You’ve always shied away from that risk.”
Stunned, Seth realized this was more truth from his father than he’d ever heard. “I don’t want to hurt anybody,” he said.
“Can’t promise that, Seth.”
Maybe if he weren’t so methodical, dissecting everything. If he could ever, just once, be passionate about a woman, then...but that was foolishness. He had no idea even how to court one. “It’s just who I am, Pa.”
His father stood up and pulled his pipe out of his shirt pocket. “Maybe, maybe not. Be open, son. God has great things in store for you.” Andrew struck a match on his boot, then puffed on his pipe, the savory tobacco aroma filling the air.
Seth wanted to believe his father, but it was difficult. “Best get washed up,” he said, then walked toward the house, all the while sensing his father’s eyes on his back.
* * *
Friday was baking day and after wiping down the table, Rose stood back in satisfaction, inhaling the yeasty smell of bread and surveying the pastries in the pie safe. Alf sat contentedly munching on a warm slice lathered with apple butter and sprinkled with cinnamon. Rose placed her hands in the small of her aching back and stretched, then took off her flour-dusted apron and turned to Alf. “How about a walk around town?”
He clapped his sticky hands. “See some horses?”
Rose laughed. “Yes, indeed, but first finish your bread so you can wash up.”
The boy took another big bite and looked at her with sparkling eyes. After he’d finished, she washed his hands and face, and they set off down the street. For Alf, exercise was not the point of their excursion—it was discovery. First he hunkered to examine a woolly caterpillar, then skipped on down the street to pluck a dandelion from a neighbor’s lawn. “Here, Rose. I give you a posy.” Rose smiled, knowing no exotic orchid would ever be as beautiful.
Along the way they stopped to visit with several friends. But spotting Sheriff Jensen striding toward them, Rose stepped into his path and with trepidation asked the question looming over her every thought. “Any news concerning Alf?”
He removed his hat and with a slight bow said, “Nothing yet. Sorry.”
After they parted, Rose sighed with no small amount of guilt, grateful that the lack of news ensured her continued care of Alf.
Later, at the corner of Broadway, Bertha Britten approached, her black hat perched just so on her massed hair, one spindly arm hooked into the handle of a shopping basket. Head down, as if on an important mission, she nearly ran into them. “Bertha, good afternoon.”
The woman stopped dead in her tracks and stared at Rose. “I’m sorry. I don’t have time to palaver. I’m in a hurry.”
Alf tugged on Rose’s skirt, “I seed this lady before.”
“Yes, in church. Bertha, you remember my Alf.”
Inexplicably, Bertha’s face turned red. “Of course, I remember, but I hardly think he’s ‘your’ Alf. Why, you’re not even married.” She hoisted her basket in front of her chest like a shield. “Now, excuse me, but I have other things to do.” She brushed past them, tsking as she went.
Rose sagged against a hitching post. Alf sneezed, then tugged on her arm. “That’s a mean lady. C’mon. Get away.” When Rose looked down, his little face was one big frown. She took a handkerchief from her pocket and wiped his nose.
“She could have been nicer, but we’re not going to let her ruin our day, are we? Look over there.” She pointed to the livery stable where two horses were just being saddled.
“Horses!” He broke away from her. “Sett!”
“Oh, no, honey. Those horses are for other men. Seth is working at the ranch.”
His eyes widened in disappointment. “Far away?”
“Yes, but you’ll see him Sunday at church.”
“Sunday. Sett. Good.” He swung her hand back and forth as he led her to study the horses. “Big horse. Brown. Little one. Gray.” He stared at the horseflesh with all the interest of
Stunned, Seth realized this was more truth from his father than he’d ever heard. “I don’t want to hurt anybody,” he said.
“Can’t promise that, Seth.”
Maybe if he weren’t so methodical, dissecting everything. If he could ever, just once, be passionate about a woman, then...but that was foolishness. He had no idea even how to court one. “It’s just who I am, Pa.”
His father stood up and pulled his pipe out of his shirt pocket. “Maybe, maybe not. Be open, son. God has great things in store for you.” Andrew struck a match on his boot, then puffed on his pipe, the savory tobacco aroma filling the air.
Seth wanted to believe his father, but it was difficult. “Best get washed up,” he said, then walked toward the house, all the while sensing his father’s eyes on his back.
* * *
Friday was baking day and after wiping down the table, Rose stood back in satisfaction, inhaling the yeasty smell of bread and surveying the pastries in the pie safe. Alf sat contentedly munching on a warm slice lathered with apple butter and sprinkled with cinnamon. Rose placed her hands in the small of her aching back and stretched, then took off her flour-dusted apron and turned to Alf. “How about a walk around town?”
He clapped his sticky hands. “See some horses?”
Rose laughed. “Yes, indeed, but first finish your bread so you can wash up.”
The boy took another big bite and looked at her with sparkling eyes. After he’d finished, she washed his hands and face, and they set off down the street. For Alf, exercise was not the point of their excursion—it was discovery. First he hunkered to examine a woolly caterpillar, then skipped on down the street to pluck a dandelion from a neighbor’s lawn. “Here, Rose. I give you a posy.” Rose smiled, knowing no exotic orchid would ever be as beautiful.
Along the way they stopped to visit with several friends. But spotting Sheriff Jensen striding toward them, Rose stepped into his path and with trepidation asked the question looming over her every thought. “Any news concerning Alf?”
He removed his hat and with a slight bow said, “Nothing yet. Sorry.”
After they parted, Rose sighed with no small amount of guilt, grateful that the lack of news ensured her continued care of Alf.
Later, at the corner of Broadway, Bertha Britten approached, her black hat perched just so on her massed hair, one spindly arm hooked into the handle of a shopping basket. Head down, as if on an important mission, she nearly ran into them. “Bertha, good afternoon.”
The woman stopped dead in her tracks and stared at Rose. “I’m sorry. I don’t have time to palaver. I’m in a hurry.”
Alf tugged on Rose’s skirt, “I seed this lady before.”
“Yes, in church. Bertha, you remember my Alf.”
Inexplicably, Bertha’s face turned red. “Of course, I remember, but I hardly think he’s ‘your’ Alf. Why, you’re not even married.” She hoisted her basket in front of her chest like a shield. “Now, excuse me, but I have other things to do.” She brushed past them, tsking as she went.
Rose sagged against a hitching post. Alf sneezed, then tugged on her arm. “That’s a mean lady. C’mon. Get away.” When Rose looked down, his little face was one big frown. She took a handkerchief from her pocket and wiped his nose.
“She could have been nicer, but we’re not going to let her ruin our day, are we? Look over there.” She pointed to the livery stable where two horses were just being saddled.
“Horses!” He broke away from her. “Sett!”
“Oh, no, honey. Those horses are for other men. Seth is working at the ranch.”
His eyes widened in disappointment. “Far away?”
“Yes, but you’ll see him Sunday at church.”
“Sunday. Sett. Good.” He swung her hand back and forth as he led her to study the horses. “Big horse. Brown. Little one. Gray.” He stared at the horseflesh with all the interest of
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