A Family All Her Own

At twenty-seven, Rose Kellogg knows it’s unlikely that she’ll ever marry. Her dreams of motherhood seem hopeless. Until she rescues Alf, a young boy abandoned in her father’s barn in Cottonwood Falls, Kansas. In Alf, Rose finally has hope again, and she’s not alone….

Cattle rancher Seth Montgomery always felt awkward around people, but that’s not the case with Rose and Alf. Seth instantly bonds with the shy boy and is eager to help Rose make her dream of a family come true. But when their future with Alf is threatened, will Seth and Rose find the courage to embrace the love they’ve found in each other?

Alf glowed with pleasure. “Now you dance.” He took Seth’s large hand and placed it in Rose’s.

When she slipped her hand into his, Seth straightened and hesitantly began guiding her in wide circles.

“See? I told you. You’re dancing.” Alf was jittery with excitement.

“We’ve made at least one person happy,” Rose commented, nodding toward the boy.

Seth didn’t immediately answer. Then, squeezing her hand gently and drawing her a bit closer, he said, “Maybe two, or dare I hope, three?”

Her heart fluttered out of all proportion to the words he’d spoken, words she wasn’t sure how to interpret. Caught up in the spell of the moment, she couldn’t think how to answer him.

Just as the music ceased, she heard him mumble, “Well, two anyway.”

As she moved toward a vacant seat, the next dance began.

“Quite a lad,” Seth said, sitting down beside her.

“He adores you, Seth.” As do I.

LAURA ABBOT

Growing up in Kansas City, Missouri, Laura Abbot was deeply influenced by her favorite literary character, Jo from Little Women. If only, Laura thought, I could write stories, too. Many years later, after a twenty-five-year career as a high school English teacher and independent school administrator, Laura’s ambition was unexpectedly realized. When she and her husband took early retirement and built their dream home on Beaver Lake outside Eureka Springs, Arkansas, he bought her a new computer and uttered these life-changing words: “You always said you wanted to write. Now sit down and do it!” Happily, she sold her first attempt to Mills & Boon Superromance, a success followed by fourteen more sales to the same line.

Other professional credentials include serving as an educational consultant and speaker. Active in her church, Laura is a licensed lay preacher. Her greatest pride, however, is her children—all productive, caring adults and parents—who have given her eleven remarkable, resilient (but who’s prejudiced?) grandchildren, including at least three who show talent in writing and may pursue it as a career. Jo March, look what you started! Laura enjoys corresponding with readers. Please write her at LauraAbbot@msn.com, referencing the book title in the subject line.

The Gift of a Child

Laura Abbot

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me.

—Matthew 18:5

My beloved brother Chuck took the time to read an early manuscript of this story aloud to his dear mother-in-law, Olene Roberts, now legally blind. This book is dedicated with love to them both for their encouragement and welcome suggestions.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

About the Author

Title Page

Bible Verse

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Epilogue

Author Note

Questions for Discussion

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

Cottonwood Falls

May 1873

Sunbeams danced across the altar. The pump organ filled the church with a soothing prelude. But in a place where she should have been at peace, Rose Kellogg bowed her head in shame. An unwelcome emotion rioted through her. There was no avoiding the issue or assigning a different name to her feelings. She was guilty of envy. Worse yet, it was her beloved sister she envied.

She and her younger sister Lily had always been best friends. Never had she coveted Lily’s dolls or wished she had her honey-blond hair and flawless complexion. When they had lived at Fort Larned, Kansas, where their father was post surgeon, Rose, the plainer of the two, had understood that Lily, not she, would receive the attentions of the young officers. Nor had she resented her sister’s opportunity to spend months with their wealthy aunt in St. Louis. Even when Lily had married handsome Caleb Montgomery, Rose had rejoiced in their happiness, content in her role as her widowed father’s housekeeper.

At the ripe old age of twenty-seven, she had made peace with the fact it was unlikely she would ever marry.

Caleb and Lily sat in a front pew, Lily cradling their toddler daughter, Mattie. Behind them sat Caleb’s father Andrew, his sister Sophie and his older brother Seth, a gentle giant of a man who doted on Mattie just as Rose did. She watched Lily brush a hand across Mattie’s light-brown curls. To escape from her thoughts, Rose nestled closer to her father. What kind of person begrudges her sister her happiness?

Twisting her hands in her lap, she uttered a silent prayer. Lord, forgive me the sin of envy. Help me to accept with grace the path You have given me. Rose knew the prayer should end there, but she couldn’t help adding to it. And, Lord, somehow, if it be Your will, send me a child of my own.

Pastor Dooley’s voice interrupted her reverie. “Let all the little ones come forward.” The minister then seated himself on the altar steps. Some youngsters bounced to the front, eager for attention, while others clung to a parent before leaving the safety of the pew. An older girl took Mattie by the hand, led her to the front and settled the child in her lap. Mattie clapped her tiny hands in delight.

After the minister welcomed them all by name, he opened his Bible to Jesus’s words. “‘Suffer little children to come unto me, and forbid them not: for of such is the kingdom of God. Verily I say unto you, Whosoever shall not receive the kingdom of God as a little child shall in no wise enter therein.’”

Pastor Dooley closed his Bible, his gaze roaming from adult to adult. “My friends, what riches we see here.” He gestured at the children. “Innocence, vitality, possibility. These boys and girls are not nuisances or burdens as the disciples at first suggested, rather each is a cherished gift from God.”

Rose gripped her hymnal against the stabbing ache in her chest. A cherished gift from God. A gift she was to be denied.

Dimly she heard the minister urge the congregation to accept the kingdom of God with the innocence and enthusiasm of a child. Then he dismissed the children to their families. When Mattie faced the congregation, her blue eyes widened as she spotted Rose. She hurtled past her parents and into Rose’s arms. “Woze, my Woze. I seed you!”

Rose curled the girl into her lap, fighting sudden tears. Mattie leaned back with a contented sigh and began sucking her thumb. Looking over the child’s head, Rose saw Lily beaming at her. Then Seth Montgomery caught her eye, and the comfort of his broad smile and approving wink settled her nerves. She had Mattie. Granted, she was not a daughter, only a niece, but she was a gift from God. For Rose, it would have to be enough.

* * *

The following Saturday, Seth Montgomery, mending a harness in the barn, was startled to see his sister, Sophie, marching toward him with fire sparking from her eyes. The eleven-year difference in their ages had never daunted her when she wanted to charm him into doing her will. She stopped in front of him, tapping her toe. “Seth Mayfield Montgomery, what is this?” From behind her back, she pulled a white shirt, smeared with grass and mud stains.

“Seems to be my Sunday-go-to-meeting shirt.”

