The Gift of a Child (9 page)

* * *

In the searing July heat, everything seemed to wilt—grass, flowers, trees and the residents of Cottonwood Falls. Few left home in the afternoon. Relief came only late at night and early in the morning. After the midday meal, Rose made a pallet on the cool parlor floor where she and Alf stretched out for storytelling and naps. He was especially charmed by her make-believe tale of Brave Alf who fought giants and saved fair maidens from danger with his magic marble. In addition to her regular chores, this morning, she had made dozens of cookies for this weekend’s camp meeting. She hoped the heat would break before Brother Orbison’s arrival. Anticipating the event was the one thing invigorating the townspeople. Although Rose wouldn’t have said it aloud, she knew camp meetings provided entertainment as well as conversion opportunities.

She had just roused from a brief nap and was straightening her dress when she heard a knock at the back door. Leaving Alf sleeping on the floor and brushing a stray lock off her forehead, she slipped down the hall and into the kitchen. Seth waited on the porch, shifting his hat from hand to hand.

“Am I disturbing you? I know you weren’t expecting me.” His large frame filled her vision, and his expression was tentative, as if he feared being turned away.

“No, but Alf is sleeping.” She let herself out the back door. “Perhaps we could visit out here. Please sit down,” she said gesturing to a nearby bench.

He settled beside her, hunching forward, still fingering his hat. “Much obliged.”

From his taciturn manner, she had no idea why he was here or what she was expected to say. “Are you and your family planning to come to the camp meeting this weekend? I understand Brother Orbison has a powerful delivery.”

“We’ll be there, but I don’t hold much with a fire and brimstone God. A God who takes a young mother or orphans a helpless lad for what some folks would call sin is no God of mine.”

“Who is your God?” she blurted out before she could stop herself.

He set his hat on the bench and leaned back against the house before replying. “My God is about doing right by everyone you meet no matter who they are. I would sorely like to question Him, though, about why folks have to suffer.” He stared off into space as if resigning himself to the fact no such answer would be written on the horizon.

“I sometimes think we may go crazy with the questions,” Rose said quietly. “Perhaps we are arrogant to want answers on this earth. Maybe we must accept the mystery of God’s purpose.” She seldom spoke of these things, yet it felt right to do so with Seth. He left silences between their words, and in those silences, she felt drawn to his soul just as she was attracted to him as a person. If ever she could bring herself to trust a man again, he would have to possess Seth’s vulnerability as well as his honesty and strength of character.

“The mystery, huh?” He turned toward her and for the first time since they sat down, gazed into her eyes. “I’m used to working with my hands. Laying out a plan, getting the materials, doing the labor and coming up with a result. There’s no mystery to that. But Alf?” He sighed and looked down. “The only way I can think about mystery is if it’s a blessing. Alf is.”

Rose fought the impulse to reach for his hand. This was no glib, shallow man. “Yes, Alf is both mystery and blessing. A genuine gift from God.”

“I appreciate your letting me be his friend.”

“He adores you, Seth.” Unbidden came the thought,
As do I.
She stood up in the attempt to keep her confusing emotions at bay. “We can’t know what kind of person his father was, but he couldn’t ask for a better example of a man than you.” Clasping her hands in front of her, she felt the nails digging into her palm, in a silent prayer that Seth wouldn’t pick up on the deeper meaning behind her words.

“He’s quite a little fellow. I enjoy him.” Then he stood and took her hand, holding it clumsily between his. “I appreciate you letting me come by to see him on the spur of the moment.”

Her heart sank. He had just said it. He had come to see Alf. How foolish she’d been to think his visits had anything to do with her. “We welcome you.”

“Besides,” he added, a smile breaking across his suntanned face, “I favor your cooking.” As if he had just discovered he was holding her hand, he looked down. “And I can talk to you, Rose. Not to many would I say such things as we discuss.” Then he disengaged his hands and, as if remembering the purpose of his visit, said, “I brought something for Alf. Will he be awake soon?”

Before Rose could answer, the back door opened and Alf, rosy-cheeked and tousled from sleep, ran toward Seth, who scooped the boy into his arms. “Sett, you wanna play with me?”

“That’s exactly why I’m here. I have a surprise for you.” He handed Alf to Rose. “You wait here with Rose while I get it out of the wagon.”

“Surprise! He gots a surprise for me, Rose!” He wiggled in anticipation.

“What could it be, Alf?”

Alf shook his head sagely. “I ’spect a marble. Maybe like ’Vinia’s.”

“Or perhaps a spinning top?”

