Montana Rose Page 10

  “You can change the subject, Rose, but Jesse Rivers makes a secret smile appear on your face. That’s all I’m going to say.”

  “Thank heavens.”

  “But about Ben. I don’t know what to do other than make his home a haven to return to. He loves being a doctor.”

  “The people love him. You know, Wisteria, I envy him.”

  “You do?” Wisteria asked.

  “Yes. He’s following his life’s dream. I’m not. I’m teaching children who deserve someone that delights in teaching young minds. I’m not saying I don’t enjoy them. But . . .”

  “But it’s not ranching,” Wisteria interrupted. “It’s not getting up before the sky is light and working until its dark. It’s not shoveling manure, pulling bloody, slimy, calves from their mother’s body in the freezing cold. It’s not lifting back-breaking pitchforks full of hay in a Wyoming blizzard. Yes, sister dear, I can easily see how you must miss it.”

  “Scoff.” Rose chuckled. “I’ll have it back someday. And this time I’ll make it work.”

  “I know you will.” Wisteria kept her voice soft.

  Of the three sisters, Rose was the strongest and the most determined. Her petite frame often fooled people, but she was someone, as the settlers would say, to cross the river with. It wasn’t fair what she had to endure at the school board’s hands. Jealous, small-minded people bent on doing her sister harm. Tonight, she’d talk to Ben. He always had the answers.

  “That rug isn’t getting made while we sit here eating cookies and drinking tea,” Rose said.

  “No, but next to your chocolate cake, I like your molasses cookies best.”

  “That’s not what you said your last visit. You said it was my bread. Or was it my bread pudding? No that was before that.”

  “Laugh, Miss Bush, but there’s no denying you can cook.”

  Rose nudged the cookie plate closer to Wisteria. “I love being here with you, sister mine. And no matter what the outcome, I don’t regret for one minute coming. Bring on the school board. They don’t scare me. Well, not much.”

  Chapter 20

  It had been two weeks since Mr. Whimpstutter’s visit and Rose was beginning to breathe easier. There were even times she was able to forget, and the work with Tory went on as before. A stubborn streak in her took impish delight in disregarding Mr. Whimpstutter’s dire warnings. But in an effort to be somewhat compliant, she invited Timmy McCabe to stay after class, too. Rose made sure the kitchen curtains were pulled back so that should anyone ‘happen’ to look in, they would see an innocent setting—two boys doing schoolwork. Of course, cookies were offered, but books were open and both boys studiously bent over them. Tory was entranced in the botany book and Timmy was interested in anything medical. Not as one might think, medicine related to humans. No, his interest lay in doctoring animals. Thankfully, his sister Aries, being a physician, recognized this and saw that he was supplied with veterinary books. Several of which he brought with him. Rose wondered if it was the lure of her cookies or his growing friendship with Tory that made him agreeable to staying after school. Whatever it was, she was grateful for his presence.

  After Jesse’s visit to thank her for tutoring Tory, he once again pulled back into his shell and avoided any contact with Rose, other than the mannerly tip of his fingers to the brim of his hat and a curt nod. Rose realized his smiles were rare where she was concerned, but plentiful when directed toward Tory. And if she resented that fact, she hid it well.

  Thanksgiving had sneaked by, and the classroom changed from a peaceful fall atmosphere to one of heightened intensity as Christmas got closer each day. Now the talk was of presents and the much-looked-forward-to prospect of school being out for two wonderful weeks.

  Rose decided that in addition to having the expected Christmas performance, the students would pick different countries and learn about their customs. They would work together in small groups and share their findings with the assembled parents and townspeople. This would be interspersed with selected Christmas songs. It would be a much different program from the expected recitations, biblical, and otherwise.

  When she presented this to the class, it was greeted with enthusiasm and delight in doing something different. It turned out that the majority of the class wanted to be a part of the group learning how the Chinese celebrated Christmas. With great eagerness they decided to follow the custom and make a fake dragon. Candles would be decorated in the Chinese tradition of red and gold. Rose delighted in hearing them try to wrap their tongue around the Chinese word for Merry Christmas, or correctly, Holy-birth happy.

