Rosie lifted her chin. A United States post office. That sounded mighty respectable. What could Seth find wrong with it? In fact, it would be an honor.
“Yes, sir,” she said, feeling almost as though she should salute the bearded gentleman. “I shall be much obliged to serve my country in that fashion.”
The man’s mouth twitched a little. “Very good. Now, I’ll need a little information from you.” He pulled a piece of paper from his back pocket and took a pencil from behind his ear. “What’s your full name?”
“Rosenbloom Cotton Mills.”
He scowled. “Like the place over in Illinois where they make stockings and such?”
“Yes,” she said, trying not to let shame overcome the pride of the moment. “But everyone calls me Rosie.”
“Age?”
“Let’s see. I reckon I must be twenty by now.” She hoped he wouldn’t ask what day she was born.
“Birthplace?”
“Kansas City.”
“You got any warrants out against you? Ever been in trouble with the law?”
“No, sir.”
“All right, then. Miss Rosenbloom Cotton Mills, you’re now hereby an official commissioner of the United States Postal Service.” He handed her a sheet of paper. “You got a name you want to call this place?”
“A name? What for?”
“So’s folks can put an address on their letters.”
Rosie pondered. Seth had not liked it when she’d called the barn Hunter’s Station. But she wouldn’t feel right about naming the post office after herself.
“Well, you think about it,” the man said. “Meantime, I want to hand over the first mail delivery to you.” He hauled a sack out of the back of his wagon and set it in her arms. “There you go. This covers the territory in a good part of this county.”
“But how will people know to come here for their mail?”
“We’ll put out the message from headquarters in Topeka, and you can let folks know as they pass across your bridge. Word’ll spread quicker’n you think. Now, ma’am, this post office is gonna increase your traffic by a goodly bit, so I reckon you ought to be prepared. You might want to keep an eye on them fine-lookin’ chickens of yours. Folks has been knowed to take just about anything that’s not nailed down. And if I was you, ma’am, I’d set me up a real mercantile double-quick. This commission is your key to some good business.”
He tipped his hat and climbed back onto his wagon. Rosie hugged the bag of mail. She could only hope Seth would understand. The mail could bring customers and their money—money that could help during hard times on the prairie. Mail also meant contact, a chance to touch the lives of hundreds of other people. Maybe she could even share her faith—the hope of a future of joy through Jesus Christ. Hope for a bountiful future. Hope for Seth. Hope in God.
“Wait!” she called. She waved at the men on the retreating wagon. “Wait, please! I have the name. I want to call it Hope.”
“Hope?” The post office man considered for a moment; then he gave an approving nod. “All righty. I’ll be back in a week— bringin’ the mail for a town called Hope.”
A
TOWN
!” Sheena hooted as she plunked a crock of fresh honey on the makeshift counter in Rosie’s barn. “Here it is barely two weeks Seth has been gone, and already you’ve taken a post office commission, set up a mercantile, and founded a town! He’ll be fit to be tied, so he will.”
“I’m afraid you’re right.” Rosie set a basket of eggs beside the honey and propped up a hand-lettered sign:
Eggs: 50 cents a dozen
. “But Seth will have to accept the facts. He can’t deny prairie farming is uncertain business. Without the bridge toll money, Seth, Rolf, and Jimmy might have gone under just the way Mr. Holloway did. If God gives us the opportunity to secure the future by granting us a post office, why should we throw the gift back in his face?”
“But a
town
?”
“This is not a town, Sheena. It’s one soddy and a barn. The gentleman needed an address, so I invented a name.”
“Aye, and the first time Seth sees a letter addressed to Hope, Kansas, arriving at his barn on the postal coach—”
“Halloo!” The high female voice cut off Sheena’s warning of doom. “Is anybody home?”
“It’s a traveler,” Rosie whispered to Sheena. “So, are you with me in this, or not? Together we can run this mercantile and divide the profits. It’s hope, Sheena. Hope.”
“I’m with you. Although when Jimmy gets wind of it, there’ll be the devil to pay.”
“Come on then. Let’s greet the first customer to the Hope Mercantile.” Rosie smoothed down her apron. She wished she had a bonnet. For all the trading she’d done, she had not been able to part any woman from her headgear. It seemed every female traveler had been forewarned about the prairie sun and its propensity for baking skin to a leathery brown.