The sound of Seth’s approaching footsteps caused them to turn. Rose set the boy down to scamper to meet the man, who pulled from behind his back a magnificent stick horse, painted with the same spots of Seth’s horse Patches, complete with a mane of real horsehair and leather reins.

Alf’s delighted, “Horse, my horse!” could’ve been heard by people streets away. Without instruction, he straddled the stick and went galloping around the back yard. “Faster, faster,” he cried in a shrill voice.

Rose stood beside Seth watching the happy child cavort across the grass. “Did you make that?”

Seth shrugged. “Yep. He’s too young yet for the real thing, but every boy needs a horse.”

Standing on that back porch in the late afternoon sunlight, Rose gave no thought to the oppressive heat or the need to start supper. Only to the delighted boy and the generous man beside her.

Chapter Nine

F
ortunately, the heat broke in the late afternoon of the first day of the camp meeting when a cooling breeze stirred the banners hanging from the large canopy tent erected near the river. As folks gathered, pious looks did little to conceal the undercurrent of anticipation. Such circuit evangelists were a novelty, and their oratory often had a mesmerizing effect on their audiences.

Rose had delivered her cookies to the refreshment table and, with Alf in tow, was making her way to the children’s area where several of the church ladies would tend the little ones during Brother Orbison’s preaching. Her father and Bess Stanton were saving her a seat while she settled Alf. No settling was needed, however, when he spotted Mattie running toward him. “Brudder, I play wif you, right?” The two children joined hands and ran toward their friends.

Trailing Mattie were her parents and Aunt Lavinia, who was doing little to conceal her distaste for the signs of religious fervor around her. “Mercy,” she murmured to Rose, “I have no idea what I’m doing here.” She turned then to Lily. “You remember our church in St. Louis. One could count on dignified worship.”

“Call this another frontier experience, Aunt Lavinia.” Lily caught Rose’s eye and an unexpressed giggle passed between them. “Camp meetings are a meaningful addition to worship for many people. You might even like it.”

Lavinia sniffed, then spoke to Caleb. “Your wife is ever the optimist.”

He smiled fondly, cradling Lily’s elbow. “Indeed. After all, she came here and married me.”

Lavinia looked around. “Where did my great-niece go?”

Lily pointed to the children’s circle. “Over there.”

“Isn’t she precious, that one? And so precocious?”

A lump forming in her throat, Rose followed her aunt’s gaze. There were two children there. Couldn’t Lavinia see that? Yet in the time she had been in Cottonwood Falls, aside from the gift of the marble to Alf, her attention seemed focused solely on Mattie, as if Alf could be easily dismissed. Try as she might to rationalize that it was natural for Mattie, a blood relative, to be favored, Rose ached for Alf, who, happily, seemed oblivious to his inferior status.

As the group made their way to the revival tent, Rose glanced back over her shoulder to assure herself that the children had adequate adult supervision. Slipping into her place next to her father on the third-row bench, Rose sensed excitement building among the congregation. Folks had come from all over the county, and many expected to camp out or spend the night at friends’ homes. Tapers on either side of the lectern illuminated the raised platform. Attached to the tent canvas was a large poster of Jesus holding a lamb beneath which were the words
Hear Brother Hampton Orbison’s Christian message and be forever changed
.
To God be the glory.

Bess leaned around Ezra and whispered, “Alf didn’t put up a fuss?”

“Not after Mattie arrived. They’re inseparable.”

When Pastor Dooley walked down the aisle, smiling and nodding at his flock, a hush fell over the crowd. Arriving at the platform, he turned, spread his arms in welcome, and said, “Blessed are we who gather here this evening to open our hearts to the Spirit. May those who grieve be comforted, may those who are troubled find peace, and may any who doubt find faith in our Lord Jesus Christ.”

Rose couldn’t help thinking of Seth, who clung to faith even amid his deep and persistent questions. She turned her head slightly and scanned the crowd. She had thought he would be here, along with Sophie and Andrew. Although she was thus momentarily disconcerted, Brother Orbison’s thundering voice returned her to the moment.

A large man with mutton-chop whiskers and a head of thick silver hair, the preacher had a stately presence, yet a gentle facial expression. He and Pastor Dooley invited everyone to pray the Lord’s Prayer. Hardly had she murmured her
Amen
than Rose became aware of a stir at the back of the tent. Once again risking a glance, she saw that Seth, his father and sister had entered and taken seats in the last row. From then on, she was aware she was filtering Brother Orbison’s message through Seth’s possible reaction.