“Seems?” She tossed it into his lap. “Today is Saturday, and wash day, as you well know, is Thursday. Furthermore, I found this poked under your bed.” She shook her head. “I am not your maid. I pity the poor person you marry.”

His mind turned to the women Sophie had tried to foist on him—the overbearing schoolmarm with the stubby legs and the Widow Spencer, agreeable enough to look at despite being five years older than him, and who needed a stepfather for her five unruly children. Then there was Rose Kellogg, a fine woman and excellent cook, but she was more friend than prospect.

Besides, he had reconciled himself to bachelorhood. Life was simpler that way. Less prone to complications and the kind of hurt he had witnessed in his father as a result of his mother’s untimely death.

Seth reluctantly picked up the shirt. “It’s a mess,” he admitted.

“It looks like you wore it to wrestle a calf.”

He didn’t figure it would help his cause to admit that that was precisely how he had soiled the shirt. “I’ll stay home tomorrow.”

“Oh, no, you don’t. Surely you don’t want to miss the ice cream social fund-raiser for the Library Society after services.”

Despite his aversion to large community gatherings, his mouth watered in anticipation. “No, I guess not.”

“Let’s make a deal. You need a clean shirt and I need a ride home from town late tomorrow afternoon.” She paused as if gathering courage. “After the social, I’ve been invited for a buggy ride.”

He restrained the growl rumbling in his chest. “Buggy ride? With anybody I know?” The fight seemed to go out of her, replaced by an imploring look. Seth sighed. “I should’ve known. It’s Charlie Devane.”

“I like him, Seth. Please?”

He could never deny her anything, even as an irrational protective instinct warred with the reality that she was twenty-one years old. “Do I have a choice?”

“Not if you want a clean shirt by tomorrow morning.” She took the garment from him and started toward the house. “It’s a lovely day,” she called over her shoulder, “so when my chores are done, let’s ride out to check on the cattle.”

Hardly had he finished the harness repair, when Sophie came flying out of the house wearing her riding skirt with britches showing underneath, a plaid flannel shirt, boots and one of his father’s old felt hats. “I’ve attended to the shirt, the stew is simmering and Pa’s working on the ledgers, so let’s go.”

“Saddle up, then.” He glanced at the sun, reckoning they’d have three hours or so of riding. He was eager to check on the calves. His brother, Caleb, had commented the other evening about seeing more coyotes than usual. There was much beyond their control in ranching life—predators, storms, prairie fires, rustlers—but he wouldn’t trade the challenge for anything.

He had just saddled his pinto, Patches, when Sophie trotted up, mounted on her black mare, Mandy.

“Race you to the creek,” Sophie hollered, and before Seth could collect himself, she was ahead of him. Her hat blew off, held only by the string tie, and her carroty-red curls glinted in the sun. After catching up to her, Seth spurred his horse, reaching the creek first.

“You didn’t give me a fair start, but I won anyway.”

She loosened the reins for Mandy to get a drink. “Men like coming in first.” She grinned impishly. “Maybe I let you.”

“When did you start paying attention to what men like?”

“I’ve lived with them my whole life. I would never have gotten my way without exploiting the habits of you males.”

Seth mustered a wry grin. “Charlie Devane has his work cut out for him.”

They rode side by side to the far pasture. Some cows rested by the small pond, while others grazed, their calves following closely. The rain of the previous night had washed the landscape in vivid color. Seth pulled a small notebook from his pocket and made a notation of the number of calves. Three new ones since his last visit.

“It’s beautiful,” Sophie said, taking in the panorama. “I liked Missouri,” she said, referring to where the Montgomerys had lived until after the War Between the States, “but this is special.”

By way of answer, Seth merely grunted. Not all of his memories of Missouri were positive. School, for instance. He’d never been the student Caleb was. Things didn’t come as easily to him. Nobody had ever called him “stupid,” but the message had been communicated just as effectively through his schoolmates’ stifled giggles and eye-rolling. His face still burned when he recalled standing at the blackboard agonizing over his spelling while the rest of the class stared at him. Maybe he could’ve endured that, but being a head taller than his peers, and gangly at that, had been another source of embarrassment. He still remembered the school-yard chant directed at him:

Goliath, Goliath, you standeth so higheth.

You almost can toucheth the sky-eth!

Giant, giant, GIANT!

Before she died giving birth to Sophie, his mother, and later his father, had assured him his size was an enviable characteristic and that rather than academics, his strength and his talent for making things would be the envy of others. He never quite believed them.

Preoccupied with the past, he hadn’t noticed his sister ride off toward the spring hidden beneath the limestone ledge at the boundary of their property. By the time he joined her, she had dismounted and was hunkering near the spring studying something on the ground. “Look, Seth. This is strange.”

He hopped off Patches, squatted beside her and immediately saw the source of her curiosity. In the damp ground around the spring pool was a recent set of footprints. Before the rain a few hours ago, the soil had been dry. “Boots. Somebody’s been here.”

“That’s not all. Look here.” Sophie pointed to a couple of prints half obscured by the mud near the flowing water. “They’re tiny.”

Seth squinted. “Sure are.” The thought of a child wandering around the place conjured the unwelcome image of a ravenous coyote.

Sophie looked up. “Who do you suppose?”

“Drifters, maybe. Indians passing through. Hard to tell.” He got a drink, then mounted his horse. “Let’s ride home along the creek to check for campsites.”

The sun beat down as they made their way back to the house, alert for hoofprints or other evidence of unwelcome visitors. Nothing. Seth couldn’t help thinking of Sheriff Jensen’s recent warning concerning unsavory elements in the territory. Even though the footprints suggested a single adult and a child, not a gang, the idea of strangers on their property was unsettling.

* * *

The next day after church services, folks gathered on the banks of the Cottonwood River at the base of the main street where the Library Society had erected tables in preparation for the ice cream social. A warm breeze whispered through the leaves of the trees bordering the water, and lilacs perfumed the air. Families were still arriving, spreading quilts on the ground. Some children scampered across the grass chasing rubber balls, while others rode on the merry-go-round or played on the seesaw.

Smiling with satisfaction, Rose watched her friend Bess Stanton approach. A widow and former Civil War nurse, Bess had recently relocated from Maine to be near her sister and had volunteered to help Rose organize today’s event.

“Looks like a success,” Bess said. “Thank you for asking me to help.”

“I couldn’t have done it without you.” Rose hoped to soon introduce Bess to her father. Their war experiences should give them a great deal in common and she could perhaps be of some use in easing Papa’s case load.

When two o’clock approached, the crowd moved toward the bandstand where the Library Society president would make a short speech. At least Rose hoped it would be short. Too long and they risked melted ice cream.

As Rose and Bess made their way closer to the bandstand, Rose saw Lily and Caleb before she spotted Mattie. Rose held out her arms, but to her surprise the child scampered right on past her. “Unca, Unca!”

