Love Finds You in Wildrose, North Dakota Page 7

  “She’s still sleeping yet. But she could wake up any time.”

  “I also remembered you saying something about bacon last night.” He set a package on the table. “I didn’t figure you’d want to go to the root cellar in the rain just to get this.”

  The baby began to squirm, saving her from having to stand there awkwardly thinking of how thoughtful he’d been. “Thank you,” she was able to say in an offhanded manner as she turned toward the baby. Rosemary picked her up, held her just far enough away so she wouldn’t get soaked too, and laid her down on the quilts she had put in the corner to keep dry.

  “What happened to the bed?” Finn asked. Then he seemed to do a quick assessment of the situation. “The roof leaked? The pot is right where the pillows were.” He turned to her. “Did you get wet?”

  “Not like this,” she said, laughing, as she removed the sopping cloth from beneath the baby. She glanced at Finn. “I woke up pretty quick and moved before I could get more than a few drops on my head.”

  The baby let out a wail that quickly turned into an angry, insistent cry as Rosemary pulled the wet clothes free, dipped a cloth in the washbasin water, and wiped her down. Sarah shivered and her lips trembled as she lay uncovered, kicking her legs at the injustice. Rosemary worked fast to slide the cloth around her and tie it at the navel. Then she slipped a tiny gown over Sarah’s head. “Will you hold her for a couple of minutes while I change her bed and then get her milk ready? I know you need to finish your chores, but I hate for her to lie there crying and thinking no one cares.”

  Reaching for his fussing daughter, Finn nodded. “Of course.” He smiled indulgently as she gave a high-pitched squeal.

  “She’s got a temper, doesn’t she?”

  “She sure does.” Rosemary laughed. Then she cringed at the volume of her laughter. She’d always been one to blurt out a laugh rather than demurely conceal her smile behind her hand, the way Rachel had learned to do from the ladies’ magazines and dime novels.

  She quickly made up the cradle and tossed the soiled linens into the corner to be cleaned when she did the wash. Five minutes later, she had filled the feeder. “Let me feed her while you start breakfast,” Finn said as she reached for the baby.

  “Are you sure?” He put out his hand, so she gave him the feeder. “I don’t want to keep you from your chores.”

  “There’s not much to do right now. Morning chores are pretty easy. Once I start plowing, there won’t be much time for anything but chores and work in the fields. We cleared a hundred acres over the last three years, so if all goes well, there should be a profit come harvesttime.”

  “Oh, good heavens.” Rosemary gathered a sharp breath and pressed her palm to her cheek. “Finn. I completely forgot.”

  “Forgot what?” He was clearly confused by her sudden change of demeanor. “Are you all right?”

  “Of course.” She waved him away as she headed for her reticule, which still sat on the trunk just inside the door. Retrieving the bank draft that had been written out to Finn and Rachel, she walked to the rocking chair and held it out to him.

  “My hands are occupied. What is it?”

  “Rachel’s half of the ranch. Papa arranged for its sale weeks before he passed. Rachel and I were both given equal shares, and the sum is quite enough for anything you or Sarah might have need of.”

  He stared at the draft she still held in front of him, and then he shook his head. “I’m not taking that.”

  “What do you mean?” Perplexed, she kept the draft before him. He must have misunderstood what she was giving him. “You have to take it. It’s Rachel’s inheritance.”

  He shrugged. “Rachel is gone. You should have it.”

  Without thinking, she dropped to her knees next to the chair so she could force his gaze. “As her husband, not only is this legally yours, but Rachel would want you to take it and use it to make sure Sarah has everything she needs. And that includes your having everything you need to make sure this farm turns a profit. How many people pull up stakes and never make a go of a homestead?” Her thoughts went to Mr. Freeman. “This inheritance will ensure that you never have to face that decision.”

  “I already told you, we should make a profit this year come harvest.”

  “Then use it to build a wood home. Heinrich told me lumber can be shipped in if there aren’t enough trees to build a decent home.”

  He winced, and Rosemary regretted her hasty words. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”

  Why did she always have to say exactly what was on her mind? Even when those words were bound to hurt, she couldn’t seem to filter them through reason first.

