The Gift of a Child (17 page)

“C’mon to ’Vinia’s,” Alf urged, looking between the two adults. “Now you’re my mama and Sett’s my papa. We’re a fambly!”

Please, God, let it be so.

Chapter Sixteen

L
avinia had spared no expense for the wedding dinner. “Why, I swear I’m back in St. Louis,” Lily cooed over the cream of squash soup.

Rose and Seth sat together at one end of the long table with Ezra and Lavinia at the other. Alf sat to Seth’s right, carefully studying and emulating his new papa’s table manners. Bess Stanton sat on the opposite corner next to Ezra. From her vantage point, Rose was able to watch the loving looks the two exchanged. She envied them the certainty of their feelings. She glanced surreptitiously at Seth. Would she ever find that degree of contentment?

Within this family, she felt protected, unlike her experience at the regular church service earlier this morning. Beneath the brims of their hats and bonnets, several of the women had looked down their noses at her, and she had overheard one of Bertha Britten’s friends confide to her husband, “‘Marry in haste, repent in leisure.’ Rose Kellogg and Seth Montgomery? Imagine.” She and Seth had shocked the community. Who knew how long it would take until their marriage was tolerated, if never fully accepted?

“Was the soup satisfactory, Mrs. Montgomery?”

Hannah startled her out of her reverie.
Mrs. Montgomery.
How strange that sounded. Rose examined her nearly full bowl. “Quite, thank you. I’m just not very hungry.”

“Very well,” Hannah said, removing the soup.

Caleb, who sat on her left, reached over and placed a hand on her arm. “The past three days have no doubt been exhausting for you.” He looked beyond her to determine that Seth was engaged with Alf. “Rose, I know my brother. He’s a fine man.”

Rose nodded, not daring to look up lest Caleb notice the tears pooling in her eyes.

“He will never give you cause for concern. Besides,” her brother-in-law grinned and winked, “he’s always been mighty partial to you.”

That would have to do for a start. There was always the chance, though, that
mighty partial
was all she would ever know.

When the beef tenderloin and steaming sweet potatoes were served, Rose did her best to take nourishment, but every morsel stuck in her throat. Seth seemed to be having no such problem. He liked good food, and she took comfort from the fact he was complimentary of her cooking. Between the main course and the dessert, Seth leaned close. “You’re mighty quiet.”

“It’s been a big day,” she murmured.

Then, as if seeing her for the first time since the wedding, he reached under the table and took her hand. “One we will never forget.” Then his face reddened. “Or one I, at least, will not soon forget.”

She could tell he was trying to put her at ease. Surely she owed him some sort of positive response. “I’m not sorry for our decision. I hope you’re not.”

“Sorry? Never.” He nodded in Alf’s direction. Her gaze followed. Alf was chatting with Andrew about “’Vinia’s marbles.” With a start, Rose realized that in this one day, Andrew had become Alf’s grandfather. “We are starting something good, Rose. Look at our boy.”

“Our son,” Rose whispered wonderingly.

Hannah returned with a crystal trifle bowl, filled to the brim with pound cake, whipped cream and tinned fruit.

“My dear,” Aunt Lavinia called from her end of the table, “I hope this will do in lieu of a wedding cake.”

“It’s lovely,” Rose said.

“Looks delicious,” Seth added.

“Mama, I gets the cherry?” Then Alf glanced down the table. “Oh, I mean Mattie and me. Cherries.”

“Anyone else for cherries?” Ezra asked. Amused silence greeted his question. “Well, then, young man, cherries it is for you and Mattie.”

Spooning the rich dessert into her mouth, Rose took a moment to glance around the table, thankful for the gracious way their families interacted with one another. The Bertha Brittens of the world might throw their proverbial sticks and stones, but secure within this circle of love, Rose vowed to be unmoved by petty criticism from outsiders.

After dinner, Rose and Seth stood awkwardly in the parlor bidding good evening to the family. Because of the rapidity of the arrangements, they had realized they had no place to call home. Andrew and Seth planned to add a room onto the ranch house, but that would take weeks. Until then, Ezra and Caleb had moved Alf’s trundle bed into Ezra’s room, leaving the double bed in Rose’s room for her and Seth, although most weekdays he would have to stay at the ranch to work.

