Spring Rose: Historical Western Romance

by Natalie Dean

  “We have to go right now!” he demanded and began pulling the women to the door. A sound was beginning to race around them, and it reminded Rose of the steam engine train she had ridden once when it moved over the track, but this sound was coming faster, and it was bringing a sudden wind like she had never felt before.

  Cyrus moved them to the left side of the house and threw open the cellar door. He helped Rose in first, instructing her to be careful on the packed cut dirt steps. He turned to Agnes, her face ashen and her eyes leaking fat tears.

  “I can’t,” she wailed.

  “I’m going to help you. God will help you.” Cyrus helped her down the first couple of steps until Rose was able to latch on to her mother. He was barely able to hold onto the handle of the door to pull it shut over his head. There was a rope that could secure the door, but it was frayed, and Cyrus was concerned it wouldn’t hold. He was able to get the door secure, albeit it wasn’t as tight as he would have liked.

  Wind ripped above their heads tearing at the ground and yanking a board free from the cellar door. Cyrus gathered the women around him, laying an arm across each woman’s shoulders and forced them to their knees as his lips began rapidly moving in fervent prayer. The minutes that passed seemed like hours, but soon sunlight struck Cyrus across the forehead, and his praying ended with a resounding ‘Amen!’

  They climbed carefully out of the cellar, Cyrus going first so he could help the women. They looked around at the aftermath, their eyes not believing what they were seeing. Rose was sure the house would not be standing, but there it was. She wasn’t sure the barn would be standing, but there that was too. Nothing seemed to be disrupted except for a tree that was twisted and looked as if it had been pulled from the ground by its roots and tossed aside, and one forlorn cow who also had been tossed aside. It bellowed and cried pitifully, one leg hanging uselessly from its body. It tried to right itself to stand, but failed, causing it to bellow louder.

  “She will have to be put down,” Cyrus said quietly. “Overall we are blessed that this is the worst of it.” He looked towards the fields, his frown mild. The crops will be fine. We didn’t lose much.”

  “Yes,” Rose breathed and reached for his hand. “We need to check on the chickens.”

  Cyrus squeezed her hand and bent to kiss the top of her head. Rose turned remembering her mother.

  “Let me help you back to the house.”

  “No,” Agnes shook her head. “I think I would like to be out here for a bit.”

  Rose studied her carefully before nodding her head and walking towards the barn. She left her mother standing beside the cellar with a hand laid firmly on her stomach and her other hand hanging loosely at her side. Rose worried about shock, but her mother currently had the look of revelation on her face.

  Cyrus had already entered the field and was busy counting cows. The one that would have to be put down was more of a loss than Rose would care to admit right then. She most likely would have been sold for slaughter in the fall, but she would have preferred to make that decision. It wasn’t the right time of year for slaughter. Wasted meat meant wasted money. She could feel a resentment bubbling in her chest. Virgil! She shouldn’t have stayed with him, but the shame of going home was too much. The shame of it all was too much.

  Rose was overcome with the enormity of her recognized resentment and disappointments. It drove her to her knees, and in her sudden revealed anger, she began ripping at the ground, tossing large chunks of the precious grazing grass towards the sky. She wanted to feel the anger. She had spent years controlling it and forcing it back into the dark depths where it belonged, but now that it was finally out in the open, she welcomed it.

  Cyrus ran towards her from one direction and her mother from the other. Rose was unaware that she was screaming; low guttural sounds of mourning reserved for the bleakest of times. She was oblivious to the tears coursing down her cheeks and the bright blotches of red that bloomed on her face. Cyrus lowered himself before her, casting only a quick glance at Agnes.

  “Rose,” he began slowly, holding his hands out, palms facing outward as if she were a dangerous creature that needed to be coaxed. “What’s wrong? How can I help? The cow…the cow is a small loss. Very small in comparison to what it could have been.”

  Rose lifted her eyes and glared at him. “This is not just about that cow! This is about ten years wasted! This is about youth spent with nothing to show! I don’t have a baby, and I have been married to two men who didn’t even love me when we got married!”

  “Rose…”

  “No!” She struggled to her feet and pushed at his offer for help. “God doesn’t even hear me anymore!”

  “That’s not true. God hears from a penitent heart.”

  “What do I have to be penitent about? Besides, how could God love me when my own mother thinks me ugly?”

  “Mary Rose!” Agnes said sharply and grabbed her by the shoulders, spinning her so that they were face to face. “When have I ever said you were ugly?”

  Rose’s lips quivered. She couldn’t believe the denial she was hearing. Had her mother actually forgotten?

  “You convinced me to be a mail order bride. You told me that I was not pretty enough to obtain a husband by conventional means.”

  Agnes released her and took a step backward. “I did say that. I thought you wouldn’t try if I didn’t use an extreme measure. You were so…content to be with your father and me.”