Patting her bun, Rosie stepped out of the barn, Sheena at her side. A woman in a bright green dress threw her arms open wide and ran toward them.
“Glory be to God, Sheena!” the woman cried. “The
brablins
said I’d find you here! Don’t you know me? I’m Caitrin!”
“Caitrin?” Sheena’s eyes went wide. “Caitie? ’Tis really you?”
“Aye, Sheena! I’m here. I’ve come at last!”
Laughing, the two women flung their arms around each other. Each kissed the other on both cheeks, and they began to weep.
“Cead mila fáilte!”
Sheena cried. “A hundred thousand welcomes, Cait! Oh, Rosie, she’s here. My sister is here!”
“Sheena, Sheena, let me look at you!” the woman said, turning Sheena around and around. “You’re so lovely!”
“Me? Aye, ’tis you, Caitie! You’re all grown up, so you are, and as pretty as a shamrock in your green dress. Look at your hair! What have you done with it? Oh my, aren’t you the stylish young thing in all your ringlets and silvered combs? Have you ever seen such
shingerleens
as these, Rosie?”
Rosie shook her head, but Sheena paid no attention to her friend’s response. She was completely enraptured at the arrival of her sister. And no wonder. Rosie herself could hardly believe such a beautiful creature existed—let alone that she had deigned to set her delicate feet on the prairie.
Caitrin’s curling hair glowed like a red-hot fire. Her emerald green eyes sparkled with life. Her cheeks flushed with the most delicate shade of damask rose, and her lips shone in a perfect porcelain pink.
Anyone could see that Sheena and Caitrin were sisters by the turn of their noses and the tilt of their eyes. But where Sheena was short in stature and had been pleasingly rounded by years of childbearing, Caitrin stood tall and elegant, as fine-figured as a queen.
And her dress! Rosie gaped at the wondrous creation in emerald green lawn. The full-hooped skirt had been trimmed in ribbon and braid. Fabric-covered buttons ran up the fitted bodice in a neat row. A loose coat with a small ribbon at the neck had been crafted of matching green fabric. And perched on that glorious mass of long red curls sat the most elegant pillbox hat.
Abashed at her own faded blue cotton dress, Rosie backhanded a smudge of dirt from her forehead and shoved her work-worn hands behind her apron. Lucky to have a petticoat, she had never even considered the luxury of hoops. As for buttons, Rosie had managed to put together a collection of odd-sized fastenings—not one of which matched the other.
As she sized up Sheena’s sister, Rosie sensed something unpleasant—and all too familiar—rising inside her heart. It was envy. She had learned the voice of envy well in her years at the Home. Now it was whispering again, and she could hardly deny the truth of its message. She felt like a skinny, bedraggled little prairie dog next to this astonishing creature.
“Isn’t she lovely?” Sheena cried, turning Caitrin in Rosie’s direction. “Isn’t my sister the most elegant lass in all the world?”
“I believe she is,” Rosie agreed.
“Nonsense, Sheena. You’re as full of blarney as you always were!” Caitrin laughed, and it was the merriest sound Rosie had ever heard. “In all your chatter you’ve failed to introduce me to your friend, so you have. I’m Caitrin Murphy and pleased to make your acquaintance.”
The young woman extended one of her gloved hands. Rosie shook it in wonderment at the woman’s friendliness. Could it be possible that Caitrin was not only beautiful but kind? This was worse than Rosie could have imagined.
“And you are—?” Caitrin asked when Rosie remained tonguetied.
“She’s Rosie, so she is,” Sheena explained. “Rosie Mills. She’s my dearest friend in all the world. Not only that, but she’s a bold young thing with a good
killeen
of God’s common sense between her ears. I’ll have you know she’s built a town, so she has—and all by herself.”
“A town?” Caitrin glanced around at the flat prairie. “But where is it?”
“Sure, you’re standing directly on the main street of Hope, Kansas.”
The young woman looked down at her feet. “I don’t see a street, Sheena. I only see … dirt.”
“It’s a post office,” Rosie said. “We have a post office here. And that makes it a town. Sort of.”
“And where do you live in town?”
Rosie’s envy couldn’t quite suppress the warm feeling that filled her at Caitrin’s valiant attempt to accept the absurd situation. “I live in there. In the barn.”