Seth stood just behind Rose. He knelt down as Mattie approached, a broad grin on his face. “Come to Uncle Seth, sweetheart,” he called. And that’s exactly what she did—catapulting herself into his arms. The sight of the trusting little girl in the big man’s arms made Rose smile. Seth’s tenderness, which seemed incongruous with his brawny build, was one of the reasons Rose liked him so much.

Lily and Caleb joined Rose in admiring the tableau. “I’ve never seen my brother so besotted,” Caleb said.

Lily laced her arm through her husband’s. “You’re pretty besotted yourself, Captain.”

Just then the mayor called for order. Blessedly, he was brief in his introduction of the Library Society president, Willa Stone, who thanked everyone for coming out to support the efforts to begin a library with their donations. She concluded by saying, “If you ladies serving the ice cream will move to your places, the feasting can begin.”

The applause was robust, and on every side, children broke away from their parents to line up with their spoons and bowls. Rose moved among the servers, helping wherever there was a delay. Her hair had come loose around her face in the effort of scooping. Finally there was a lull, and she wiped her forehead on her sleeve.

“Is there any more?” She looked up to see Seth standing before her, holding out his bowl. “I liked the sample.”

“Second and third helpings are our specialty,” Rose answered, “Provided, of course, that you make it worth the Library Society’s while.”

“I wouldn’t short you ladies for anything.”

Rose dug deep into the freezer can she had brought and piled his bowl with rich chocolate ice cream. “You fancy chocolate?”

“Yes, ma’am, but then I always fancy your cooking.”

Rose hoped he thought her blush resulted from the heat. “Thank you.” He seemed reluctant to leave, but neither managed to find the words to prolong the conversation, so when the pastor’s boy arrived for seconds, Seth turned away, and for some reason, Rose felt disappointed.

After the ice cream and cookies had been served, the men and boys decided on a baseball game while the women gathered to visit. When Willa Stone approached and asked Rose to accompany her to the church to help count the donated monies, Rose was thankful for the reprieve. Listening to the chatter of her friends concerning pregnancies, teething and patterns for children’s clothing had left her feeling awkward. Where did a childless spinster fit into such conversations?

When she and Willa returned with the news of an astonishing total of $31.80 in contributions, those within earshot applauded even as others gathered their belongings, exchanged farewells and made their way toward their homes. Lily sought out Rose to give her a hug. “Everybody is talking about what a success this was. You deserve much of the credit.”

Rose took a moment to bask in the compliment before shrugging. “I only did what anyone would’ve done.” She watched her sister join Caleb and Mattie in their buggy. When they rode off, Rose wrapped her arms around herself, swallowing the lump in her throat. The bustle was over.

Some of the men were dismantling the tables while a few of the townswomen folded tablecloths and disposed of trash. Rose willed herself not to feel a letdown. She had anticipated this occasion with delight, but now that it was over, she would go home to an empty house.

At noon, her father, the town doctor, had received an urgent summons from a man whose wife was experiencing a difficult labor, so he had been forced to miss the social and had not yet returned.

Rose moved among the stragglers, thanking them for their efforts. At last, she reluctantly made her way home, where only Ulysses, her large gray tomcat, would offer companionship. Reaching the house, she glanced at the sun, an hour or two short of setting, and decided to fix a glass of lemonade and rest a while on the front porch.

She settled herself in the wicker rocker and sipped her lemonade. Rose reflected that after years of looking out on a dusty cavalry post, it was pleasant to live on a tree-lined street where she could study the neighbors’ houses and watch the passing pedestrian and horse traffic. Off in the distance rose the clock tower of the nearly completed county courthouse, modeled on the French Renaissance style. Three stories high, it was built of native limestone blocks quarried nearby, hand-cut and then transported by wagon to the site. Rose was still awed by such architectural grandeur here on the prairie.

Ulysses lazed on the floor beside her. She had found him cowering under the back stoop the day they moved into the house, his gray fur tangled and one ear missing a small chunk. At the fort, they had never had a pet, so she had enjoyed fattening up Ulysses.

“Afternoon, Miss Rose.” At the sound of the male voice, the cat skittered off into the yard.

Lost in her thoughts, Rose had not noticed Seth Montgomery coming up the walk.

He stood awkwardly, one foot on the first porch step. “You mind if I sit a spell?”

“Please.” Rose gestured to a straight-backed wooden rocker. “You’re always welcome.” Seth removed his hat, and the two sat wordlessly until Rose asked, “What occasions your stay in town after the ice cream social?”

“No occasion, really. Pa rode on home, but I’m waiting with the buggy for Sophie.”

Rose was never one to pry, but something in Seth’s tone impelled her to inquire. “What delays your sister?”

Seth shuffled in his chair, then stretched out his feet. “I may as well say it.” The man could never be considered garrulous, and he was clearly uncomfortable. Rose waited. Finally he blurted, “Charlie Devane.”

Rose stifled a chuckle. “And the two of them—?”

“On a buggy ride. Together.” His face clouded over. “I reckon maybe he’s courting her.”

“Your sister is quite attractive. Something like this was bound to happen sooner or later.”

“Later.”

Rose couldn’t help herself. She laughed out loud. “Dear me,” she sputtered when her breath returned, “you are one protective brother.” Then, in that same instant, she sobered, remembering her own older brother, killed at the Battle of Lookout Mountain.

Seth grinned sheepishly and hung his head. “It’s stupid of me, but I’m hard put to picture our home without Sophie.”

“Change is difficult.”

The creaking of the rockers on the wooden floor filled the silence.

He looked up. “Maybe like it was for you when Lily spent those months in St. Louis with your aunt.”

“Exactly. I didn’t know how I would manage without her. We’d never been apart.”

He folded his hands across his chest, lacing his fingers. “Same with me when Caleb left for the war. But Sophie? She’s been with us since the day she was born.”

“I can’t imagine how difficult it was for you when your mother died. It’s a wonder you didn’t resent Sophie.”

“Couldn’t. Pa said God sent us Sophie to love.”

“And you have. All three of you.”

“There’re seasons in life. You can’t work the land and not recognize that fact. The same way I’m never ready when winter comes, I reckon I’m not ready to let Sophie go.”

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.

In Lily’s eyes she read all the concern and love she had expected. “This must be Alf,” Lily said. She grazed a hand over the boy’s head. “A wonder.” She held out her arms, but Alf remained stubbornly in Rose’s grasp. Lily turned and lifted a basket from the buggy. “I’ve brought a few play things. A set of blocks, a book of nursery rhymes and a wooden wagon model.” She looped her hand through Rose’s free arm and started toward the house. “I think what we should do is make a list of his needs and solicit our friends and neighbors.”

“But no one knows he’s here yet.” Something clenched inside Rose. She wanted to keep Alf a secret for a bit longer and avoid sharing his story with the curious and the critical.

