The Gift of a Child
Rose had a sudden intuition. “Seth, I hope you know that you have a whole family that cares about you. Your father, Caleb, Lily and Mattie. Pa and me. Whatever happens with Sophie and Charlie, we’re here.”
“I appreciate that.”
Out in the street, a wagon rattled past bearing a whole passel of children, laughing and hollering. “Look at that, would you?” Rose said.
“Carefree times.”
Rose detected sadness in his voice. “But not carefree times for you?”
He stopped rocking. “No, ma’am. I worry about how my father and I will manage.”
“Without a woman, you mean?”
“Exactly. We menfolk are skilled at farming and ranching, but we’re no housekeepers.”
She was touched by his vulnerability. “You’ve just named the solution.”
He sat forward. “I have?”
“A housekeeper. You and your father could hire a woman to perform domestic duties.”
The relief in his face amused her.
“I’ve pondered that idea. It’s a better solution than marrying just any woman.”
“Seth. When you marry, it should be for love.”
“I know that in my head, but sometimes my worries get the better of me.”
“My mother had a saying that might help. She would always remind us, ‘All will be well. All manner of things shall be well.’”
Seth fixed his eyes on hers and reached over to cover her hand with his own. “I pray it may be so, Rose.” He lingered a moment, searching her face as if some elusive answer could be found there. Then, abruptly, he stood, gathered up his hat and bowed. “Thank you for your counsel. I’ll think on what you’ve said.”
Rose got to her feet and walked with him toward the street, as always impressed by his tall, hard-muscled frame. Unlatching the gate, she turned on impulse and said, “If circumstances such as today’s bring you to town again, you are always welcome here.” Unexpectedly her heart beat a little faster. Usually the two of them were surrounded by family, but something was different about today. She realized she had treasured the time alone with him.
He doffed his hat and started off down the street. Although she couldn’t be certain, she thought she heard him mumbling under his breath, “‘All manner of things shall be well.’”
* * *
Lost in his thoughts, Seth was hardly aware of driving the buggy and was letting the horse find the familiar way back to the ranch. When Sophie had returned to the livery stable with Charlie, she had seemed downright giddy, and his sister was never giddy. He couldn’t wait to get her safely home, far from the man who clearly had designs on her. Yet Seth knew he couldn’t shield Sophie forever, nor discount the dreamy look on her face.
They were halfway back to the ranch when he finally said, “Is Devane sweet on you?”
Sophie turned and studied his face. “Sweet? What if he is?”
He shrugged and fixed his attention on the road ahead.
She poked him in the arm. “Seth? Wouldn’t it be all right if I liked Charlie and he returned the sentiment?”
“I guess, if you’re happy.” He didn’t want to interfere with her pleasure, but his stomach was in a knot.
As if sensing his discomfort, she squeezed his arm. “For the moment Charlie and I are just friends. I’m in no hurry for anything more.”
Her words did nothing to diminish the growing realization that his sister was an adult and their time together as a family under one roof was limited.
Sophie changed the subject. “I hope you weren’t bored waiting for me.”
“I saw Rose sitting on her front porch, so I passed a bit of time there.” For some odd reason, he was unwilling to relate much of anything about their conversation.
“Was Ezra home?”
“No.”
He had the distinct impression Sophie was smirking, but all she said was, “Rose is a wonderful person.”
“And a great cook.” His stomach growled with the memory of her chicken and dumplings, not to mention today’s chocolate ice cream.
Sophie snuggled next to him and closed her eyes, a contented smile playing over her lips. Seth figured he didn’t want to know whether she was thinking about Devane.
Lulled by the steady trot of the horse and the dimming light, neither said anything further, which suited Seth. He appreciated silence. He’d noticed that this afternoon with Rose. She wasn’t one of those magpie women like the Widow Spencer. By contrast, when Rose did open her mouth, she made good sense. A man didn’t feel like a boorish oaf around her. It dawned on him that’d he’d felt more comfortable with her than he usually did with women. He liked the way her freckles highlighted her blue eyes and the fact she wasn’t one of those women all caught up in looking fancy. No, Rose was different. Restful, that’s what she was. Restful.