“Brothers and sisters, God did not promise us a life of ease. Consider Job. God did not give us a world free of temptation. Remember Bathsheba.” Brother Orbison rattled on, moderating his volume for effect and gesticulating when emphasizing a point, but Rose was lost in her own thoughts. Was it a sin to crave a child’s love? To find her identity in the act of mothering Alf? To believe the boy was, in all ways, a gift from God?

Then with a collective intake of breath, the assemblage waited for the emotional conclusion. “But in all things and above all things, God is love. Brethren, we are to love one another. God is not the instrument of our pain, but of our comfort.” Finally Rose relaxed, buoyed by the preacher’s hopeful words. “It is He who forgives our sins and offers us redemption. It is He who bids us to love our neighbors even as we love ourselves. Whatever your burdens, give them to the Lord. Whatever your blessings, praise the Lord. And in every moment love your Lord even as He loves you, His beloved children. Amen.”

A hush fell over the gathering, finally broken by scattered coughs and nervous foot shufflings. Then Pastor Dooley rose to announce the next afternoon’s preaching to be followed by baptisms in the river and the concluding meal. In the darkness, folks left in family groups, heading for their overnight lodging. Bess whispered good-night and left, while Ezra and Rose walked toward the children’s tent. “Daughter, what did you make of Brother Orbison’s remarks?”

“I liked that he acknowledged we live with pain and uncertainty.”

“Redeemed by love,” her father said quietly. “If I didn’t believe that, I could not have borne what I saw in the war or the loss of your dear mother.”

Rose considered his words. She had never before reflected on the faith that had sustained him through such horrors and grief. It was a sobering and a welcome thought. She, too, would try to lean on her faith and pass it on to Alf.

“There she is.” The hissed comment caused Rose to look to the side where Bertha and Chauncey Britten were strolling just ahead of them. Bertha continued, her words fading as she and her husband pulled farther ahead. “I wonder what Brother Orbison would make of that boy’s situation with Rose Kellogg.”

Rose tried to make allowances for Bertha’s childlessness and her resulting unhappiness, but the woman’s judgment hurt and had nothing to do with Brother Orbison’s message of God’s love.

Just then she felt a hand take her arm. “May I?” Seth had come alongside her. She nodded, and he joined them.

“What did you think of our preacher?” Ezra asked.

Rose’s heart pounded in anticipation. Had Brother Orbison’s words had any effect on Seth?

“He presented his message well.”

Rose looked up at him. That was all he had to say? “And the message?” she prompted.

He walked slowly; his attention seemingly focused on what lay ahead. “Bears thinking about,” he finally said.

When they reached the children’s area, blankets had been spread on the grass and several of the younger ones were fast asleep, including Mattie and Alf. “Let me,” Seth said, gathering Alf into his arms.

Ezra nodded. “I’ll go on and tend to the animals if you’ll accompany Rose and our boy home.”

“Gladly.”

As they retraced their steps heading for the Kellogg home, they passed Caleb, Lily, and Lavinia on their way to fetch Mattie. It was to Seth that Lavinia spoke. “Mind what I warned you about.”

Seth studied the ground. “Yes, ma’am.”

Rose was puzzled. A clear message had passed between the two. To deflect the awkwardness, she said, “What did you think of the camp meeting, Aunt Lavinia?”

“It was...different. A bit theatrical for my taste. A sound message, though.”

Caleb winked as he put an arm around Lavinia. “I think it’s safe to say, she won’t be wading into the river tomorrow.”

Rose noticed Lavinia attempting to conceal a smile. “Thank you very much, Caleb, but I have already been baptized, so you will not see this old lady creeping down a riverbank, although I pray blessings on all who do.”

Seth chuckled as he steered Rose away from the group. “Could your aunt be developing a sense of humor? Caleb seems to bring out the best in her.”

“You and she seem to have a connection, as well.”

Alf stirred, and Caleb shifted him to his shoulder. “You probably heard I took Mrs. Dupree on a tour of the countryside. She was most interested in learning about her surroundings. She is quite perceptive.”

Curiosity overcame discretion. Rose had to ask. “What did she warn you about?”

Seth didn’t speak. Had he even heard her question? Rose, however, understood Seth’s silences needed to be honored. So they walked on. Only on Rose’s front porch several minutes later when he handed Alf to her did Seth reply. “Brother Orbison preached about love. Your aunt warned me of it.” Then he wheeled around and disappeared into the night, leaving her with more questions than answers.

* * *

Sweat poured into Seth’s eyes and his back ached, but still he wielded the pickax, determined to loosen the outcroppings of limestone. Sophie wanted to enlarge the garden, and the rocks had to go. The demanding physical labor was preferable to another trip to town to listen to Orbison’s second day of preaching, endure Lavinia Dupree’s scrutiny and evade the questions in Rose’s trusting blue eyes. With each fissure in the soil, he felt an easing of the tension that had held him captive throughout the night. With her one comment, Lavinia had cast a pall over his time with Alf and Rose.