  With his attention focused on feeding Sarah, Finn clearly had no intention of responding to her apology. Kneeling beside the chair felt awkward now, so with as much dignity as she could muster, Rosemary stood and walked to the stove to begin breakfast. Dread nearly overwhelmed her stomach as she realized that this last outburst had almost certainly ruined any chance of Finn’s reconsidering her proposal.

  * * * * *

  Finn swallowed the last of his breakfast, giving a grudging nod of thanks to his sister-in-law. Decent home, she’d said. Decent? He glanced around the soddy. He reckoned it wasn’t the sort of house she’d grown up in, but Rachel had understood that this was necessary in the beginning. But the difference between the sisters—Rachel had never behaved as though she felt this home was beneath her.

  Still stinging from Rosemary’s criticism, he’d found it difficult to stay civil as they ate, but now that the meal was over, he knew he had to speak to her. He gulped down the last of his coffee and stood. “Now that the rain has stopped, I’ll patch that hole and then I’ll be heading to the general store for supplies. I suppose you won’t mind keeping an eye on things here.”

  Her eyebrows shot up and she looked surprised. “Of course I don’t mind. It’s what I planned to do anyway. The washing needs attention, and I assumed you would be starting to work in the fields and would need me to tend the baby.”

  Rosemary Jackson assumed entirely too much, especially when she knew full well that he wanted her gone.

  “Before I can start the plowing, I have to take time to stock up on household supplies.” Dad-burn…he didn’t even know what they needed. He knew that asking her might lead her to believe he was planning some sort of pairing between the two, but he really had no choice. “I don’t suppose you could make a list of household goods?”

  “I’ve already started one.” She walked to the stove and took down a sheet of paper and the inkwell from the shelf. “I can finish up in a jiffy.”

  Watching Rosemary move around the house as though she belonged there filled Finn with resentment. He knew his feelings weren’t logical or fair, but he couldn’t seem to quell them. Especially now, as she took up Rachel’s pen. Those were Rachel’s private things. No one, not even Finn, ever touched them but her. Watching Rosemary was altogether too much like watching Rachel, and the pain sliced through his heart.

  He frowned. “You write with your left hand?” The sight shook him. But in a strange way, the thought that the two weren’t exactly alike somehow comforted Finn.

  Rosemary nodded. “I know, Rachel wrote with her right. She hated that we didn’t write with the same hand.” She shrugged. “I liked it.” With a sigh, she bit her bottom lip, holding it between her teeth as she stared into nothing.

  “She never did that either,” he said without thinking.

  Her gaze shifted quickly to him. “What?”

  “The mouth thing. Rachel didn’t bite her bottom lip.”

  Her eyes grew wide. “I bite my bottom lip?”

  Feeling suddenly awkward in her presence, he nodded, knowing it would be even more awkward to ignore the question. “Only when you’re thinking about something. You always did.”

  “Hmm. I didn’t know.” She shrugged and went back to her list, leaving Finn to look at the top of her head.

  He’d been acting the fool, push
ing Rosemary away and at the same time looking at her as though she were Rachel. He averted his gaze while she scratched the rest of the items onto Rachel’s stationery.

  “All right,” she said finally. “I think this will do.” She walked across the floor to him but hesitated before handing it over. “It’s lengthy. Do you…?”

  Have enough cash to cover the purchase. That’s what she was going to say. “I can afford to take care of my family, Rosemary.” He held out his hand, and she tentatively laid the paper on his palm.

  “I didn’t mean to offend.” She breathed out a heavy sigh. “I just can’t help but think of Rachel’s inheritance and how much it could help.”

  “In building a proper home for my daughter?” Finn could hear the anger in his tone. He offered no apology. Rosemary was altogether too forward. But she was still family. “Look. I know you believe Rachel would want me to take the inheritance….”

  “She would. It’s yours, and it’s only right that you accept.”

  Why did she have to go and start a fight just when he was trying to apologize for being testy? “A man has to make his own fortune in this life, Rosemary. Otherwise, what kind of man is he?”