* * *
After eating a light supper, Rose picked up her crocheting and settled in her usual chair by the stove. Ulysses cuddled by her side. She needed to feel a living thing, to know there was a buffer for her sudden loneliness. She had been surprised when Seth had stopped by. He was a man of few words, unlike a certain sergeant she could name whose glib tongue and false heart had taught her a harsh lesson. Seth’s concern for his sister was laudable, but she worried about his dependence on her. Seth was older than Rose and, like her, probably set in his ways. No housekeeper would ever fill the gap if Sophie left to be married.
As the room darkened, she set aside her crocheting but didn’t stir to light the lamp. The house was still, save for the ticking of the clock and Ulysses’s contented purr. It had been a long day, but Rose fought sleep, still caught up in the remembrance of her time with Seth and the catch in her breath when he had laid his hand upon hers.
Finally, though, she roused, feeling the need for a bracing cup of tea. When she filled the kettle, she noticed the wood fire in the stove was reduced to embers. Pulling a shawl around her shoulders and carrying a lantern, she went out the back door toward the small barn behind the house. Night had fallen, and quiet, broken only by the occasional barking dog, had descended on the neighborhood.
Inside the barn, she placed the lantern on a hook near the door and made several trips carrying kindling into the kitchen. Then she returned for the lantern. Picking it up and preparing to leave, she was overcome by the eerie sense she was not alone. All the talk of drifters had made everyone skittish. It occurred to her that she was virtually defenseless in the darkened barn. She should scurry inside the house and bolt the doors, but before she could act, she heard a sound coming from the haystack at the back of one of the horse stalls. A high-pitched hiccupping, followed by a soft sigh. She steeled herself, knowing she had to investigate. Holding the lantern high, she tiptoed toward the sound. What she saw on the bed of hay nearly caused her to drop the lantern.
It couldn’t be. Not here. Not in her barn.
She knelt beside the figure of a little boy not much older than Mattie. He was fast asleep, his thumb in his mouth, his long, dark eyelashes closed, his chest rising and falling with his breathing. But what was on that chest was the most surprising of all. Rose raised the lantern to better read the note pinned to his tattered little shirt:
PLEEZ. TAKE KIR OF ALF. I KIN’T DO IT NO MORE.
Rose’s hands shook. She couldn’t grasp the miracle of it. Tears moistened her cheeks, yet she was oblivious to them. She kept staring at the child. Finally, she stood and set the lantern back on the hook.
Returning to the boy, she gently gathered him up in her arms and carried him into the house, all the time marveling at the loving God who had answered Rose Kellogg’s prayers.
And then her heart skipped a beat as she suddenly strangled on a new thought. Dear God, her gain might surely be some family’s worst nightmare. When she gazed once more into Alf’s peaceful face, she made a vow. Despite what tomorrow might bring, for tonight she would love him.
Chapter Two
Rose brushed straw and grass from Alf’s grubby clothes and laid a soothing hand on his forehead, brushing away his crow-black hair. She knew soon enough her father would return and questions would abound. For now, though, she treasured this time with “her boy,” as she already thought of him. “Suffer little children to come unto me,” Jesus had said. Rose lifted her eyes heavenward. “Thank You,” she murmured, her eyes filling with tears of joy.
Every now and then, Alf shifted in her arms and then, with a sigh, settled back to sleep. Rose knew she needed to think beyond the present moment. Reason cried out that she shouldn’t become too enamored of the boy. Someone who loved him must be wild with worry. Yet, for this wonderful moment, he was in her care. What could she feed him? How would she clothe him? How would he react to the bath he so desperately needed? Her thoughts raced with plans. He could sleep in the trundle bed in her room and surely friends and neighbors would help supply his immediate needs. But that meant telling them about the foundling. Sharing him. All the more reason to cherish this quiet time together before the world intruded.
She must’ve dozed because the next thing she knew, a hand had settled on her shoulder. “Rose, my dear.” Looking up, she saw her father gazing down at her with love and concern. “What have we here?”
“Oh, Papa. It’s Alf.” She moved her arm so he could read the message.
“How did this come about?” Ezra knelt and gently ran his hands over the boy’s body while Rose explained about finding the child in the barn.
“I’ve been thinking that whoever left him knew from the sign out front that you’re a doctor. Or somehow knew we would care for him.”
Her father rose to his feet. “And so we will until we locate his people. Sheriff Jensen must be notified.”
Rose’s breath caught in her chest. So long as she had forbidden herself to form those words in her brain, she had maintained hope. “Please, Papa, must we?”