  The remainder of the class chose to talk about how the early Dutch settlers celebrated Christmas or St Nicholas Eve. The poem “A Visit From St. Nicholas” was to be memorized and given. And not to be outdone by the Chinese group, they would learn the Dutch word for St. Nicholas.

  The night of the Christmas Chorale performance was crisp and clear. Rose watched from the sidelines as each child showed their parents around the classroom and encouraged them to sit in their desks. Smiles were on every face except that of Jesse Rivers. He wasn’t smiling, but he was there, his large hand resting on Tory’s shoulder as the boy showed off his drawings and his unique desk.

  When the time came for the performance to begin, parents took their seats on the chairs from Rose’s kitchen and the McCabe’s home. Excitement hung in the air along with the enticing smell of the molasses cookies set out on a table in the back of the room. Two of the older girls stood proudly by the cookies, having baked them in Rose’s kitchen. The boys, their faces scrubbed and hair slicked down, proudly took arms and escorted parents to their seats. Rose, a smile on her lips, nodded approval to each child, as proud as a mother hen showing off her flock of chicks. The evening was in the students’ hands. They had planned it, and other than her presence, nothing was required of her.

  Mrs. Backley sat in a chair close to Willy’s desk. Her back ramrod straight and she wore a peacock-proud look on her face. Willy, unlike the homespun look of the other children, wore a suit, resplendent with a string tie. That he was sadly out of place did not enter either smug mind.

  Mrs. Chinney and Mr. Whimpstutter sat on either side of Mrs. Backley, heads up and noses tilted and pointed. An aura of gravity and somber authority enveloped them.

  Rose swallowed hard as she met their censorious looks and sent up a fervent prayer that the evening would be a success.

  The first song, “Silent Night,” was perfect. Even Willy, marching to the front of the room to give a sonorous reading from the bible about the Christ child’s birth, was well received. Especially by the three judges, as Rose thought of them. It seemed the mood had been set, and she gave a sigh of relief. That it was premature was soon to be discovered.

  Another Christmas song was sung, then the Dutch group went to the front of the room and told about the Dutch’s patron saint, St. Nicholas. Dutch children hung stockings on St. Nicholas Eve in early December, hoping they would be filled with presents. Two of the girls recited the poem “A Visit From St. Nicholas” and told how it was first published anonymously in a newspaper in Troy, New York, December 23, 1823.

  “And,” they finished, “we now know it was written by Clement Clarke Moore.” Then in a loud voice, the group called out “Sinterklaas,” the Dutch word for St. Nicholas.

  Parents applauded and beamed. All except the formidable three. If at all possible, their backs were stiffer, heads higher, noses more tilted, and the aura surrounding them grimmer. Three sets of eyes glared at Rose. St. Nicholas, indeed.

  Frantically, she motioned for the singing to start, hoping the music would work a calming effect.

  Several well-known Christmas songs were sung with parents joining in.

  Then Rose announced there would be a short break while the last group prepared for their presentation. She motioned to
the table of cookies and punch in the back of the room and the beaming girls ready to serve them.

  When the last cookies were eaten and the punch bowl was empty, the smiling parents sat back down. During the intermission, Rose had received many words of praise and thanks. Enough that she was able to ignore the fact that she was not acknowledged or approached by the three members of the school board or by Jesse Rivers.

  Then when all was quiet, the Chinese group took their places in the front of the room for the final presentation. One-by-one they told about Chinese customs and how Christmas was celebrated in China. Rose cast an anxious glance around the room. A look of interest was on most faces. Perhaps she was worrying for nothing. The night was going well, wasn’t it?

