was beginning to feel ill, and the day was creeping along without benefit of her completing her work.

  “I would ask that you consider an arrangement with me Rose.”

  “Why don’t you just go back to your childhood farm and run that?” Rose asked bluntly.

  “My parents are both dead, Rose. There is nothing to return to.” The way he continually said her name seemed as if he were trying it on for size.

  Rose looked to Ruddy for help, but he kept his lips pressed tightly together, his eyes unreadable.

  “I…I will need to consider…”

  “Of course!” he beamed, glad to have not heard an outright ‘no.' “I will return to Hope with Mr. Seawell, and hopefully I will have an answer tomorrow. Or the day after. I would mention that I don’t have a large purse, but I have managed to save some money. If an arrangement is agreed upon, that money will, of course, be put into the farm.”

  “Perhaps.” Rose extended her hand. Cyrus took it and bent at the waist brushing his lips across her knuckles. It was time for Ruddy’s silence to be broken.

  “Rose, a word, please.” He took her by her elbow and drew her away from Cyrus, casting a quick glance at him before he spoke. “Are you sure you want to even consider this? You don’t know a thing about this man, and…to be honest…he just seems too good to be true!” His last few words came out strangled as he fought to keep his voice low.

  “I have concerns too, Ruddy, but my biggest concern is my place here. If I have another scant season or two, then it will be inevitable that the farm will land in the hands of the bankers. Then what will happen to me?”

  “You’re still young. You could move into town where folks could look after you properly, and maybe a real suitor would come along.”

  Rose softened her gaze. Ruddy had only been a kind friend to her, and he w
as currently speaking from the worry in his heart. It touched her.

  “Thank you. I’ll consider all my options, and I will have an answer by morning.”

  Ruddy nodded. “I’ll support you no matter what your decision is.”

  “You have always been a kind friend.”

  “I just don’t want you to end up…”

  “I won’t. He says he’s a man of God.”

  “Virgil was a God-fearing man too.”

  Rose swallowed. She wouldn’t allow her mind to go there. She just couldn’t if she were to weigh her options fairly.

  Rose said her final goodbyes and watched the wagon amble away. The two men appeared to be talking amicably. If she knew Ruddy, he would attempt to glean as much information from Cyrus James as he could before they reached the town. He would form his own opinions based on it.

  She turned with a sigh and returned to her work for the day. An hour or better had been wasted. She would need to work past sundown to accomplish what she had intended for the day.

  * * *

  Rose knelt beside her bed and clasped her hands. She didn’t attend church, and she offered scant prayers in an inconsistent manner, but that evening she needed to call up a request for clarity.

  “Heavenly Father, I have a tough decision ahead of me. Please show me what I should do. I need help here on the ranch. I need to have companionship, but I can’t go back into a marriage of misery. Please show me a sign. Amen.”

  It felt as if her prayer had fallen on deaf ears, or maybe hadn’t moved past the roof of the house.

  Rose blew out her candle and climbed into bed. The nights were still chilly, so she still used two quilts when she slept. She stared at the darkness around her and wished it was a full moon. She enjoyed lying in bed and straining her eyes against the silver blue light that crept through her window. She had been blessed with a fine home. Many of the other settlers were still residing in the clod brick homes that were so popular in the West. Virgil’s pride would have never allowed for such a place. He spent all available funds to build the house and barn, positive he would make back tenfold in flax and potatoes. It was no wonder he changed when he realized he was going belly up.

  Too many decisions. Too much on her shoulders to carry alone. Rose drifted off to sleep with those very thoughts on her mind.

  Chapter 4

  Rose laced up her mid-calf boots, her feet feeling cramped after so many months of wearing nothing but the dusty cowboy boots she worked in. She looked at her reflection in the murky mirror and fought an urge to spin it on its hinges so that only the plain wooden backing was showing. She had washed her hair and brushed it a careful hundred strokes as it dried before her predawn fire. It was now in a neat bun, secured at the base of her neck. She placed her bonnet on her head, still stiff and new. She had only worn it a handful of times, and it normally resided in her chest with the two nice dresses she owned. It had been more than a year since she had worn the pale blue one that she had chosen for the day. She didn’t own a hoop, so the two layers of crinoline would have to do. At least her waist was still slim, even if her shoulders spread outward in a decidedly unfeminine manner. Her thick legs could be hidden by the dress at least. She thought perhaps that the Creator had changed his mind in the middle of her formation, and had forgotten to fix what was originally destined for a man. She had a hard time believing that she was fearfully and wonderfully made.

  The sun had already been in the sky for two hours, and she still had an hours ride into town. She no longer had the luxury of contemplating her figure or her creator’s intentions.

  * * *

  Rose entered the town and could feel the eyes of two passing ladies laying their opinions and judgments from the corners of their mouths. It didn’t matter. Her decision was made, and soon she wouldn’t need to go to town as often. She could send Cyrus James while she hid happily on her farm.

  Cyrus James would most likely be at the one hotel in the little town of Hope. It served as the hotel and saloon, and she wondered how his Christian sensibilities were faring under such an arrangement.