“You know we must.” He sank wearily onto the divan, removing his spectacles and rubbing his eyes. “We do not know what extremity led someone to leave him here, nor how we might help such a person overcome the obstacles preventing them from caring for the tyke. For now, though, we will do all we can to restore this little one to health and security.” The clock chimed one, and the two sat in silence until Ezra roused himself. “We all need to sleep. In the morning, I’ll examine the boy, and we’ll figure out what to do for him until he’s returned to his family.”
Rose stifled a sob. “Papa, please, can’t we keep him? Someone purposely has entrusted him to us. He’s the answer to my prayer.”
Ezra’s voice was husky when he answered. “My dear, I have suspected your need for a child. You will be a wonderful mother...some day. But you will court greater hurt if you become overly attached to this little lad. We cannot predict how his story will end.”
“I know you’re trying to spare me heartache, Papa. But, you see—” she stood, cradling the child “—I can’t help loving him.”
Her father shrugged in dismay. “Oh, Rose” was all he managed to say.
“If you will pull out the trundle bed, Alf and I will retire. In the morning, I would appreciate your help bathing him and examining him further.”
“Of course.” Ezra squared his shoulders. “And after that, I will go to the sheriff.”
Never had Rose’s intellect so warred with her emotions. Yet she knew her father was right. If Alf was not to be hers, the separation needed to come quickly. Otherwise, she understood that with each passing day, the little boy would become more firmly grafted to her heart. Surely God would not be so cruel as to take from her this gift so wondrously bestowed.
* * *
Sunlight filtering through Rose’s bedroom window woke her from fitful dreams. Disoriented, she gasped in recognition when she saw the small boy sitting cross-legged on the trundle bed, weaving and reweaving strands of the afghan fringe through his little hands. “Alf?” she said quietly. Ducking his head, he cringed, shrinking in on himself in a self-protective fashion. His cheeks were rosy from sleep. He waited still as a statue, like a wary animal daring her to approach. She slowly sat up, then faced him, her hands outstretched in invitation. Finally he turned his head and cautiously stared up at her through long, dark lashes. When she gathered him in her arms, he stiffened but did not resist. She sensed he was a child who had been schooled to keep quiet and attract little notice. “Alf,” she said again. “I won’t hurt you. You are safe.”
He relaxed against her. “Nawah,” he said in a cracked voice.
She had no idea what the nonsense syllables meant, but she decided to answer in kind. “Nawah,” she crooned. “Nawah.”
He laid his head on her shoulder and began sucking his fist.
“Oh, little one, you must be hungry.” She stood and still clutching him to her, managed to put on her wrapper. “Let’s see what we can find.”
In the kitchen, her father had already stoked the fire and was boiling water on the stove. Rose had an inspiration. “Nawah,” she said to Ezra, who raised his eyes speculatively.
To her surprise and joy, the boy pointed at Ezra and whispered, “Nawah.”
Catching on to Rose’s ploy, Ezra looked straight at the child and said, “Nawah, Alf.”
“Alf,” the boy echoed as if commending the older man for his acumen.
Rose gently set the boy on her father’s lap. “Let me get him some bread.”
Rose sliced a thick piece, buttered it and slathered on some plum jam. Alf picked up the bread and attacked it as if he hadn’t seen food in days. How distressing to think he’d been ill fed, Rose thought, as she quickly set a skillet on the stove for ham and eggs and poured a glass of milk, which she handed to her father to give to the boy.
“Nawah is a Pawnee word of greeting,” Ezra said.
“How do you know that?”
“From the occasional Indian I treated at Fort Larned.”
“Do you think he’s Pawnee?”
“From the looks of him, I’d say he has at least some Indian blood.” Her father rolled up one of the child’s pant legs. “See these bruises? I reckon he’s had some tough times lately.”
Rose gasped at the thought that just came to her. “Do you think someone’s abused him?”
“Possibly. Or maybe he’s been out on the prairie for a time. Hard to tell.”
The mere thought that the child might have been mistreated roused Rose’s ire and concern. “He could be safe with us, Papa,” she said in a not-so-subtle attempt to avoid the inevitable actions her father had planned.
Ezra held the glass of milk and guided the boy’s hands around his so that he could drink. “Please, no arguments. We are obliged to do what we must to locate the parents or relatives.”