Lily raised an eyebrow and chuckled. “Darling Rose, you know better. Seth said Papa was at the mercantile and that they both went to the sheriff’s office. Believe me, the word is out. I’m just relieved to get here in time to fend off all the folks who will be stopping by to hear about Alf.”

Rose kissed the top of Alf’s head. “So soon?”

In Lily’s expression, she read sympathy tinged with reproach. “The child is yours for now. I have a suspicion what that means to you. What you would like to see happen.” They had reached the front door, and Lily turned to her. “Rose, I will tell you what Mother would say. This little boy is God’s own child. Right now, He is using your hands and heart to tend him. Pray for His will to be done for Alf...and for you.”

Rose acknowledged the truth of her sister’s advice, but it would be difficult to be patient, hoping that the sheriff never found Alf’s parents. She cringed—that was an unworthy sentiment. How could she wish that a child be permanently separated from his mother and father? That was a sin even beyond envying her sister’s good fortune in giving birth to Mattie. Was she acting from purely selfish motives? Just then Alf left her embrace to run across the floor to pick up Ulysses.

Lily chuckled. “My, that cat has certainly taken to your boy.”

“As have I,” Rose murmured. In that moment, she felt a ray of hope. Surely God wouldn’t give her Alf just to rip him away from her. The God she worshipped would never be that heartless.

Chapter Three

Carrying Ulysses with him, Alf retreated into a corner of the kitchen, his back turned on Rose and Lily, his attention centered on the blocks Lily had given him. He made not a sound, only occasionally turning his head as if to assure himself Rose was still in the room. Rose fixed tea for herself and her sister, then joined Lily at the kitchen table. Lily pulled a piece of paper and a pencil from her pocket. “Let’s make a list of the boy’s needs. I know others will want to help either by sewing or passing along hand-me-downs.” She licked the pencil tip and began. “Undergarments, trousers, shirts, stockings...” Her voice faltered. Rose stared off in the distance, knowing she should be contributing to the list but unable to think. Her sister gripped her forearm. “Rose, are you all right?”

Rose’s eyes filled with tears and she nodded at the boy quietly building a wall of blocks. In a whisper she said, “It’s hard to plan, when he may be taken from me at any moment.”

“You must care for him gladly for as long as you have him.” Lily eyed her with concern. “It’s only realistic to assume his parents will be found.”

“I know.” Rose struggled to explain. “Sheriff Jensen came yesterday morning after Papa and Seth informed him of our situation. He asked all kinds of questions. How had I found the boy? Had I noticed any strangers skulking about in the past few days? Had the boy said anything to provide clues?” Rose pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and swiped at her tears. “He searched the barn, examined the note, then tried to talk to Alf, who buried his head in my shoulder and wouldn’t even look at the sheriff. All the while I wanted to stop the investigation, to beg the man to leave us be.”

“Oh, Rose. I know how attached you’ve become to Alf, but he is not yours.”

“But in my heart he is, Lily, he is.” She lowered her voice. “Did Papa tell you we suspect he’s been mistreated?”

“If that is so, let us hope such callous, unworthy parents will not be found.”

“I pray that may be the case.”

“Sheriff Jensen is only doing his duty, Rose.”

“I know that. He’s already notifying law enforcement offices throughout the region and is having one of his deputies draw up and distribute posters.” She caught her breath. “I can’t bear to think of Alf’s picture on display all over the territory.”

“But if it helps?” Her sister gazed into her eyes, as if by a look she could force reason.

“You think I’m being foolish.”

“Not foolish, my dear. I know you already love the boy, but I don’t want to see you get your heart broken.” Lily paused, as if garnering resolve. “You’ve always been the more practical of the two of us. You know a search is the right and necessary thing to do.”

Rose bit her lip, her emotions at war with her intellect. Finally, she nodded. “It’s so hard.”

“I understand, but in the time you have with little Alf, you must live as Mother always did.”

Rose paused to reflect on her precious mother and her difficult last days at Fort Larned. The influenza had ultimately carried her off. Yet even at the last, she’d admonished her daughters with the words Rose now repeated. “We only have today. Live each moment fully.”

“Exactly. That advice served Mother well and it has served us well.”

For the first time since Lily had arrived, Rose managed a smile. “I’ll try.”

“All right, then.” Lily picked up the abandoned list. “Sunday clothes. That’s a must. You will want to show off Alf next Sunday at services.”

From the corner came a loud crash followed by a feline shriek. “Gone!” Alf cried. Sure enough, the wall had been destroyed. “I’ll do it again.”

Rose watched fondly as he began reconstructing the wall. “I hope it will be as easy for us to help him rebuild his life.”

“It is in God’s hands, Rose, one day at a time.”

* * *

The next Sunday was a lovely day, the hint of a breeze ruffling the ladies’ bonnets and the fragrance of flowers and newly mown grass mingling in the air. As the congregation gathered before the service, many were still talking about the previous Sunday’s ice cream social. Ezra, Rose and Alf had taken advantage of the temperate weather to walk to the church. Yet far from relaxing, Rose clutched Alf’s hand and prayed for his smooth introduction to the townsfolk. Over the past few days Bess Stanton, Willa Stone, Horace Clay’s wife Essie and a few others had stopped by the house to welcome Alf and to bring gifts of clothing, toys and food. Rose hoped their generosity was a harbinger of things to come this morning.

No sooner had she and her father settled in the pew with Alf huddled between them, than Rose became aware of discreet stares, a few audible tsks and condemnatory looks on the faces of Chauncey and Bertha Britten, sitting directly across the aisle. Then with no attempt to lower her voice, Bertha punched her husband in the side and said, “I declare. What does Rose Kellogg think she’s doing bringing that half-breed in here?”

Anger and defensiveness overwhelmed Rose, and she longed to call the woman to task. How dare Bertha speak so uncharitably, and in church of all places. Before she could act on her impulse, the congregation rose for the opening hymn, “Savior Like a Shepherd Lead Us.” Rose choked on the line “much we need thy tender care,” thinking of Alf and his need of “tender care.” Then, as if her mother were whispering in her ear, the words “Trust in the Lord always” rose in her heart, defusing her anger.

During the pastor’s sermon, she found herself watching Seth Montgomery, as usual seated near the front with his family. She had been unprepared last Monday for the way he had so immediately gained Alf’s trust. If she hadn’t already witnessed his devotion to Mattie, she would never have believed the man could’ve intuited what Alf needed. The little boy interrupted her reverie by crawling onto her lap and sitting back against her chest, solemnly studying his surroundings. Then smiling, he pointed and called out, “Sett!”

The Brittens glared at him and Rose heard a few shushes, but Seth turned around, his eyes sparkling, and waved at Alf. “My Sett,” the boy mumbled before settling contentedly against Rose. “Big.”