  “I was content because I wanted to stay and take care of you, and I wanted an education.”

  Agnes looked to Cyrus for help, but his head was hanging, his chin nearly touching his chest.

  “I was wrong, Mary Rose. Your father and I were wrong.” She lifted her head and looked around. “You see this place? You have carved a home for yourself here.” She reached forward and grabbed Rose’s hands. “You built it with these. Not many women can say that. You should be proud. I was wrong to be so snobbish and judgmental.”

  Rose shook her head. “I was beaten. I was beaten with a belt, a pan, a shoe, and anything else he could get his hands on!”

  Agnes wanted to lay her hands over her ears. She didn’t want to hear what her daughter had suffered. She didn’t want to know that she had a hand in it. It was as if she had beaten her daughter herself.

  “I’m truly sorry. I am.”

  “Why did you love Martha more than me?” All the cards were being played. Rose saw no reason to stop.

  “I didn’t love her more.”

  “Yes. You did. You still do.”

  Agnes opened her mouth and barked a bitter laugh. “I never had to worry about you beyond the thought of whether or not you would get a husband. It’s true, Martha is a striking woman to look upon, but she is also foolish and selfish. I had to dote on her, to keep her from destroying herself, and the entire family reputation.”

  “That’s not a reasonable excuse.”

  “It’s the only reason I acted the way I did. I had such high expectations for you, Mary Rose, because I knew you could live up to them. I’m sorry I didn’t trust your lasting qualities to be the ways you would get a husband.”

  Rose lifted her chest and exhaled slowly. Her mother’s watery eyes and the frank candor was liberating. She was finally being honest. Rose had always thought her mother regarded her as plain and clumsy, but it wasn’t true. She felt a huge weight lift.

  “Excuse me,” Cyrus said and pulled Rose by the arm. “I need a word with my wife.”

  “Cyrus we have to tend to the cow!”

  Cyrus slowed his steps and stared down at Rose angrily. She immediately flinched. Of course, this was the moment she had waited for. Her outburst would earn her a beating or at the very least a harsh verbal reprimand that would ring in her ears for days. She lowered her eyes.

  “No! You look at me!”

  “Cyrus…”

  “You think I don’t care for you? These weeks with you have been the happiest I have spent since Mary died.” He leaned over h
er and lowered his voice. “We haven’t even consummated, though I have burned to do so. Yet, I am still happy.”

  Rose looked up at him with wide eyes. “You have wanted to?”

  “Yes. I just didn’t want to push you.” He ran a hand along her jaw. “You are precious to me. I am your husband. You are my wife. We are to care for each other. Please allow me to do that.”

  Rose felt another onslaught of tears. She wanted desperately to believe. Her heart did believe, but her damaged mind was trying to convince her that his words were only a ruse bent on his own selfish ambitions.

  “I want to believe you.”

  “I don’t know how else to convince you. I guess time will. Lots of time.” He lifted a corner of his mouth and smiled sadly. “And children? We aren’t too old. I would love to have a child. I’ve dreamed of one for many years.” His hand moved along her jaw instantly cooling her skin as it departed. The injured cow bellowed more in the distance. He got up and walked heavily towards the weakening cow, a heavy burden ahead of him.

  Agnes placed a hand on Rose’s shoulder. “Let’s go inside. We don’t need to witness this.”

  Rose shook her head. “Do you realize how many animals I have slaughtered, Mother?”

  “No, and please don’t tell me.”

  * * *

  Rose waited in bed for Cyrus to come up. He had been quiet all evening. It wasn’t a brooding silence born of hurt feelings, rather it was a contemplative mood, and he had spent his silence by the fire reading silently from his Bible.

  Rose ran a hand over her head and down her braid when she heard his footsteps on the stairs. He entered the room and undressed in silence, placing his night shirt on.

  “Are you ready for me to blow out the candle?”

  “In a moment.”

  Cyrus climbed into bed, the sound of crickets and frogs serenading them through the open window. He waited with hands folded.

  “I’m sorry, Cyrus. I didn’t mean for you to feel like I’m ungrateful.”

  “I can’t make you love me, Rose. I must be content with whatever it is that you feel for me.”

  “I realized a few things today.” Her eyes were bright, catching the flickering of the candle. “First, I was completely wrong about my parent’s motives. Second, I’m guilty of pride. Third…” She waited until Cyrus turned his head to her. “I do love you. I’m just - afraid.”

  “You have no need to fear me, Rose. I won’t harm you intentionally. Not ever.” He leaned towards her and kissed her softly. “Allow me to be your husband in all manner.”

  Rose nodded. She had wondered what the moment would be like, and her wait was over. She welcomed it. Her wounds could finally heal. She had a proper husband. One who was a friend, a lover, and a leader.

  Chapter 8

  “I wish you would stay on.” Rose frowned as Cyrus handed the trunk up to the stagecoach driver.