He didn’t know whether to be angry or grateful. How was his relationship with Rose any of her business? The pick struck flint again and a spark glinted. What relationship? He couldn’t even define it himself, more’s the pity. But hurt her? Hurt Alf? He wouldn’t. He couldn’t. At least so long as he kept everything simple. So long as he didn’t permit his fantasies of a family to alter his conduct.

“Seth, what are you doing, fella?” Deep in his thoughts, Seth had not noticed Caleb and Lily approaching in their wagon. He remembered then that Sophie was riding with them into town, since he and his father had opted to stay home.

With a sigh, he dropped the pickax, wiped his shirtsleeve across his brow and walked toward them. “Clearing land for the garden.”

Lily eyed him intently and then said, “What about the camp meeting? Aren’t you going?”

“Nope. Last night was enough.”

Caleb quirked his mouth into a smile. “Preacher too much for you?”

“I’ve heard worse. His message was tolerable.”

“Tolerable?” Lily snorted. “Since when is God’s love merely ‘tolerable’?”

“I’ve got no quarrel with God’s love. It’s His punishment I question.”

Frowning, Caleb studied his hands, clasped between his knees, and Seth knew he, too, was remembering their mother’s death.

“Seth, bad things happen,” Lily murmured. “It’s part of being human.”

Seth grimaced. Lily sounded just like her sister. Yet he knew in his heart that God was in this fertile, beautiful land and that He worked in people’s lives for good. Take Alf, for instance. It couldn’t be mere coincidence that led someone to leave the boy with a woman as kindhearted as Rose. It was just hard for him to balance the blessings with his questions. “I guess there’s no getting around the human part,” he said by way of answering Lily.

Before he could go on, Sophie bounded out of the house, holding her bonnet by its ribbons. “Sorry to keep you waiting,” she called to Caleb.

“No problem. We were jawing with Seth the infidel, here. Hop on in.”

Sophie stood on tiptoe to give Seth a kiss, and whispered in his ear, “Infidel? I don’t think so. You’re as pure as they come.” Then she took Caleb’s hand and pulled herself into the wagon.

“We’ll miss you,” Lily called as the wagon started down the road.

Seth watched them depart, aware of the sudden silence, broken only by the squawk of a nearby crow and the breeze sighing through the prairie grass. It had been his decision not to go with them. So how was he to account for the loneliness sweeping over him? As if he was not where he was supposed to be or doing what this day demanded of him. Was God love? He hoped so, because he could surely use a good dose about now. Then before he could stop himself, he looked skyward and mumbled, “Whoever it is I’m supposed to be, Lord, help me.”

He stood rooted to the spot, hoping that like the hard Flint Hills limestone, his heart would crack open to God’s purpose.

After sharing the bread, cheese and meat Sophie had left them for the midday meal, Seth and his father sat at the kitchen table poring over the ranch accounts. Seth found it difficult to concentrate on the ledger book before him. So much of the success of the cattle operation would depend on the fall market prices, but that uncertainty was part of being a rancher and didn’t explain his agitation. Finally his father looked up and said, “You’ve got something on your mind, and it isn’t the herd.”

Seth pushed back from the table. “It’s the heat.”

“If breaking stone apart didn’t fix you, accounts aren’t going to. Not today. Take Patches and skedaddle and leave me to concentrate.”

Maybe a good gallop was what he needed. “I don’t want to let you down.”

His father’s eyes were kindly. “Son, you have never, ever done that. Go on, now. Get out of here.”

Seth stopped at the well and poured a ladleful of cool water over his head, then clamped on his straw hat and headed for the barn. It was only later as he felt Patches moving rhythmically beneath him and the wind brushing his cheeks that his tension eased. Watching the land sweeping away beneath Patches’s flying hooves and breathing in the air rich with the earthy scent of mown hay, Seth acknowledged the grace that had led his family to this place.

On top of a flat hill, he reined in his horse and paused to study the scene before him. In the distance, he could see the nearly finished cupola of the courthouse and the white steeple of the church. Most of his neighbors were still in Cottonwood Falls for the conclusion of the camp meeting. Pulling his watch out of his pocket, he reckoned the baptisms were nearly over and the ladies would be laying out the victuals. They might find God in Brother Orbison, but he found Him right here in the open, the Creator’s hand evident in each blade of grass, rocky ledge and soaring hawk.