Lavinia swooped down on them. “Now for my surprise, dears.” Standing between them, she linked her arms through theirs. “I couldn’t come up with a honeymoon trip on such short notice, so here’s what we’ll do. Ezra has agreed to take Alf on home, but you two will be staying in my lovely third-floor guest room tonight. You’ll have plenty of privacy there.”

A flush suffused Rose. She had counted on Alf’s presence to help get her through this night. “Aunt Lavinia, that’s a lovely gesture, but—”

“We accept your kind offer,” Seth blurted out.

Rose leaned around Lavinia to glare at Seth, but he was ignoring her. “Really, Lavinia, that’s more than kind, but—”

“Your things are already here. Lily helped pack.”

Lily!
Was everyone conspiring against her?

Ezra approached, carrying Alf. “We came to say good-night, didn’t we, little man? You and I will slip on home and leave your Mama and Papa to celebrate. We’ll see them in the morning, remember?”

Alf nodded vigorously. “I ’member. Morning time is when I see Mama and Papa Sett.”

Knowing she’d been bested, Rose held out her arms to give Alf a hug. “I love you, dear boy.”

“I know,” he said, his eyes sparkling. “Sett loves me, too.”

Seth leaned over and kissed the boy’s forehead. “Indeed I do. Sleep tight, son.”

Son
. Rose took comfort from that single syllable.

“Shoo, now, everybody,” Lavinia ushered Alf and Ezra, the last of the visitors, to the front door. Rose watched them, wildly speculating how she and Seth could possibly stay the night here. Somehow she had assumed he would return to the ranch. Of course, she had known that eventually they would share a bed, but the immediacy was both embarrassing and daunting.

“Up you go,” Aunt Lavinia chirped as she returned to the parlor. “Sweet dreams.”

Seth turned to Rose, looking every bit as uncomfortable as she felt. He held out his hand, giving hers an encouraging squeeze. “Come, Rose.”

She had no choice but to follow.

* * *

Seth had never seen such an ornate room. The large four-poster canopied bed stood at least two and a half feet off the floor. The windows were draped with heavy velvet and the fragrance of patchouli perfumed the air. Watercolors and oil paintings bedecked the walls, and beneath his feet was a thick Persian rug. Rose clutched his hand as they surveyed the room’s accoutrements. He could feel her shivering beside him. “Are you cold? I can stoke the fire.”

“It’s nerves,” she said in a low voice. “I don’t know what I expected, but not this elegant room.”

He knew all about nerves. He was miles out of his element. A gentleman would put a lady at ease, but everything he thought to say sounded weak. Finally, he took the plunge. “Rose, dear, what if we turn down the covers, take off our shoes and talk? We really haven’t had much time, just the two of us, to figure out how we proceed with this marriage.”

At last a flicker of a smile from his bride. “That would be a good place to start, I believe. We need to think about how we will live, how we want to raise Alf, what will become of Papa and—”

“Shh.” He placed a finger on her lips. “One thing at a time.” He spanned her waist with his hands. “Now, up with you,” and he lifted her and sat her against the heap of pillows at the head of the bed and then gently removed her shoes. He shrugged out of his wedding coat, tugged off his own shoes and joined her, being sure to keep an appropriate distance between them. “First, let’s talk about today. We will only have one wedding day, so I want to fix it in our memories.” He put his hands behind his head and sighed more contentedly than he had thought possible just a few short minutes ago. “You looked so lovely coming down the aisle.”

“Thanks to Lily,” Rose confessed. “She worked wonders on the dress.”

He turned to look at her. “I wasn’t talking about the dress.”

“But—”

“You don’t think much of yourself, do you?”

“Lily has always been the beauty.”

“And so she is in her own way, and in your own way, so are you. You can’t help what your eyes reveal.” He stared at the ceiling. “And how about Mattie and Alf coming down the aisle? Oh, that’s right, you were behind them. How I wish you could have seen Alf’s beaming face. I’m smiling just thinking about it.”

“And Aunt Lavinia’s dinner? Magnificent.”

He relaxed. She was starting to get into the reminiscences. As she recalled each course of the sumptuous meal, he gently laced his fingers through hers. By the time the clock struck ten, they had talked for over an hour. Strange. He was a solitary fellow. This was more conversation than he’d had at one sitting in...well, maybe ever. Surprisingly, he decided it felt good—this having someone with whom to discuss the day’s events.