Leaving the church after the service, the Brittens skirted Rose and Alf, as if fearing contamination. When Bertha passed by, she hissed at Rose, “What are you thinking? You, an unmarried woman!” Once again, Rose barely withheld her retort, saved from injudicious action by Seth, who gathered a delighted Alf in his arms and led them out to the churchyard.

Fuming, Rose turned to her father and Seth. “Did you hear Bertha?”

Ezra nodded. “You’ll have to expect some of that from the more judgmental folks.”

“Rose, don’t waste your energy on them,” Seth advised, all the while jouncing Alf in his arms.

“Sett. You, me. Big!”

In response, Seth lifted the boy skyward and whirled around to Alf’s delighted laughter.

Seth’s playfulness had settled Rose’s blood pressure. He seemed the most even-dispositioned of men. She couldn’t think of a time at their family gatherings when she had ever seen him out of sorts. Quiet, yes. Content to observe, but never surly.

Lily, Caleb and Mattie approached, and when Seth saw them, he lowered Alf to the ground, where he stood clinging to Seth’s leg. Rose held her breath, praying Mattie would not be jealous of the boy and the attention he was receiving from her beloved uncle. She need not have worried. Mattie toddled toward Alf, flung her arms around him and laughed gleefully. “Brudder,” she said.

Startled, the boy extricated himself from her grasp. “Alf,” he said by way of correction.

Lily leaned over. “Alf is not your brother, Mattie. He is your friend.”

Mattie shook her head stubbornly. “Brudder.” Then she took hold of Alf’s hand. “My Alfie.” And off she went, with her new playmate in tow.

Before the adults could take chase, Seth held up his hand. “Let me. You visit.” With long strides he caught up to the children and steered them toward a patch of grass under a large elm tree, where he sat down, a child balanced on each knee. From a distance, he appeared to be telling them a story.

Lily slipped her hand into Rose’s. “That’s quite a picture.”

“Seth must be touched by fairy dust. The children adore him.”

Lily looked pointedly at Rose. “He’s lonely.”

“Yet he seems content with his lot.”

“That’s what he wants us to believe. He would never have any of us worry about him.”

Rose heard the hint of concern in her sister’s words. “And yet you do worry...”

“He needs a life of his own. He will make some woman a devoted husband.” Lily hesitated, then shocked Rose with her next words. “Are you interested?”

What was Lily suggesting? Why, Rose had never in her wildest dreams considered the possibility. If she had ever confessed her unfortunate experience at Fort Larned while Lily was away in St. Louis, her sister would know better than to indulge in such romantic fantasies on her behalf. But that phase of her life was closed, and it was better no one in her family knew of it. “Lily, Seth is like family. I could never think of him as a potential suitor even if I were so inclined, which I’m not. Besides, he doesn’t lack for women who are interested in him. Look.” She pointed to Seth, who had now gathered a group of children around him. Standing among the youngsters was the Widow Spencer, a Cheshire cat grin dominating her face.

Lily followed her gaze. “She’s not his type.”

Rose hoped Lily was right because that woman was looking for a provider, not a sweetheart, and Seth deserved a sweetheart.

Lily squeezed her hand. “A piece of advice, sister.” She smiled as if she knew a secret. “Never say never.”

* * *

After their parents had collected the children, Seth stood and stretched, a feeling of contentment blooming in his chest. He customarily avoided idle chitchat, but, for some reason, with children, he was downright talkative. He couldn’t get over how attentively they had listened to his story about Noah and the Ark. When Rose arrived to collect Alf, he didn’t seem to want to part company. “Sett? You come, too?”

Seth explained that he was with his family and couldn’t stay. Rose hoisted Alf on her shoulder, and the little fellow kept waving as they walked away.

Seth remained under the tree, trying to determine why the sight of Rose with the little boy moved him so profoundly. Rose was attentive and loving with the child, and he knew she would move heaven and earth if she could assure Alf’s permanent well-being and happiness.

A memory swept over him, one that threatened to unman him—his mother’s presence was so real he felt as if he could reach out and touch her. He longed just once more to hear her say, “My wonderful Seth, my dear boy, I love you so.” Just once more to wrap his arms around her neck and inhale her special cinnamony fragrance. But she was gone, and he had never quit missing her.

That must be why the sight of Alf and Rose moved him so. Seth worried, though, that the day would come when Rose would have to relinquish Alf to his parents. She would be devastated. “Are you coming home with us?” Caleb clapped a hand on Seth’s shoulder. “Sophie’s going to be disappointed if her roast is overdone.”

Seth shook his head in mock despair. “Heaven forbid. Isn’t Charlie Devane invited to partake of our Sunday dinner?”

Caleb laughed. “You know very well he is. Our sister has been slaving over the stove for days now.”

“Is a burnt roast enough to discourage him?”

“Do I detect the words of an overprotective big brother?”

“You do.”

Caleb dropped the playful tone. “She’s a woman, Seth. With a mind of her own. This day was bound to come.”

The brothers started walking toward the wagon. “That doesn’t mean I have to like it.” Seth mused that it seemed like only yesterday he had tended his baby sister, changing her nappies and feeding her oatmeal when his father had been paralyzed by grief.

“No, it just means you need to worry about your own life, not Sophie’s.” He poked Seth in the ribs. “I saw the Widow Spencer eyeing you—like you were a prize bull at a cattle auction.”

Seth groaned audibly.

They were nearly to the wagon, when Caleb asked, “Did you speak with Lars Jensen today?”

“I was busy with the children. Why?”

“He’s called a meeting for Wednesday late afternoon to discuss the drifters and gangs moving through the territory.”

Any lingering euphoria Seth had experienced with the little ones faded with the thought that danger could be lurking on the vast prairie, threatening those he loved.

* * *

Rose awakened Monday morning to the patter of rain on the roof, which in a matter of minutes, grew in intensity to a fierce downpour. Rivulets streaked the window panes and thunder rumbled in the distance. She left Alf sleeping and dressed quickly. In the kitchen she stoked the cookstove with kindling from the wood box, fed Ulysses and put on the kettle, all before mixing up pancake batter. Her father arrived just as the coffee was ready. “Some storm,” he said, blowing on his scalding drink.

While her father read his daily Bible lesson, Rose finished her breakfast preparations. She worried about the way he pushed himself and wished he could find some help. Lily had filled that role before leaving for St. Louis, but Rose had never had her sister’s knack for medicine. As she poured batter into the skillet, she remembered that she had not acted on her hope that Bess Stanton might be of use in her father’s practice.

Rubbing his eyes, Alf stumbled into the kitchen, his hand-me-down nightshirt hanging around his ankles. “Rain,” he whispered.