  Rose touched her hair just under the bonnet before she exited her wagon and stepped up onto the wooden planking that was available all along the town as proper walking space. She was glad to the see that the doors to the saloon were open to the spring air. There was no need for her to make a grand or timid entrance. Either one would have been plausible.

  Rose looked around the near empty saloon and spotted Cyrus enjoying a cup of coffee and an open newspaper. His eyes roamed over the fine print, and his brow came together in a small frown as he read. She approached slowly and cleared her throat. Cyrus looked up, and his eyebrows shot up to his dark hairline.

  “My goodness, but you look lovely today!” He stood and offered her a light brushing of lips to cheek. The gesture caught Rose off guard as well as his words. They hadn’t carried an ounce of pretense. He didn’t seem pleasantly surprised to see her standing before him as a lady as opposed to a farmer. He just seemed pleasantly surprised period.

  “Thank you.”

  “Please sit down.”

  Rose took a seat once he had duteously pulled the chair out for her, and she perched on the edge uncomfortably. She waited for him to take his seat before she spoke.

  “I have reached a decision, and I will accept your offer of an arrangement.”

  Cyrus’s mouth split into a wide grin. “I’m very honored, Rose, truly. I took the liberty of speaking with the Justice of the Peace, and we can get married at our convenience.”

  “I see.”

  “Would you be opposed to today?”

  Rose blinked. It had been her intention, but hearing it spoken aloud was another matter entirely.

  “Do you need preparation?”

  “Do you?”

  “No. I suppose not.” The air of the saloon suddenly felt stuffy, and she had an itch crawling across her skin.

  “Then let’s go and seek him out, and find witnesses of course.”

  Rose stood, and the only person she could think of that she would want there was Ruddy.

  “I just need to go to the mercantile.”

  “Wonderful. I’ll meet you at the Justice of the Peace then.”

  “Of course.” She felt her head swimming. If she fainted in front of this man, she would surely just die from the embarrassment. She managed to place one foot in front of the other and make her way to the doors. Once in the sunlight, she concentrated on getting her feet to the mercantile. She was sure Laura would put up a fuss over Ruddy needing to leave briefly, but it couldn’t be helped. She wanted at least one friend there. Her only friend.

  Much to her chagrin, Laura was manning the counter. She gazed at Rose with a cool blue stare, showing no surprise to see her walking in dressed like a lady and not a man. Maybe her husband had warned that it may happen and why.

  “Good morning, Rose.”

  “Good morning, Laura. Is Mr. Seawell available?”

  “He’s in the back taking inventory.” She didn’t inquire what it was about, but simply turned away and entered the cramped back room. Ruddy soon followed his wife back out.

  “Hello, Rose! You look mighty nice today.”

  “Thank you.” Rose shifted her shawl uncomfortably. “I have made my decision.”

  Ruddy nodded, his face pinching. “I thought you might have. Will it be today?”

  “Yes. Soon, as a matter of fact. Mr. James has gone to speak with the Justice. I was hoping you would witness.”

  Ruddy slid his eyes to his wife, and to both he and Rose’s surprise, she nodded her head once in concession. She looked away and began busying herself with an impromptu reorganization of the items closest to her fingers. It was obvious Ruddy had prepared her.

  “Send for me once you’re ready.”

  * * *

  Rose stood before the grizzled man who desperately needed a shave with shaking knees and a queasy stomach. He spoke the necessary words with a deep voice tainted by som
ething that sounded like a growl. If Rose didn’t know better, she would think Sherriff/Justice Thomas to be a trapper or perhaps a woodsman, but his demeanor belied the gentle nature that he actually had.

  Vows were taken and soon Rose’s shaking knees transferred to her hand as she signed her name on the appointed document necessary to legalize her union to a perfect stranger. She was no longer Mary Rose Jenkins. She was now Mary Rose James.

  Ruddy hugged her and shook Cyrus’s hand before placing a small parcel in her hand that he had left waiting by the door.

  “Take care of yourself, Rose. I hope to be seeing you soon.”

  “Thank you, Ruddy. I will. No need to worry.”

  Rose waited on the wagon seat for Cyrus to gather his belongings before she opened the parcel. It was a fine cut of cheese and two slices of Laura’s famous pound cake. A note was folded neatly inside.

  What’s a wedding without cake?

  Rose ghosted a smile as she recognized the scrawl of Ruddy’s handwriting. She had never known why he was called that and had no idea if he had a proper name or not. It didn’t matter. A proper name wouldn’t have made him any less of a friend.

  Cyrus hurried from the saloon and placed his suitcase in the back of the wagon. He looked at her pointedly before he cleared his throat and ran a finger under his collar.

  “May I drive us home?”

  Rose scooted across the seat, feeling embarrassed that she hadn’t considered he may want to guide the horses and wagon home. Home. Her home was now their home. It was overwhelming.

  They rode in silence until they were out of the town, both ignoring the curious glances of the townsfolk. Laura had wasted no time in spreading the truth that Rose Jenkins was about to marry a perfect stranger. She was sure there would be a combined and most likely equal amount of pity and outrage. Rose didn’t quite understand why. Many of the women in town and the surrounding area had been mail order brides themselves. Cyrus James just happened to be a mail order husband. Why should there be shame?