Tending to the eggs and ham sizzling in the skillet, Rose bit her lip lest she scream out her opposition. Alf slithered from her father’s grasp and walked across the floor to her, clutching her around the knees with his jam-sticky hands. “E-nah?” he said. Then he moved toward the door, crying more insistently, “E-nah?” Rose looked helplessly at Ezra.
“I think he’s looking for his mother. As I recall, E-nah is Pawnee for ‘mother.’”
The boy pounded on the door, repeating his cry. Rose approached him and led him back to the table, where she sat down, pulling him into her lap and uttering soothing sounds.
Ezra stepped to the stove and dished up the food. As Rose spooned egg into Alf’s mouth, his trembling subsided and then he said another word: “Good.”
Relief flooded Rose. The boy might know more English than she had first thought. “Yes, good,” she echoed.
Ulysses came into the kitchen, pausing in the doorway to stretch, yawn and lick his lips.
Alf watched the animal warily. Ulysses paused at the table, rubbing his furry back across Alf’s leg. The boy recoiled in alarm, but when Ulysses repeated the motion, he leaned forward to watch. “Cat,” he finally said, then turned to look at Rose. “My cat?”
“Our cat,” Rose gently corrected. “Our cat.”
After breakfast, with great difficulty, Rose and Ezra succeeded in divesting the boy of his threadbare clothes and getting him into the wash tub. His limbs displayed bruises, both old and new, and his skinny body suggested poor nutrition. After wrapping him in a warm towel, Ezra proceeded to examine him while Rose stood anxiously by.
“For the hardships, of whatever kind, that he’s had to endure, he’s in fair shape,” he said. “Medically, he’s a trifle malnourished and his growth is a bit stunted for a boy I’d guess is around four. He seems somewhat detached emotionally, but fear will do that. I suspect English has been his second language, thus affecting his facility in it. For as long as we have him, he will need lots of love and attention.”
Rose could do that. But she quailed at her father’s words, “For as long as we have him.” Right then and there, she made a bargain with God. You have given this child into my care, Lord, and I will tend him with all my heart and soul. Help me to be part of Your greater plan for Alf and to accept Your will for him.
As she carefully redressed Alf in his tattered clothes, her father picked up his hat and turned to her with words that scalded her ears. “I’m off to the mercantile store to find some new togs for the little feller. After that, I’m obligated to notify Sheriff Jensen.”
Rose shrugged, unable to summon words of farewell.
* * *
Seth glanced with satisfaction at the lumber stacked in the wagon. Last week he’d hired two more ranch hands, necessitating an addition to the bunkhouse. Before he hauled his load home, he needed to stop at the mercantile to pick up items for Sophie and Lily. Entering the store, he was greeted by Horace Clay, the proprietor. “What brings you to town, Montgomery?”
“We needed supplies from the lumberyard. No way, though, would the ladies let me escape without filling their list.” Reaching in his pocket, he handed Clay a creased piece of paper.
Scanning it, Clay nodded. “Shouldn’t take long. Make yourself at home.”
Seth looked around, uncomfortable in the cramped space crowded with bolts of cloth, tobacco tins, cosmetic potions and ladies’ fineries. After walking aimlessly up and down the aisles, he decided to wait on the bench out front. When he opened the door to leave, he was nearly bowled over by Doc Kellogg.
“Whoa, Ezra. What’s your rush?”
“Sorry, Seth. I don’t mean to be rude, but I’m in a hurry.”
Clay looked up from filling Seth’s order. “Doc, can I help you?”
“I certainly hope so.” He glanced around uncertainly. “Do you carry any ready-made children’s clothes?”
Curious about the doctor’s request, Seth edged closer.
“Not many. Some dungarees and shirts. A few pairs of shoes. What size?”
When Ezra shrugged in bafflement and held his hand thigh-high, Clay rounded the counter and led him toward the back of the store. “Let’s see what I’ve got.”
Seth scratched his head. He’d rarely seen the doctor so agitated or secretive. After a few minutes of mumbled conversation, the two men reappeared with a stack of clothing and one small pair of shoes. “Lemme get Doc fixed up,” Clay said, “and then I’ll finish your order.”
When Ezra turned around with his wrapped bundle, he ducked his head at Seth in a follow-me gesture. Once outside the store, Ezra mopped his brow, then looked straight at Seth. “We’ve got us a...situation. One Lily needs to know about today. Can you get her a message?”
“Sure can. Is it anything I can help with?”