Her father set his spectacles aside and held out his arms. “Naweh,” he said. Alf climbed into Ezra’s lap, hiding his face. “Did the thunder wake you?”

“Loud.” The boy’s voice was muffled.

“You’re safe here with us,” Ezra reassured him.

“E-nah?” Rose barely heard the word, but she had grown quite familiar with it. Often in his sleep, Alf would cry out for his mother. She hoped he had had one who loved him, even as she would never understand how a caring parent could’ve abandoned the boy.

After breakfast, she helped him dress while her father went out in the deluge to make house calls. Alf would have to play indoors, so she settled him with the blocks he seemed to love. She was amazed by the concentration with which he constructed a high wall and then knocked it down, only to begin the whole process again. She set up the ironing board and hummed along as she bent to the task. The periodic collapse of the block wall and the hiss of steam were the only sounds until she became aware that each time Alf knocked down the wall, he muttered, “Good.”

Rose laid the iron on its rest and went over to the boy and sat on the floor beside him. “It’s a very fine wall,” she said.

“No.” He put another block on top. “Cage.”

She was puzzled. Where would he learn such a word? “Cage?” Then just beyond the wall she saw the small rag doll she had given him. She picked it up. “Who is this, Alf?”

He didn’t look up, just continued placing block on block. Finally he mumbled, “E-nah,” then grabbed the doll from her and put it on the far side of the wall. “Cage,” he said again. Then added more loudly, “Stay there.”

Rose felt her heart pounding. “Was your E-nah in a cage?”

As if he hadn’t heard her, Alf triumphantly destroyed the block wall. “Good.” He picked up the doll and handed it to Rose. “Run away.”

Could it be that somehow he and his mother had been held in jail? By whom? Where? The answers would have to be coaxed from the boy over a period of time. Rose sighed, praying for the patience to let the boy progress at his own pace. What she wouldn’t give to know about his past.

With a flash of inspiration, she remembered the sack of marbles one of the soldiers had given her father in gratitude for his recovery from malaria. Rose led Alf to a chair, then slowly opened the bag. Twenty or more marbles of varying colors nestled inside. She quickly retrieved several cereal bowls, then showed him the contents of the bag. Withdrawing one agate, she said, “Green,” and placed it in a bowl. Next, she found a blue marble, and mouthing the color, she put it into a second bowl. She handed a black marble to the boy, who studied it intently. Rose pointed to the first bowl. “Green?”

He shook his head vehemently.

“Blue?”

“Not blue,” he said, pulling a third bowl toward him.

“Black,” Rose instructed, saddened to think no one had taught him his colors and unsure how much English he’d heard from his parents.

Just before twelve, the back door opened, and Ezra stepped inside, raindrops pooling at this feet. He took off his broad-brimmed hat, shook it and hung it on the peg inside the door. “I feel like Noah.”

Alf looked up. “Noah. Sett told me. Big boat.” Then he went back to sorting marbles that Rose had found for him and repeating the colors under his breath.

Ezra took off his spectacles and wiped them on a kitchen towel. “The marbles. What a good idea.”

Rose wanted to tell him about her morning, about the hint Alf had given concerning what might have happened to him and his mother, but before she could begin, her father thrust out a letter he must’ve picked up at the post office. “Mighty big news,” he said. “It’s from your Aunt Lavinia.”

My dear Ezra,

As you know, Henry died this past autumn, and it has been difficult to adjust to his absence. I continue with my social engagements and charity work here in St. Louis, but my heart is no longer in them. It was our custom to summer in Newport with dear friends, but I find that prospect daunting without my husband. In casting about for an alternative, I have hit upon a solution. Other than the months Lily lived here with us, I have scarce spent any time with the only family remaining to me—you, Rose and Lily. And now little Mattie, my great-niece!

Through the auspices of a Kansas agent, I have let a house in Cottonwood Falls for the months of June through November and should arrive sometime during the first week of June.

I know this may seem sudden and presumptuous, but I am curious about the West and about my family’s circumstances. I will wire you with details of my arrival by rail. My maid will be accompanying me, and I trust someone can meet us at the depot.

Ever your affectionate sister-in-law,

Lavinia

Rose was stunned. Cottonwood Falls, Kansas, was a far different place than the cultured environment of St. Louis. She scanned the letter again. “Does Lily know?”

He shook his head. “When the weather clears, we will go to the ranch to tell her.”

“Papa, I don’t mean to be rude, but it is difficult to picture the woman I remember from my childhood and that Lily has described spending time on the prairie.”

“I agree,” her father said. “But she is your mother’s only sister, and we will do our best to make her welcome. Your mother would’ve wanted that.”

Just then Alf dropped a marble that clattered across the floor. “Yellow,” the boy hollered, leaving the chair to collect the elusive marble.

“Yellow?” Ezra said. “Yes, sir. What a bright boy you are.”

Rose handed the letter back to her father. Aunt Lavinia had always been a distant, though imposing figure to her, moving in a sophisticated world beyond Rose’s comprehension. Lily had thrived in that world for a time until its glitter faded. But for herself? She could not imagine any point where she and her aunt might find something in common. She already felt intimidated and Lavinia hadn’t even arrived.

Then her breath stopped. Alf. What would her aunt think of the boy? Would Lavinia Dupree, like the Brittens, condemn their family for taking him in?

She drew a deep breath and lifted her chin. She would do whatever was necessary to shield Alf from criticism. Slowly she became aware of her father’s compassionate scrutiny. As if he’d read her mind, he simply said, “Reserve your judgment, Rose.”

Chapter Four

Seth stood in the back of the Grange Hall late the following Wednesday afternoon, studying the restive crowd congregated there. All eyes were on Sheriff Jensen. Rumors concerning cattle rustlers, thieves and isolated bands of renegade Indians operating in east central Kansas had stirred concerns among the county citizenry.

Caleb, standing beside him, punched him in the ribs. “We need a plan. We can’t be leaving Lily, Mattie and Sophie unprotected. Until we’re assured the problem has been addressed, one of us or a hired hand should be near the houses at all times.”

Before Seth could agree, the sheriff stepped forward and signaled for quiet. “Lots of information has been going around, some of it accurate and some, pure rubbish. I’ve called this meeting to tell you what we know and what you can do to help. I believe the recent incident where somebody stole tack out of Hank McGuire’s barn is an isolated case. However, it suggests a need for vigilance on all our parts. From time to time, we have men, some desperate, some organized, crossing this region and bent on no good.”

“Gangs, you mean,” the owner of the general store called out.

The sheriff clenched his jaw. “Now, Horace, that’s a bit of an exaggeration. Certainly some folks down on their luck make their way through the territory. Three fellas were apprehended last weekend in Council Grove, suspected of robbing stores. Unpleasant as this news is, most vagabonds are homeless and looking for work. Yes, some gangs operate throughout the West, but none have been spotted in Chase County.”

