Part 19 (1/2)
Rose was breaking an egg into the mixture of cooking oil and milk when she heard a chair slide across the floor overhead, then the distinct sound of footsteps. The noise grew even louder as she set the oven to two hundred seventy-five degrees and the timer for thirty minutes.
Looking over at Mr. Browning, who'd dozed off, Rose could no longer contain herself. She limped over to his chair and stood in front of him, her arms poised on her hips. ”Mr. Browning, please wake up!”
He mumbled in his sleep.
”Someone's moving about upstairs.”
He rustled and his head came up ... his eyes opened. ”What?”
”Don't you hear it?” she blurted, anxious that he not do as before and deny the sounds. ”It must be Beth!”
He startled, then scowled. ”How do you know that?”
”I saw her name on an envelope.”
He muttered, head down again.
”I want to meet her,” she said firmly.
He scratched his jaw, his eyes blinking rapidly. ”You don't know what you're talking about.”
His confounding behavior made her feel both angry and helpless. Rose stepped back and folded her hands in front of her. ”Beth must know I'm here - that's probably why she's making noise upstairs.”
He straightened himself in the chair. ”Have you completed your work for today?”
Ignoring the question, she said, ”Beth waved to me when I dropped by Monday morning.”
His eyes were fiery. ”You had no right!”
”I only want to befriend her,” Rose pleaded, hoping he might understand she meant no harm. ”Why do you keep her up there?”
”You don't understand.” He lumbered to his feet. ”No one would.” Gilbert Browning got up and moved the chair aside before heading into the sitting room, where he looked toward the stairs. But Beth had suddenly grown quiet. He shook his head, obviously worn down.
”You can trust me,” Rose persisted. ”Please?”
He leaned on the banister and gazed toward the window, a glint in his eye now. ”Beth's all I have left,” he said, as if resigned to telling Rose the truth. ”I lost her dear mother, and I couldn't bear to lose her, too.”
”So, Beth is your daughter?”
He nodded slowly, as if his heart were breaking.
Rose felt overwhelmed with his sadness and loss. ”Is that why you keep her locked away?”
”It's best this way,” he said. ”But I only keep her upstairs when people are around - like you, on Wednesdays.” He glanced at the stairs once again. ”I need to protect my Beth ... it's not safe for her to be known.”
Protect her from what? Rose considered entreating him yet again, wanting more than ever to meet his daughter. ”Makes no sense to me.”
Mr. Browning moved away from the stairs, back toward Rose. ”If you'll excuse me, I must look after her now.”
Rose felt desperate - she didn't want to leave. ”Might I finish cleaning the kitchen?”
”You've done enough for today.” His expression was less harsh now. ”I'll put a check in the mail.”
She hesitated, hoping he might change his mind, yet not wanting to push the man further.
”All right, then. Good-bye,” Rose said reluctantly and turned to gather up her things.
”You told him that?” Solomon said to the bishop as the two men stood around in Sol's workshop.
”Well, isn't it obvious Nick's fond of your daughter?” Aaron helped steady the board while Solomon continued sanding by hand. ”It may be our last hope to keep the boy in the fold.”
”You honestly think usin' my daughter as bait is a gut idea?”
Aaron's eyes were pleading. ”Sol ... it's all I know to do.”
Solomon did not appreciate this idea whatsoever. Rose Ann was a special and beautiful girl - lily-white inside and out. Even Emma said they were blessed by G.o.d to have such a remarkable daughter. He could not understand why the bishop would put him - and Rose - in such a predicament, particularly when he'd already lost one daughter to a worldly fellow.
”Ain't a gut idea, Aaron ... puttin' it bluntly.”
”Ah, Sol. It's up to Rose in the end, j ah? The two of them have been friends for years. Why not just wait and see how this all plays out?” the bishop added.
Solomon clenched his toes in his work boots, and he realized he was shaking his head. The thought of Rosie sacrificed to bring Nick to his knees before G.o.d and the church irked him no end!
By midmorning the sun was hidden by heavy clouds, and the atmosphere had turned hazy. Hen asked to borrow some of her mother's stationery. ”I never thought of bringing along writing paper,” Hen said as the two sat in the kitchen.
Mom, in her wheelchair, had been trying to darn some socks but kept stopping, obviously struggling to manage her pain today. She pointed to the corner cupboard, across the kitchen. ”There's a tablet in the middle drawer,” she said, her words clipped just now.
Hen, Mattie Sue, and Mammi Sylvia had just finished mixing together ingredients for chicken mushroom bake, one of Mom's favorite recipes for the noon meal. Before that, Hen had driven over to talk with Rachel Glick about changing her week's work schedule to this afternoon and tomorrow morning, which was just fine with Rachel. The woman seemed quite accommodating.
Nick had surprised her by dropping by to see if Mattie Sue wanted to go over with him to visit the bishop's wife, who was baking snickerdoodles with two of her granddaughters Mattie's age. Hen remembered what Dad had said about letting her roam about the farmland freely, so Hen agreed, but only if someone went along with Mattie Sue. Nick had seemed more pleasant than she'd ever remembered him being, but she wondered if it was just that Mattie Sue brought out the best in a person - even Nick Franco.
With Mattie Sue off at the neighbors', Hen was alone with her thoughts. She looked lovingly at Mom, who persevered in her attempt to darn socks, and wondered how many more years her mother could endure such suffering.
Will she live to see Mattie Sue grow up?
Hen closed her eyes and asked G.o.d to help her mother. And to help Hen know what to say in her invitation to Brandon - my own husband! She stared out the window, to the wind rippling the gra.s.s in the yard and beyond, in the pasture where the horses grazed leisurely. Oh, to live such a trusting life ...
To think she had to ponder her words so carefully, even in the first line of her letter, somewhat alarmed Hen. Yet she wanted to respect the bishop's wishes and write before it was time to set the table here in the main house. She was still getting acclimated to the daily schedule of eating right at eleven thirty on the dot. The early hour gave Dad all afternoon to accomplish his farming work, as well as his woodworking projects. Dad had mentioned writing an invitation of his own to Brandon, but she'd asked him to hold off until she first sent hers. ”I'll see how he responds to mine,” she had said, fairly certain the outcome would be negative.
Wis.h.i.+ng for a resolution to their dilemma, Hen picked up the pen and began to write.
Dear Brandon, I think of you all the time ... and miss you. I hope you're doing all right.
Mattie Sue is having an exciting day today, enjoying the farm and feeding the animals. It's so cute to see her chasing after all the kittens around here!
Both Mattie and I want to invite you to have dinner with us this coming Sat.u.r.day night. We'll cook something very special for you - we're staying in the smaller ”grandfather” house for the time being, so it will be] ust the three of us.
I'm mailing this note today hoping that you can get word back to me soon. Either that or I will follow up with a call from the phone shanty in the neighbor's field down from us.
We really hope you'll come, Brandon!