  Cloth-decorated red-and-gold candles came out and were pantomimed being hung out of windows. Then a voice rang out saying that street parties with “fake dragons” were held. With those two words, the connecting door to Rose’s quarters burst open and with a great roar, out pranced a gaudy dragon. Its paper head and decorated sheet body was draped over several students who immediately began a sinuous winding around the room, stopping every so often to roar. This was accompanied by shouts of “Shengdan Kuaile” pronounced shnng-dan kwy-ler or Holy-birth happy. Laughter and fake cries of fear greeted the dragon as parents and children alike took part in the dragon’s tour of the room. It wound its way back to rest by the remainder of the group waiting importantly in the front of the room. Then the narrator spoke the final words. “Most of the Chinese people are not Christian.”

  A gasp surged from the school board’s outraged lips. Shaking the rafters of the building, it fell into the hushed room. Rising to their feet as one, Mrs. Backley jerked Willy out of his seat, and with vindicated wrath, they flounced toward the door, loudly uttering, “Blaspheme, pagan, unchristian, unacceptable.” Mrs. Backley paused at the door, her hands held protectively over Willy’s ears. He wore a satisfied smile on his lips.

  “We have tried to be open-minded of your unusual methods of teaching, Miss Bush,” she said in a deafening voice, “but this blasphemous corruption of young minds will not be tolerated. You have gone too far. I can assure you, you will be hearing from us.”

  The door slammed behind them, and Rose knew it was slamming shut not only on the schoolroom, but also on her short-lived career as teacher.

  Silently, she watched as parents filed from the room. There were many hasty looks of commiseration, but Rose didn’t stay to see them. Head held high, and with as much pride as possible, she slowly walked into her private quarters and firmly shut the door behind her.

  Chapter 21

  “Rose, open the door. I know you’re in there. Listen, sister mine, I’ll stand here all day, but I will talk to you. I didn’t force you to open up yesterday, but I’m not letting you shut yourself inside that schoolhouse any longer.”

  Quiet greeted Wisteria’s words, then slowly, inch by inch, the door opened. Wisteria swept through the narrow opening, marching past a silent Rose and the empty rows of desks. She stepped inside Rose’s private quarters and took a deep breath as the stark coldness hit her. It was dark, curtains pulled, and void of life. An overwhelming sense of emptiness hung in the air. There was no welcoming glow from the kitchen range, no merrily hissing teakettle. There was a sense of abandonment, as though no one lived here anymore. She looked past her sister at the large trunk resting at the foot of the bed.

  “Going somewhere?”

  “Yes,” Rose said softly, “but I’m not sure where.”

  Wisteria felt a flush of anger. “They fired you, didn’t they?”

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “No. I didn’t give them the satisfaction.” Rose’s eyes sparked fire. “I quit. I gave my notice yesterday. They have time before school starts back in January to find a replacement.”

  “Good for you. I hope you gave them a piece of your mind.”

  Rose grinned. “I think it’s safe to say I left them speechless.”

  “Grab your bonnet, sis, let’s get out of here. And don’t tell me you don’t know where you’re going. I’m taking you home to my house. We’ll have Ben pick up your trunk.” She glanced around the room. “Looks like you’re all packed.”

  “I am. But, Wisteria, I can’t impose on you and Ben.”

  “You’re not imposing, Rose. We’re family.”

  “And I love you for offering, but I told Mr. Whimpstutter I would remain here until the end of December. By then I hope to have found work somewhere. Work and a place to live,” she added with determination.

  “Rose, I can’t let you stay here.” Wisteria swept her hand across the room. “It’s like a tomb. All the life is gone.”

  “Because I let the fire go out. When I get it going again, some of the chill will leave. Don’t worry about me. You know I always land on my feet.”

  “I know you’re also very stubborn.” Wisteria gave an exasperated sigh. “Please, Rose. Stay with us at least until you find something.”

  Rose’s bark of laughter filled the room. “Be careful, little sister. That could take some time. But there will be something,” she said, the words forceful. “Something until I get my . . .” Rose swallowed.

  “Until you get your ranch.” Wisteria’s voice rose in exasperation. “Are you ever going to give up that dream? Don’t you realize ranching isn’t possible for a woman alone? I’ll say it again, stop being stubborn.”

