A Rose Blooms Twice Read online

  More dismayed, she wondered if she really had heard his voice.

  “But if from thence thou shalt seek the Lord thy God, thou shalt find him,” she whispered. She would find him, if there were any way!

  Was there a way for the lost heathen of the pastor’s sermon? Couldn’t they find him if they sought him with all their hearts, too? It was all very confusing.

  In the rear of the church members either lined up to shake the pastor’s hand or went out the other door. Rose deliberately stepped into line.

  “Why, Rose, what are you doing?” her mother asked, surprised.

  “I’m going to say ‘hello’ to Pastor Greenstreet, Mother.”

  “But you saw him only this week when he visited—surely he will overlook our passing out the other door? You know how very fussy cook is when we dine late and her half-day is shortened.”

  “I’m sorry, Mother. I have something to say to him, and it’s important to me. Would you wait in the carriage for me, please?”

  Mrs. Blake made her way to a group of old friends, all members of the church from far back. Their bonneted and plumed heads bobbed together as she approached, and they were discussing how very ill Rose Brownlee looked. But what could be expected under the circumstances?

  As soon as Mrs. Blake joined them they began to insist with one voice that Rose was appearing far better than they had believed possible.

  Rose made no small talk when she shook the good parson’s hand. She delivered her message to the point: “Pastor, the last time we spoke, I told you I would never believe in God anymore. I’m afraid I must have upset you terribly. I just wanted you to know that is all changed now. From now on, I am going to seek God with all my heart and soul. Then I will find him.”

  Pastor Greenstreet, a bit nonplussed by her succinct announcement, managed to provide a friendly “Well, well!” to cover the gap.

  Rose believed he understood perfectly and went home happy. How blessed are the ignorant! And Rose was at peace for the present and willing to let the questions wait a time, not realizing that her decision was also the first step in getting her health back. Her greatest strength was the time now spent seriously pursuing her Bible reading. Mrs. Blake expressed her curiosity about this distraction and began to feel it took too much of Rose’s attention and concern, for the dear lady cherished hopes that Rose would become her companion in her various clubs, societies, and civic functions. Being a wise woman, she dropped her hints but tried not to push or pry.

  About the preemptive loss of her home Rose was reconciled. Without James and the children what did it matter? Her feelings about Roger and Julia Brownlee were harder to deal with, so she pushed them down, burying them under the other grief. Roger and Julia, in turn, seemed to have forgotten she existed, but Tom insisted that their shame and greed kept them away. He also took time to explain her finances in detail and amazed, Rose responded,

  “But it begins to sound as if I am a wealthy woman, Tom!”

  “Certainly you have more than enough to be independent all your life, Sis. And bless James for such care as he took to make sure you would never want for anything should he be gone one day.”

  “Yes,” Rose murmured softly.

  “So to be sure you understand,” Tom went on, “his life insurance, savings, and Jeffrey’s college fund are cash in the bank. You needn’t touch them though, because the investments I am handling will bring you enough income to maintain yourself—even in your own house if you like—quite comfortably. If you decide to buy a home or travel, the savings are there. Do you want me to continue taking care of your holdings? We can hire a broker if you like.”

  “Oh, no, Tom. I am quite satisfied with you, of course. And you shall draw a percentage from the income because you and Abby will have so many things to buy in preparation for the baby. In any case, I would pay a broker, and I would rather pay you—please?”

  Tom acquiesced, secretly vowing not to take a penny.

  “Rose, do you have any plans right now? It’s almost spring, and Abigail and I have both thought that a short trip—perhaps somewhere warm—would benefit you. Fatten you up, you know,” he smiled. “If you like, we could go with you. Be good for Abby, too.”

  She glanced ruefully at her ill-fitting dress and smiled too. “That is so kind of both of you, Tom. I can’t even thank you and Abby enough or ever repay all you have done, have meant to me through . . .during these last two months. I . . . I love you, Tom, and a better brother could never be found.”

  They embraced. Their feelings of mutual affection had matured through this crisis, bonding their hearts together.