“It’s a bit hard to tell the difference—drifter or robber,” muttered Chauncey Britten, the undertaker.

“No worry which one when they finally need your services,” one wag shouted to the enjoyment of the crowd.

Sheriff Jensen again signaled for attention. “Here’s what I propose—that those living in town be alert to strangers and inform my office when anyone you don’t know rides into town. As for those of you living beyond town, instruct your hands to keep an eye out and be ready to notify your neighbors if you see something unusual. What we don’t want is folks going off half-cocked and creating trouble.”

A beefy, red-faced farmer jumped up. “So we’re not supposed to protect our property?”

“That’s not what I said,” the sheriff responded. “Caution is warranted, but take action only if you feel your property or family are imminently threatened. If at all possible, before you do anything, notify us.”

“Ride eight miles to you while some renegade roams my ranch?”

“Git off your haunches, Jensen, and git rid of these varmints!”

The cries from the audience were taking a toll on the sheriff, who was a better lawman than speaker. As the hubbub continued, Seth felt Caleb stiffen beside him and knew his brother was about to intervene. Sure enough, Caleb raised his hand and cut a swath toward the front of the room, much as he must have led a cavalry charge. He strode right up on the platform. Seth followed closely behind to support his brother. “Folks,” Caleb said in a commanding voice, “this is just the kind of mob reaction that’ll get us in trouble. Let’s back off and think about this.”

“The situation calls for a united approach,” Seth added.

Amid some grumbling, the men reluctantly took their seats, and Seth heard one say to his companion, “Might as well listen to the Montgomery boys. They generally make sense.”

When the group calmed down, Caleb continued. “We all know Lars Jensen is a conscientious sheriff. Nothing has happened here to cause us to mount some aimless posse. Be reasonable. Many of you have been residents of Chase County for several years or more.”

Seth picked up the thread. “Haven’t we been satisfied with our law enforcement? Lately we’ve had one incident. No physical harm was done, and the guilty party didn’t loiter in these parts, I suspect because we have a no-nonsense sheriff. Now, then, let’s do as Jensen advises. Be watchful, notify him of any concerns and do our best to protect our womenfolk and children from rascals, but also from baseless fears.”

The meeting closed with general agreement and a few apologies to the sheriff.

Afterward, as Seth and Caleb rode side by side toward home, Seth thought about Caleb’s leadership. Although his military service had resulted in horrific experiences, it had also matured his younger brother. When their paths diverged, Seth gave voice to his observations. “Caleb, you did a good thing back there. We don’t need mob thinking.”

At first, he thought Caleb hadn’t heard him, but then his brother answered him in a grim voice. “No, we don’t. I’ve seen what a mob can do. Nothing uglier.” He flipped the reins to steer his mount to the right. “Good night, Seth.” Then he trotted off, without a backward glance.

Seth watched his brother until he was out of sight. There was much he didn’t know about what Caleb had endured during his military career. It was painful to remember the eighteen-year-old who had ridden off to war with the enthusiastic patriotism and naïveté of youth. Seth continued to feel guilty that he had not joined the conflict, but his role at the family gristmill in Missouri had been critical.

Supplying the troops was a form of service, too, but it had spared him from the brutality and bloodshed in which his brother had, perforce, been engaged. The wonder was that Caleb still had his feet so firmly planted on the ground.

Although Caleb had told him few details of his army experiences, from things Lily had said, Seth believed his brother had spoken more openly with her and that such confidences, coupled with Lily’s understanding, had been redemptive.

The setting sun lighted the trail back to the ranch. In a way, he envied the closeness of Lily and Caleb. It seemed they could talk about anything. They must have deep trust in one another, he reflected. He himself wasn’t much of a talker. Would there ever be a woman in whom he might confide his guilt concerning the war? His concern for Sophie? His sorrow at the death of his mother?

Not likely.

He was almost home before a sudden recollection speared his defenses. Rose Kellogg. A week ago Sunday. He’d talked with her about Sophie...about his mother, hadn’t he? Why her? He shook his head in bewilderment and spurred his horse. Such confessions made him feel exposed. Weak. It wouldn’t happen again.

Settling comfortably in the saddle, he studied the rolling hills, veiled in twilight shadows. He didn’t know what it was about the land but it awakened deep feelings in him, probably born of his boyhood on their Missouri farm. From the blossoms of spring to the berries of summer to the tart apples of autumn, the place had been his kingdom. He and Caleb helped with whatever chores small boys could perform, then fished in the river, rode their ponies or aimed slingshots at hapless birds. A long time ago. Before the War Between the States. Years before they moved west to start the ranch.

Boyhood freedoms were one thing. It was more difficult to think about the time his mother died.... Baby Sophie. By all rights, he should have hated her. She’d taken his mother. But Pa never saw it that way. He’d gathered Caleb and him around the crib the day after their mother’s funeral. “Boys,” he’d said in a choked voice, “your mama is gone, but she left us this gift from God.”

After that, there was never any question. Anybody who remotely threatened their sister met Caleb and Seth’s wrath. But that didn’t happen often. Sophie was too loveable. She’d never in her life met anyone that didn’t interest her. Seth groaned. Charlie Devane. A talented construction man, courteous with a ready laugh. Why did thinking about the fellow cause him to grind his teeth? Even if he didn’t want to admit it, he knew, of course. Sophie liked Charlie. Really liked him. Seth always thought of her as his little sister, but she was of age. She could marry.

He was stabbed by a pang of loneliness. Home without Sophie would be like sunshine blotted out by clouds. He didn’t want to think about it. He wouldn’t. Instead, he would focus on...the cattle herd. Calves. There. That was a safe topic. Something over which he could exercise some measure of control.

Yet to his chagrin, cattle didn’t fill his mind at all. Instead, his thoughts once more turned to Rose Kellogg, to the blush suffusing her face when he complimented her cooking.

Rose. A safer topic than Sophie, for sure. Wasn’t it?

* * *

What with the rain on Monday, followed by wash day, it was Thursday before Rose, Alf and her father could manage the drive to Lily’s. At the previous night’s meeting, Caleb had told Ezra about a hired hand with a nasty lingering cough, so the trip had a twofold purpose—to offer medical advice and to plan with Lily for Lavinia’s upcoming visit.

Lavinia and Henry Dupree had treated Lily to fine dresses, elegant social activities and the cultural outings for which she had longed. At one point Rose had feared she would lose her sister to the charms not only of metropolitan life but to the courtship of wealthy Lionel Atwood. Only later had Rose learned that Lionel, aghast at Lily’s rushing to the aid of a former slave who had been run over on the street, had spurned her, accusing Lily of publicly humiliating him. Rose sniffed. Good riddance.