  Her blue eyes clouded over, and she crossed her arms over her chest. “A smart man who knows there’s no shame in accepting an inheritance. This isn’t charity. If it were, I wouldn’t be accepting it myself.” She lifted her hands, her frustration evident, as though she had given up the pretense of civility. “Mercy’s sake, Finn. Even the Good Book says a wise man leaves an inheritance to his children’s children. My pa was wise. And so he’s left an inheritance. One that Sarah, his grandchild, should benefit from.”

  “And you’re saying I’m not wise enough to provide for my family?”

  “You’re just being intentionally difficult.” She turned her back and walked to the counter. “Rachel would be ashamed.”

  Her words sliced Finn’s heart, the pain burning through him so hot and fierce, it took his breath away.

  “Finn.” Somehow Rosemary had closed the distance between them, but he had no idea how or when. She reached for his arm, but he jerked it away before her fingers made contact. “I’m sorry!” she said, her voice choked.

  He knew she meant it. Knew she regretted saying the cruel words, but now it was too late for her to take them back. Didn’t she know that all he had ever wanted was to make Rachel proud? To make her never, ever regret marrying him?

  He met her gaze. Tears pooled in her blue eyes. “Finn…”

  But he had heard enough of her words. “I always knew you were opinionated and loud and enjoyed making a man feel small, but I never knew you could be deliberately cruel. What you just said, Rosemary—that was plain cruel, and I feel the pain of it down to my gut.”

  A gasp tore at her throat. “I’m so desperately sorry, Finn. I didn’t mean it.”

  “Then you shouldn’t have said it.” He reached for the door but turned back before pulling on the door latch. “I don’t know if I want someone who can’t control her tongue helping me raise my daughter. Rachel would have raised her with kindness and taught her to be kind. I don’t want my little Sarah growing up and using her words as weapons. I truly don’t believe Rachel would approve.”

  He slipped his hat on his head and yanked the door open. Somehow Rosemary’s stricken expression didn’t give him the satisfaction he’d imagined it would. As he walked toward the barn to hitch the team, he could feel her eyes following him.

  * * * * *

  The team of horses pulled the wagon into Paddington a couple of hours later. He’d spent the ride to town replaying his conversation with Rosemary, his response to her unkind remark. He knew he owed her an apology for the way he had spoken to her, but if the truth were told, he had also meant those words. He didn’t care for the way she thoughtlessly blurted out whatever was on her mind, and he didn’t want Sarah to grow up learning to do the same. But Rachel would have found a more tactful way to explain that to Rosemary.

  “Whoa,” he commanded his horses, as he pulled hard on the reins in front of Morehouse’s General Store. He dreaded the conversation he was about to be forced into, after last week’s fiasco. Perhaps he wasn’t too different from Rosemary after all. He’d certainly treated Mrs. Morehouse horribly by grabbing his child and tearing out of the store without a word of explanation.

  Frank Morehouse would demand an apology—at least if he were any sort of real man, he would. And Finn would have to face the woman he’d wronged and explain that his beautiful Rachel was dead. If he’d had any other choice, he would have chosen a different establishment to restock his home, but the general store was the only store in town. He set the brake and wrapped the reins around the lever then climbed from the seat. As he stepped into the store, he pulled the list from his shirt pocket.

  Mrs. Morehouse left her patron at the counter and rushed to Finn. She took his hand in hers, and her eyes filled with compassion. “Mr. Tate,” she said, her voice fraught with emotion, “Mr. Morehouse and I were extremely saddened to hear of your dear wife’s death. Please accept our condolences.”

  Finn shook his head to gather his thoughts. With a sense of relief that he wouldn’t be the one to explain when they asked about Rachel and the baby, Finn handed her the list. “Thank you, ma’am.” She frowned and glanced toward the window.

  “Mr. Tate! Where on earth is that beautiful baby? Surely you didn’t leave her in the wagon.”

  “No, ma’am.”

  He lifted his hand to Mr. Morehouse as the proprietor walked into the main room from the back. “Hey there, Finn. The wife and I are sure sorry about that pretty little wife of yours. Heinrich Fischer stopped by yesterday and told us. How’s the baby?”