  Agnes smiled and shook her head. “Mary Rose, I stayed long enough to clear muddy waters, stitch you two fine dresses, and hear the good news that I will be a grandmother again. It’s time for me to go.”

  “Will you return once you have settled things with the house? Cyrus will build an extra room on. He said he was planning to.”

  Agnes lowered her head and kissed her daughter’s cheek. “I will visit. I think I will start a charity for indigent widows. Especially the ones who were tormented by a cruel husband.”

  Rose nodded and stepped back as Cyrus moved in to hug his mother in law in a fierce bear hug. He had allowed his hair to grow shaggy again and his trimmed beard gave his face a full look. Rose had already decided that no matter what he looked like, it was just fine with her. He was her husband. As usual, the thought made her stomach flutter. Being in love was a grand thing.

  “Now remember, the dresses only need for a few stitches to be loosened to accommodate your growing belly. Once the baby comes, just stitch it back up.”

  “I’ll remember.”

  Agnes kissed Rose again and reached her hand for Cyrus’ hand, giving his a firm squeeze.

  They watched as she entered the stagecoach and road away with a gloved hand waving from the open door.

  “Excuse me…Rose?”

  Rose turned and saw Laura Seawell standing next to a timidly smiling young woman with rosy cheeks and blonde hair poking out from under her bonnet.

  “Yes?”

  “Laura and I were wondering if you would like to attend the ladies church social next Saturday. We’re planning a final picnic before the weather turns too cold.

  Rose smiled. She was being invited to something. It had been such a long time.

  “I would love to. What shall I bring?”

  “Apple butter and biscuits, of course.” Laura forced a smile. Rose was sure it pained her. It didn’t matter. She would make it a point to get to know Laura and the other women.

  “That sounds fine.”

  “I’m Peggy.” The young woman extended her hand. “My husband and I arrived over the summer.”

  “Welcome to Hope,” Rose said and watched as the women began walking back to the mercantile.

  “I’m proud of you,” Cyrus said and helped her into the wagon.

  “What are you proud of me for?” Rose asked as he climbed beside her and flicked the reins with sure wrists.

  “I know accepting that invitation was hard. You have only attended church with me twice, and I saw how nervous you were.”

  “I was a black spot on their otherwise white idea of perfection.”

  “You have a poet’s mind,” he laughed.

  “Maybe. I think I should be more social with the ladies. We need to stick together. War is brewing for our country, and we should be ready to pray or do whatever is needed to heal our land.”

  Cyrus gave her a sidelong look, pride welling up in his chest.

  “You are an amazing woman. My spring Rose.”

  “Why do you call me that?” she laughed.

  “I came in the spring, and you’re my Rose. Spring roses are hearty flowers that hold their petals until the first frost.”

  Rose looked at him and felt a renewed love for him. It happened most every time she looked at her husband.

  “Thank you. Thank you for bringing joy into my life.”

  “You’re welcome. It’s the very thing you did for me.”

  “What should we name our baby if it’s a girl?”

  “I think Agnes.”

  “Maybe for a middle name. How about Mary Agnes. She could have a three part namesake: your first wife, me, and my mother.”

  “I like that,” he mused. “And if it’s a boy?”

  “Cyrus, of course.”

  They road into the long shadows of the afternoon talking and laughing. It was their usual way with one another. People that passed still spoke behind their gloved hands, but it wasn’t a discussion of peculiarities. It was observations of a happy couple, of a changed woman, and how glowing determined love can be. It was hope for all who witnessed it.

  THE END

  Other books by Natalie Dean & Eveline Hart

  NATALIE DEAN

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  BRIDES OF BANNACK SERIES

  Lottie

  Cecilia

  Sarah

  * * *

  BRIDES AND TWINS SERIES

  A Soldier’s Love

  Taming the Rancher

  The Wrong Bride

  A Surprise Love

  * * *

  BOULDER BRIDES SERIES

  The Teacher’s Bride

  The Independent Bride

  The Perfect Bride

  The Indian’s Bride

  The Civil War Bride

  BOULDER BRIDES BOX SET

  * * *

  LOVE ON THE TRAILS SERIES

  A Love Beyond Suspicion

  EVELINE HART

  * * *

  The Ranger’s Wife

  More books in this well-loved series coming soon!

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  Though I try to ke
ep this list updated in each book, you may also visit my website EVELINEHART.COM for the most up to date information on my book list.

  About Author - Natalie Dean

  Natalie Dean has always loved reading historical fiction and writing. She pursued creative writing courses in college, but due to trying life circumstances, couldn’t pursue a writing career as she wanted in her early days. Now that her children are all grown, she is finally able to pursue writing like she has always dreamed of doing. She has several cats and one very spoiled Pomeranian at home. In addition to writing, she also has a beekeeping business that keeps her busy.

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  Visit the co-author’s website EVELINEHART.COM to check out my blog and find out more about me : )