He turned to gaze at Rose and couldn’t conceal a smile. She was fast asleep, one hand crossed over her chest. Carefully, so as to avoid waking her, he slipped off the bed and walked around to her side. In the dim light of the oil lamp, he studied her features. Creamy skin, faint freckles, pale long lashes, red-blond hair splayed across the pillow and lush red lips. Kissable lips. He groaned silently and forced himself to return to the duty at hand. He picked up the cashmere throw at the foot of the bed and wrapped it around her. Around...his wife.

Then he extinguished the lamp and returned to his own side of the bed where sleep eluded him. He was married. Rose had required a husband and he had obliged. He wondered if she would ever need him for anything more. He didn’t want a sham marriage. They had both promised before God to create a loving home. For that to happen, though, they would need to be honest with one another. He thought he could do that...wanted to do that. But how did a friendship move toward something more?

He rolled over onto his side. His life had always been uncomplicated. He’d liked it that way. But now? Rose was a woman, and he’d never had the remotest notion how to deal with women. What had possessed him to think he could begin now?

* * *

In the next few days, Rose settled into her new routine. In some ways weekdays were the same as before, occupied with cooking, laundry, cleaning, making calls and tending to Alf. On the weekend when Seth was due, she redoubled her cooking efforts. She took extra care with her appearance, even though she couldn’t tell if he noticed. Thanks to the balmy Indian summer weather, the Saturday after the wedding they had been able to take a picnic to the river. Seth was teaching Alf to fish, an experience more comical than productive. Sunday, they had gone to church and paid calls. In the evenings, Bess often joined the two of them and Ezra to read aloud or play word games.

As she worked extracting the pulp from a pumpkin and kept an eye on Alf playing in the yard, Rose reflected that she need not have worried about their temporary living arrangements. Seth treated her with great courtesy, but she was gradually concluding that friendship was all there might ever be between them. While theirs was an easy relationship, undemanding and comfortable, Rose knew she wanted more. The revelation at her wedding that she was in love with this man she called
husband
had caused her to mine their every exchange for some nugget that would indicate he returned her feelings. That very effort, in turn, caused her to question her reaction to his words and gestures. Was she reading more into them than he intended?
I wasn’t talking about the dress.
Bother. She needed to guard against wishful thinking and, instead, weigh the reality. Yet the dilemma remained. How could she let him know of her love without risking humiliation and rejection?

Whenever Seth came into the room, her breath caught. No silly goose of a schoolgirl had ever been so addled by the sight of her beloved. The gentleness and respect he had shown her from their wedding night on caused her both gratitude and frustration. How often she had bitten back the endearments she longed to utter or paused in the act of touching him. In many ways, Alf still served as the bridge between them and, perhaps, equally as a buffer. She didn’t know how much longer she could live in this tension or how she and Seth could move beyond the logjam of their relationship. Yet she couldn’t force the issue. Doing so might tear the fragile fabric of the accommodation they had made with one another.

Scooping out the last bits of stringy pumpkin, she wondered if this coming weekend would be any different. Seth planned to take Alf and her to the ranch to see the improvements being made to the house. Sophie had seemed delighted that there would be another woman in the home, and Seth had commented to her how pleased his father was that she would be living there when Sophie married. If only she didn’t feel so guilty about leaving her father. Before she moved, she would have to make arrangements for a housekeeper. It would be strange not to be living with Papa. Only during the War Between the States, when he was serving in field hospitals, had they ever lived apart.

When she stepped outside to dump the pumpkin shell in the garbage heap, Alf came running over to her. “Go for a walk, Mama? I wanna see ’Vinia. I’ll tell her ’bout Papa and fishing.”

“I’m not sure she’s at home, Alf.”

He gripped her hand, “We can go see. C’mon.”

She laughed at his insistence. “In a moment, son. Let me freshen up.”

To Alf’s delight, Aunt Lavinia was indeed at home. While he rushed forward and hugged their hostess, Rose hung back, embarrassed that they had stopped by without notice. “I’m sure in St. Louis spontaneous calls are most irregular.”

Lavinia patted Alf’s head and then shooed him into the parlor where she kept some toys for him. “Ah, St. Louis. Yes, your servant would have delivered a note requesting to call. But here? Rose, I’m enjoying the informality. Besides,” she smiled, “I don’t have to worry about how I am dressed to receive. There is relief in that.”