She herself barely remembered Lavinia Dupree. Only once could she remember her aunt visiting her mother’s parents and the Kelloggs in Iowa. A girl of about twelve at the time, she remembered being told to be on her best behavior and speak only when spoken to. She recalled her mother talking about Lavinia’s wealthy husband and elegant home, seeming wistful about the divergence of their paths.

It was nearly noon when the buggy crested the hill behind Lily’s home. Breathing in the fresh spring air and reveling in the miles of prairie grass dancing in the breeze, Rose thanked God once again for bringing her and Papa here to reunite with Lily and her family. And now, Alf completed the circle. “Bird!” Alf squirmed in her lap and pointed to a fence post where a hawk surveyed the countryside.

“That’s right. A bird. His name is Mr. Hawk.”

Alf turned to her with a puzzled look. “Mister? He’s not a man.”

Ezra chuckled. “Smart, that boy.”

Rose joined in the laughter. “You’re right, Alf. I suppose his name is just ‘hawk.’”

“Hawk.” Alf nodded several times as if to fix the information in his brain. “Bird,” he said in summary.

As they approached the barnyard, Lily walked toward them holding Mattie, scattering the chickens pecking in the dirt. “What a treat! We’re so glad to see you.”

Ezra helped Rose and Alf to the ground, then embraced Lily. “I’ll be back after I check on Caleb’s patient. Is the fellow in the bunkhouse?”

“Yes. Caleb is with him. I fear he is worse this morning.”

Mattie wriggled out of her mother’s arms and ran to embrace Alf. “Brudder. I see you.”

The adults smiled indulgently. No amount of correcting Mattie about the meaning of brother had changed her response to Alf.

Alf backed off, eyed the little girl and then pointed to her dress. “Blue,” he said proudly. “Blue shirt.”

Mattie looked down as if she had never noticed her frock. “Dress, Alfie, dress,” she corrected. “Blue dress.”

“Lemonade, anyone?” Lily gathered the children and led them into the kitchen. Rose took a lingering look at the neat, fenced yard, the large vegetable garden and sturdy stone dwelling. Lily was blessed by her surroundings.

Inside, Rose settled at the table while Lily produced a doll and a few tin soldiers for the children, who were soon lost in a world of make-believe.

“At last night’s meeting, I presume Papa told Caleb about Aunt Lavinia’s upcoming visit.”

“Yes, I can’t wait to talk about it. Truth to tell, I’m completely flummoxed by the news. It’s so out of character for her. I know she must miss Uncle Henry, but she thrives on the fashions and social events she can find only in a city. The picture of her out here on the frontier both worries me and makes me chuckle. The very idea of Lavinia Dupree wearing a homespun dress!”

Rose mustered a wan smile before speaking. “She has rented a house and is bringing her maid.”

“So she’ll be quite near you and Papa.”

“That’s exactly what I’m afraid of. I have no idea how to talk with her. My experience is so limited.” Then Rose moved to the crux of the matter. “And what if she’s horrified by the idea of my taking in Alf?”

Seeing her sister’s distress, Lily leaned closer and covered Rose’s hand with her own. “I’ll be the first to admit that Aunt Lavinia can appear imposing and judgmental. Yet, in many ways, I think you may find her demeanor a mask concealing a generosity of spirit.”

“I hope you’re right. Perhaps I’m overprotective of Alf?”

“As you certainly should be. As we all are where our children are concerned. Alf is doing well, isn’t he?”

Rose smiled, warming to the topic of her boy and his progress with speech and the clear evidence of his intelligence. “His sores and bruises have healed under Papa’s care and every day he comes out of his shell a bit more.”

“I can see that.” Lily nodded to the corner of the room where Mattie and Alf were acting out some playlet of their own devising.

Just then, Ezra entered the kitchen and moved to the pump to wash his hands. His expression was grim.

“Papa?” Lily said by way of inquiry.

“Your man has pneumonia. If he responds to treatment, he has a chance. I’ve given Caleb instructions. Only time will tell.”

Lily stood up and moved to the larder. “I’ve made some cornbread and have beans to warm up for a meal before you return to town.”

Over lunch, Ezra recalled some memories of Lavinia and underscored Lily’s urging of patience. “We mustn’t for a moment forget,” he said, “that regardless of the situation, the woman is grieving. Both the lifelong relationship, whatever it may have been, and her position in St. Louis society. We cannot know exactly what impulse has led her to Chase County, but we are her only family and we will welcome her.”

On the way back to town, Alf drowsed in Rose’s lap, and Papa seemed miles away, perhaps concerned with a patient or lost in memories of Mama and Lavinia. Rose’s eyes were drooping when she was brought to awareness by the sound of horses approaching. A jolt of fear wound through her as she remembered what Papa had said about the men’s meeting the night before. Beside her, Ezra sat up straight and, shading his eyes, squinted at the road ahead. Finally he sighed in relief. “It’s Sophie and Seth.”

Sure enough, racing toward them were the brother and sister, initially oblivious to the buggy. Then Seth wheeled his horse and held up his hand to halt Sophie. The pair trotted slowly toward the buggy. “Sorry for alarming you,” Seth said, doffing his hat.

Sophie grinned. “Me, too. It’s just as well, though, because Seth was winning our race.” She swatted her hat at her brother.

Rose studied Sophie, confident and comfortable in her unconventional riding skirt and dust-covered boots. Watching the two riders so at ease with one another, Rose had greater appreciation for Seth’s concern about Sophie’s ultimate departure from the ranch.

The cessation of buggy movement roused Alf. “Sett!” He stood up and held out his arms.

“Ready for a horseback ride, Alf?” Seth spurred his horse to the side of the buggy and glanced quizzically at Rose, as if asking for permission. She nodded.

Seth plucked Alf out of the buggy and settled the boy in front of him. “Horse! Horse!” Alf waved delightedly to Ezra and Rose. “Brown, white,” he crowed. He patted Seth’s leg and then stroked the horse’s neck. “Big. Sett big. Horse big.”

Unaccountably, Rose blinked back tears. Her boy looked so happy, and Seth held him as if he were a bundle of gold.

Sophie pulled her mount alongside Seth’s. “Are you ready, Alf? It’s gallop-a-gallop time.” She winked at Rose and trotted ahead of Seth and Alf. When Seth followed, Alf’s delighted giggle filled the growing distance to the buggy.

Grinning, Ezra patted Rose’s leg. “We’d best follow. I doubt Seth and Sophie are planning to go clear into town. Nice of them to give Alf a ride, though.”

“We’ll probably never hear the end of it.”

“Right. ‘Big. Brown. White. Horse.’”

Rose nodded, silently filling in another of Alf’s new words, a word that was becoming increasingly important to her, as well. Sett. She drew herself up short. It was nonsense to dwell on such foolish notions and risk jeopardizing a perfectly good friendship.

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