The older man sighed as if considering options, then spoke quietly. “Before you leave town, stop by the house. You’ll see.”
“Certainly.”
Without saying more, Ezra walked quickly away.
Seth watched him, puzzled by their exchange, then went back inside the mercantile to claim his packages. Climbing into the wagon, he guided his team toward the Kelloggs’ home. Leaving the wagon by Doc’s barn, he knocked on the kitchen door. Ezra answered and ushered him inside. “We had a visitor last night,” he said in a neutral tone.
Just then Rose entered the room carrying a thin, raven-haired boy who buried his head in her shoulder when he saw Seth. Surprised by the sight, Seth turned to Ezra. “A patient?”
“In a manner of speaking.”
“He’s more than that.” Rose looked at her father as if daring him to contradict her. “This is Alf. He’s been given to me.”
“Temporarily. For safekeeping,” her father said.
Seth sank into a chair, discomfited by the uncharacteristic tension between father and daughter. “Where did he come from?”
“God,” said Rose at the same time her father said, “A desperate parent.”
Seth looked from one to the other, confused. “What’s going on?”
Rose and her father joined him at the table. The boy took a peek at Seth, and Rose bent her head, kissing the top of his head. Then she looked up. “I found him.” In words laden with wonder, she explained about the note.
“Alf,” Seth said, nodding. “A strong name.”
Again the boy peeked at him. “Nawah,” he said in a tiny voice.
Seth looked quizzically at Rose, who nodded encouragement. “Nawah,” Seth said.
“Big,” the boy answered.
Seth couldn’t help himself. He laughed and spread his arms wide. “Big? Yes, I’m big.” Impulsively he slipped to the floor, sat and folded his knees to his chest, making himself as small as possible. “Little.”
The boy eyed him as if trying to decide whether he was friend or foe.
“Little man now.” Then the boy smiled.
Seth would never be able to explain what happened next, but to his astonishment, Alf wriggled from Rose’s grasp, edged toward him and sat facing him, mimicking his position. “Boy. Little, too.”
Seth nodded, then, seized by an inspiration, hooked his hands under the child’s arms, stood and lifted him above his head. “Now the boy is big.”
This time Alf giggled aloud, and in the background Seth heard Rose gasp. “I don’t believe it,” she said. “You have a magic touch with him.”
Lowering Alf and cradling him to his chest, Seth was overcome by an emotion he couldn’t name—part protectiveness, part an inexplicable kinship. He pointed to Alf and repeated his name. Then he pointed to himself. “Seth. I am Seth.”
Alf eyed him curiously, then stroked Seth’s trimmed beard. “Sett. Big. Little. Good.” Then he squirmed around in Seth’s arms to look at Rose and Ezra. “Sett,” he said decisively, as if introducing the man to them.
In the next half hour, Seth heard the full story—Alf’s discovery, their concern for his safety and health, the need for clothing and Ezra’s plan to notify the sheriff. Seth noticed Rose’s frown when her father mentioned the sheriff. From her earlier comments, he had deduced she hoped to claim the boy as her own.
Before Seth rose to leave, he set Alf down and knelt to be nearer eye level. “Alf, I am happy to meet you. Miss Rose will take good care of you.” Then he stood and picked up his hat.
Alf waved at him. “Bye.”
Ezra, too, picked up his hat. “Rose, I’m off to see Lars Jensen now.”
Seth could hardly bear to look at Rose, whose wistful expression tore at his heart.
When the two men reached the barn, Ezra laid a hand on Seth’s shoulders. “You will let Lily and Caleb know. Rose will need Lily’s advice.”
“I’ll go there directly.”
The older man’s shoulders slumped. “I know what Rose wants, but I can’t ignore the ramifications of what has happened. I must inform the sheriff.”
Seth nodded at his wagon. “Can I give you a lift? I’ll pass right by the office.”
“Wouldn’t say no,” the doctor said.
The two men fell silent as they rode along, each lost in his own thoughts. Before they reached their destination, Seth wondered whether the footprints he and Sophie had discovered several days ago might provide helpful evidence. One adult. One child. He turned to Ezra. “I’m coming with you.”
* * *
Midmorning of the next day, Rose heard a buggy pull in front of the house and out stepped her sister. Picking up Alf, she raced outside. “Lily, oh, Lily.” Overcome by emotion, she couldn’t go on, burying her head in her sister’s embrace.