  “She’s doing well.”

  Mrs. Morehouse’s frown deepened. “But where is she?”

  “Rachel’s sister is minding her.”

  Mrs. Morehouse smiled a wide smile, showing a mouth full of crooked teeth. “How nice! And did the sister’s husband accompany her?”

  “Frieda! Hold your tongue.” Mr. Morehouse glared at his wife and jerked his head toward the counter. “Your customer is waiting.”

  “Of course.” Glancing at Finn, she held up the list he’d given her. “I’ll take care of this as quickly as possible.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.”

  “Mr. Morehouse, does Mrs. Franklin still run that boardinghouse at the edge of town?”

  The man’s gray eyebrows rose, and then he smiled. “I take it your wife’s sister did not bring her husband.”

  Heat warmed Finn’s neck. “No, she’s not married, so you can see the difficult situation.”

  “And she has come here to live?”

  “Yes, sir. Her pa passed on a few weeks ago and she traveled here expecting to find a home with us, but of course that isn’t possible now.”

  “No, I can see how it isn’t.”

  Mrs. Morehouse finished with her customer, and the middle-aged woman walked toward the door, carrying a package. Finn reached the door first and held it open for her.

  The woman rewarded him with a smile. “Thank you.”

  He tipped his hat then returned to Mr. Morehouse. “I’ll head over to the boardinghouse to speak with Mrs. Franklin about a room for Rosemary. I’ll come back for my supplies.”

  “We’ll get everything ready for you.”

  * * * * *

  The elderly Mrs. Dorothy Franklin was stern but not overly harsh, as one might expect by the way her brow was creased into a perpetual frown. She bent over a cane as she walked, and her hair was stark white without a hint of gray. She kept it up in a tidy bun and wore black silk every day. At least so he’d heard, and if today were any indication, the rumors were true. Her gown rustled as she slowly took the steps one at a time, her hand tucked inside the crook of his arm. She held on as though for dear life, and Finn was glad he was wearing long sleeves, as he was almost sure her nails would have gouged five tiny holes in his skin.

  “I d
on’t cotton to men entering a lady’s room.” She gave him a pointed look. “Even kin.”

  “Sounds fair.”

  “Of course, you may carry her trunk up and leave it just inside, but I shall escort you while Miss Jackson remains properly downstairs.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “The rent is due precisely on the first day of each month, and if it is not paid by the fifth, the tenant must leave. No discussion. I am a widow and this is my only income, so I cannot afford charity.”

  “Of course not, ma’am. You will be paid promptly each month. My sister-in-law recently received a modest inheritance and will not be a problem for you.”

  Her face brightened as she opened the second door to the right. Inside, the room was furnished modestly but decently, and Finn was sure Rosemary would have no objections. A floral coverlet was spread across the bed, giving a nice feminine touch to the room. In the corner, a rose-painted washbasin and pitcher sat atop a wooden table. A wardrobe graced the far wall, and directly across from the foot of the bed stood a vanity with a mirror and a chair. Everything he knew Rosemary had in her room at the ranch. He knew this fact only because the first few days of their marriage, Rachel and he had stayed in her room waiting for the dressmaker to finish Rachel’s gowns. And she had confided that their rooms were decorated much the same.

  “I can’t abide a young woman who thinks more highly of her looks than she ought,” Mrs. Franklin said, “but it never hurts to give an unmarried young woman the opportunity to ensure that her appearance is appropriate to every occasion.” She smiled. “They used to tell me I was quite handsome. My George ordered that vanity from New York right after the war.”

  “You’ve maintained it beautifully.”

  “It means a great deal to me. That is why I can’t have just anyone occupying this particular room.”

  “I’m sure you will find Miss Jackson to be just the kind of young woman you are looking for.”

  She gave him a sharp, discerning look. “Do you intend to call on Miss Jackson?” She stepped aside and motioned for him to step out into the hall ahead of her. “Because I do not allow anything that so much as hints at impropriety. You young folks nowadays… have no morals.”