  The suggestion of a trip planted a seed in Rose’s mind, as time hung so heavily on her. With the absence of James and the children to do and care for, Rose wandered aimlessly about the house. At last she gave in to her mother and started to make the rounds of her favorite clubs and functions. Without fail Rose returned home empty and depressed. Most of the women were her mother’s age or older yet, and any younger women were sad objects of pity—Mrs. So-and-So’s maiden sister or poor Mrs. Nobody, a widow with five children and no money. Perhaps she might attend a dinner and if we invite Mr. Widower or old Bachelor, well, who knows what might happen?

  The raw edge of Rose’s grief made such maneuverings demeaning and repulsive. Thinly veiled pity hurt her even more and sank her in a classless caste of nonpersons. Women without husbands were misfits to be treated with kindness but not as complete persons. The whole sub-culture of women’s aid groups and lunch clubs filled her with fear—fear of years to come consumed by joyless, meaningless work. Traveling, even for a brief time, became the inspiration for escape.

  Where would she go?

  “Where would I like to go?” she pondered.

  It occurred to her slowly that nothing and no one prevented her from doing exactly as she pleased.

  This novel idea, first unnerving, almost set her quivering with excitement. The next minute the very lack of restriction made her desperate with anxiety.

  “I won’t go flying off just anywhere. I should plan and have a definite itinerary, with places to visit and things to see and view. Not out of the country, though.” The thought of getting on a boat and being surrounded by water nearly made her ill in her stomach.

  Rose took immediate steps; she visited the train ticket office and returned home with a neat packet of schedules. The next day she found a travel coordinator and brought home colorful brochures touting resort hotels and seaside cottages. She found maps in the library and spread them out in her room. With schedules and brochures in hand she explored one possibility after another, discarding some ideas and jotting down others in a little notebook she had purchased. For days she was caught up in the excitement of planning and, with a start, realized that spring was close at hand. What she was considering was a real prospect—and the time was approaching when these “fantasies” could actually be implemented. Still, she was undecided. She could visit New York—New York had much more to see there than she would ever be able to take in! Savannah was a possibility—Savannah had wonderful hotels and beaches.

  A combination tour of several cities suggested itself. Yes, New York would be fashionable (or Boston for that matter); Savannah would be restful and promised good food. For sheer busyness she could travel the trains up and down the seaboard and see and eat the best of everything! After all, Tom and Abby needn’t go and be worn out. She didn’t envision them with her anyway. No, this was going to be a solitary trip, without others to take into consideration. She wanted the independence almost as much as she was afraid of it! Oh, yes, they’d raise a fuss (“they” meaning Mother), but what could they do?

  Rose laughed out loud. “I have my own money and may do as I please! Well! I may as well be pleased by what I do.”

  Dinner that night was pleasant; Tom and Abigail joined them and the meal was served in a congenial, even festive atmosphere.

  At one point, Tom, with grinning hilarity, announced, “I say, the most re
markable thing was in the paper today! Do you remember Raymond VanBourne? Well, it appears he has sold his business, his home—virtually everything!—to take his family out west! Something about cattle ranching in Montana or Dakota Territory. I really couldn’t envision it, but Sam Toole, (do you recall him, Rose?) was in the Post Office today and insists it’s true. Well! I can just see Marie VanBourne in a clapboard contraption—she must be in sorry straits at this point. Anyway, Sam says VanBourne’s family raised dairy cows for several generations, and he figures raising cattle is the next best thing to getting back to the family business and will be a whole lot more profitable—if he doesn’t lose his shirt (I beg your pardon, Mother) in the process.” He chuckled and shook his head.

  “Surely he has weighed the possibilities, dear,” Abigail interposed gently, “and must feel he will have more than a measure of success. As for Marie, she is a strong, cultured woman and will make a great contribution to the civilizing of that country. Someone must be brave enough to do it, although I am not sure I could be.”