  “I’m not being stubborn—”

  A man’s voice cut off her sentence. “Sounds like stubbornness to me.”

  Rose whirled around. Jesse Rivers’ wide shoulders filled the doorway. A scowl marred his handsome face. His narrowed gaze bored into hers and the silence grew. He gave a short nod at Wisteria, then tilted his chin toward the trunk. “That everything? I haven’t got all day.”

  “I-I beg your pardon?” Rose backed up one step and crossed her arms defensively. “This is none of your business, Mr. Rivers.”

  He gave a half shrug. “I’m making it my business.” His eyes were dark and fathomless as he met and held her gaze. They never left her face as he said in that same hard as flint voice, “Sorry, Mrs. McCabe, “but I’ll be taking Miss Bush to my ranch.”

  Before Wisteria could utter one word, Rose flew across the room until she was toe to toe with the formidable man. “You’ll be taking me to your ranch?” she repeated, venom dripping of each word. “I don’t think so. Just who put you in charge of my life?”

  “Somebody has to be in charge. You don’t seem to be.”

  Rose lips narrowed into a fine line and the words hissed from her mouth. “Listen, Mr. High and Mighty Rivers, I’ve had a rough few days. Much more of your superior attitude, and I’ll forget I’m a lady. Now get out.”

  “Rose,” Wisteria cautioned in a whisper.

  Jesse had to bite back a smile. The little lady in front of him was a fighter, no doubt about it. Admiration filled him. Admiration and something else he refused to recognize.

  He moved past Rose as if she wasn’t there and, bending over, hefted the trunk to his shoulder. “What’d you pack in here, part of the stove?” he grunted, moving with ease out the door.

  “Mr. Rivers, you stop. You stop right now. Put that trunk down or I’ll . . .”

  Calmly, ignoring the woman dogging him, Jesse reached the wagon and slid the trunk into the back. Then he turned, facing the fire-breathing Rose and an anxious Wisteria.

  “I don’t have time to sugar-coat this, Miss Bush. Like I said inside, you’re coming to my ranch.”

  Rose glared at him, hands on her hips. “And like I said inside, what I do or don’t do is none of your business. I’m . . . I’m going home with,” she gulped, “with Wisteria. Get my trunk out of your wagon. Now!”

  Jesse looked past her at an ashen Wisteria, her mouth form
ing a startled O.

  “I apologize, Mrs. McCabe. I have a horse ready to foal and chores waiting to be done. I tend to be a bit abrupt when I’m trying to do two things at once.”

  “Hmmpf,” Rose snorted. “Abrupt, pushy, arrogant, obstinate, and hard of hearing.”

  “I’m offering your sister a job,” Jesse said as if Rose hadn’t spoke at all.

  “A job? You’re offering me a job?”

  Jesse riveted his eyes on her. “Yes, I’m offering you a job. Why else would I want you on my ranch?”

  “Why else indeed,” Rose snapped.

  “Now get down off’n your high-horse and get in the wagon. Like I said, I don’t have all day.”

  “Mr. Rivers. I’ll speak slowly so you’ll understand, I am not your problem. You do not need to invent a ‘job’ for poor pitiful me.”

  Anger flashed in his eyes and he spoke through clenched teeth. “Damn it, Rose Bush, you make it hard to feel anything but an urge to turn you over my knee and teach you some manners.”

  Wisteria giggled, drawing a withering look from Rose.

  “No one would pity you,” Jesse said. “They’d pity the poor fool that had to put up with you.” He held up his hand, stopping the words threatening to jump from her mouth. “I need a housekeeper. Tory’s a growing boy and needs someone that can cook. Hell, I need someone that can cook. I’ve tasted your cake and that alone qualifies you for the job. I can’t spend my time caring for a house, cooking, and doing all the chores I plan to pile on you. It’s a job. A paying job.” He quoted a figure that made Rose’s eyes pop.