  Tom grinned. “Why, Abby! You never cease to surprise me. Imagine, a pioneer spirit right in my own home! I’ll go out first thing tomorrow to buy a covered wagon.”

  “Oh, Tom!”

  Rose had listened silently, her interest held. West! What a novel thought. Later that night she scanned her maps and schedules where she hadn’t before considered. Illinois, Minnesota, Iowa, Kansas, Nebraska, Dakotas, Montana, Colorado, all with railway connections. Indians, too, she shuddered. Her mind was turning these new possibilities over as she readied for bed. At last, pulling the covers up and getting her Bible from the lamp table by the bed, she began her nightly reading. The page before her couldn’t keep her attention, though. She kept visualizing maps, schedules, and the western states—and a whole frontier beyond that!

  Rose shivered. “I might consider riding a train somewhere, but I’m no real pioneer. I’m too much of a coward!”

  Since she couldn’t concentrate on her reading, she turned back to “her” verses, Deuteronomy 4:29–31. A phrase she hadn’t noticed before caught her eye:

  . . . If thou turn to the Lord thy God and shalt be obedient unto his voice . . .

  Obedient to his voice?

  “How can I be obedient to his voice, if I can’t hear it, if I don’t even know what his voice sounds like?” Rose was irritated. “This isn’t fair, and I don’t know what to do now. If I take this trip—any trip—I don’t know if I’m obeying him if I do, or for that matter, if I don’t!”

  She slammed the book closed. Immediately she was contrite and whispered, “Lord, I’m sorry, please forgive me. Do you want to speak to me? I’m listening.”

  For a while Rose waited expectantly; then sighing, she opened her Bible again. It opened to Genesis 12, and she read,

  Now the Lord had said to Abram, get thee out of thy country,

  and from thy kindred, and from thy father’s house,

  unto a land that I will shew thee.

  The hair pricked on Rose’s neck. This wasn’t the way one heard God’s voice! She quickly turned elsewhere to escape the eerie coincidence. The verse at the top of the page read,

  Fear thou not; for I am with thee:

  be not dismayed; for I am thy God:

  I will strengthen thee; yea I will help thee;

  yea, I will uphold thee with the right hand of my righteousness.

  Rose jumped from her bed, sending the Bible flying. In a chair by the fire she sat, all scrunched up and shaking.

  “I’m not going to look at any more maps or train schedules,” she vowed. “This is too much. I’ll turn into a fanatic if I go on like this!”

  About an hour later she went back to her bed, having convinced herself to go to the ocean in May. Bending over and retrieving the open Bible on the floor these words stared up at her:

  By faith Abraham,

  when he was called to go out into a place

  which he should after receive for an inheritance, obeyed;

  and he went out, not knowing whither he went.

  Obeyed. Rose began to weep, her tears spilling on the pages.

  . . .obeyed . . . not knowing whither he went.

  Chapter 5

  For two days she kept her maps and schedules hidden in a drawer. The immensity of what she was considering . . . what would she tell her mother? What would Tom say?

  Sunday she again stood in line to shake Pastor Greenstreet’s hand. He looked a trifle embarrassed when she asked him aloud, “Pastor, does God talk to people today? If he does, how do you hear his voice?”

  Several heads swiveled their direction immediately, and he coughed and smiled. “Well, God may not speak in an audible voice today, say, as he did with Moses, but certainly we may feel he is always telling us to do good and help others?” This last was a little weak and evasive, but Rose didn’t notice, and went on innocently,

  “Yes, but when he talks to you, Pastor, how do you know it’s really him?”

  Now the attentions of more than a few were firmly fixed on their conversation, and poor Reverend Greenstreet hemmed and hawed before responding, “Mrs. Brownlee, one can always trust the Bible, I say. One will never get into trouble following the Bible example.”

  Rose beamed her thanks, the poor man breathed a sigh of relief, Rose was shuffled off with no further ado, and the next hand was shaken with real fervor.

  Rose wandered slowly to the carriage, pondering this happy information. Later she read the whole passage in Hebrews 11 from verse one to forty over again and again. Parts were understandable, others referred to characters and events she was unfamiliar with. But the message was clear. God expected you to have “faith” in him. Exactly what faith is was the mystery. Yet all those people had done something that God approved of, and he called it “faith.” The maps and schedules came out of the drawer and Rose utilized her notebook again. She had to decide what to carry on the train in her bag, what to pack in her trunk. What to say to her family! Ignoring that, she renewed her planning.

  A note was penned to Tom:

  Dear Tom, I’ve decided to take your advice and go on a trip. Be a dear, please, and take a few hours off this afternoon to discuss details with me?

  Your loving sister,

  Rose.

  Tom’s ring at the door came at four. “Sorry it’s so late, Sis!” he called merrily. “Couldn’t get away, and then got caught at the door and pulled back. I hope I didn’t offend that last client when I rushed him out. Now, where are we going?”

  Rose had two chairs pulled in front of the fireplace, and they sat together cozily. “I’ve been thinking about a trip—like you suggested—but I don’t want to trouble you and Abby to accompany me right now. You’re busy at the office, and Abby is expecting and, well, you don’t need to come. I’ll just go by myself.”

  “By yourself? Where do you have in mind? The seashore? That might be all right, but why don’t we come along? You know, just for company, hey? I can get away—hang the office anyway.”

  “Oh, Tom! You’ve worked too hard building your clientele. You don’t fool me, you know. Besides, dear brother, I want to go alone. No, listen, please. I’ve quite made up my mind—and I have my reasons, too.”

  Tom was looking at her a trifle puzzled and a little hurt. Rose took his hand and squeezed it in reassurance.

  “Tom, all I can say is it’s . . . it’s a kind of pilgrimage. Can you understand?”

  “Pilgrimage? Like a religious trip?”

  “Well, yes, something like that.”

  “Can’t you tell me where you’re going?” He pulled at his collar a bit. “I’m sorry, Rose; I don’t wish to see you do anything hurtful or foolish.”

  “Thank you, dearest of brothers. I won’t be foolish, I promise. My trip is on a train . . . west.”

  “And where west? Just “west” isn’t enough, you know!” His face folded into a concerned frown.

  “Well, call it a sight-seeing tour. When I buy my ticket here you’ll
know where I’m headed, and if I change direction I can wire you. Really, Tom, if I stay with the trains, what harm could I come to? I’ll be perfectly fine.” She said this with a little more conviction than she felt and smiled to compensate.

  “I never noticed before how you can look like Father when you have your mind made up. Something in the chin perhaps.” Tom stared at her earnestly. “And I cannot talk you out of this?”

  Rose’s smile grew. “I think you know you can’t, dear heart.”

  Tom stood up and ran his hand through his hair distractedly. “I hope you know how Mother will receive this. Lord! Why couldn’t you have gone to the seashore?” His humor was reasserting itself. “So when do you cry ‘wagons ho’?”

  “That’s more like you, Tom! I knew I could count on you. My birthday is next week. I think Mother would be hurt if I left before that. So, tentatively, in ten days’ time.”

  “So soon?”

  “Yes; I have my reasons.”

  “So you said, little pilgrim.”

  “Thank you, Tom. Will you help with Mother?”

  “Sure thing. As Abigail said, someone has to civilize the frontier.” He leaned down to kiss her cheek before letting himself out.

  Rose’s birthday was the happiest day she’d had since January 6. Her mother, Tom, and Abby worked hard to make the celebration a memorable one, and Rose couldn’t help but feel the love that motivated them. Mrs. Blake’s gift to Rose was a crocheted shawl of deep spring green edged in beige. “For your brown traveling suit, Rose dear.” It was Mother’s way of conceding her reluctant acceptance of Rose’s journey after vigorous disapproval. Tom and Abigail presented her with a roomy, dark red carpetbag. Inside were new slippers, wrapper, and nightie.

  “How perfect, how very perfect!” Rose was delighted. “Now, I have gifts for you!” She had managed to surprise them all and dismissed it lightly as a whim.