“That’s not a barn,” Sheena said. “It’s the town mercantile.”
“Sheena?” Caitrin reached out and took her sister’s hand. “Are you feeling well?”
At this comment Sheena burst out laughing and gave her sister another bear hug. “I’m well enough to be sure, Caitie. Has Jimmy clapped eyes on you yet?”
“Not yet. The children told me he was away in the fields.”
“I’m not surprised. He’s been working day and night. I never have a spare moment with the man. Sure, he’s taken on the farming for two other fellows while they’ve gone off to fetch supplies— Rolf Rustemeyer and Rosie’s Seth.”
“You’re married?” Caitrin asked, turning back to Rosie. Her green eyes were wide with interest. “Have you any children?”
“No, I’m—”
A shriek from Sheena cut off her explanation. “Glory be to God—it’s them! It’s my Jimmy, so it is! And look who he’s leading. Seth and Rolf!” She picked up her skirts and started running in the direction of the approaching wagon, Stubby running behind her as fast as his lanky legs would take him. “They’ve come home! Jimmy! Jimmy, look who’s here! It’s our Caitrin. Our beautiful Caitie! She’s come all the way from Ireland. Everyone’s here together at last. What a day, what a glorious, wonderful day!”
Rosie grabbed her apron and quickly dabbed the perspiration from her neck and cheeks. Seth was home! She could see him sitting tall and straight on the wagon, his black hair gleaming in the sunshine. The very sight of him told her that her heart had not lied. He was everything she had been dreaming of. Beside Seth sat Rolf Rustemeyer. And little Chipper between them.
“The men have been to Topeka,” she explained to Caitrin. “They’ve come back with seed and plant stock. We had a grasshopper invasion, you see, and we thought we were all ruined, but then—”
“You must run to your husband and son, Mrs. Mills. They’ll be anxious to see you. Don’t mind me in the least.”
“Oh, Seth is not … he’s not my husband.”
“No? But I thought Sheena said—”
“I’m only Mr. Hunter’s employee.” Rosie bit her lower lip as she studied the fair creature who was even now assessing Seth as the wagon pulled up to the barn. Every fiber of Rosie’s heart warned her to build a barrier of protection around Seth and Chipper. They were hers. They belonged to her by right.
“Seth and I … ,” she began. But she knew what she wanted to say wouldn’t be true. Seth had never given her the hint of a promised future with him. Though her heart claimed him, he was free. And for all Rosie knew, God might have brought Caitrin Murphy to the prairie to become Seth’s wife. It would be wrong to step out against that plan. She must submit to his will, not her own.
“Seth and I don’t … he hasn’t courted me. I work for him, that’s all.”
“But he’s looking at you as though you were a honey rose and him starving for sweetness.” Caitrin elbowed Rosie. “Go to him, now. Sure, I know a moonstruck man when I see one.”
“Miss Murphy, you don’t understand—”
“I’m Caitie to you. Here, let me pin up your hair.” The young Irishwoman reached up and poked on Rosie’s bun for a few moments. Then she whipped a small silver comb from her own cinnamon curls and slipped it into Rosie’s brown hair. “There now. It won’t matter a whit that you haven’t a bonnet. You look as fine as any lady in Dublin.”
She gave Rosie a prod. Stunned at the young woman’s act of kindness and equally dazed at the sight of Seth Hunter, Rosie found it was all she could do to move her feet in the direction of the wagon. Seth walked slowly toward her, a slight hitch in his gait.
“Afternoon, Miss Mills,” he said. A grin tilted one corner of his mouth. “I hope Rustemeyer and I don’t owe you a toll for crossing the bridge back there.”
“No, of course not … no.” She felt so silly inside. Like a jar of jelly left out in the sun. “Are you limping?”
“We had a little run-in with Jack Cornwall a couple of days ago. Low-down snake peppered us.”
“Jack Cornwall!” Rosie glanced at Chipper. “Was anyone badly hurt?”
“Well, I winged Cornwall with Rustemeyer’s pistol. I don’t think it killed him. But maybe he’ll think twice before coming after us again. And Rolf took a couple of pellets in his shoulder.”
Rosie let out a breath. There was more to this story, and she intended to hear it—later. “I see you found seed,” she said.
“Everything we went after. And then some.”
“Hallo, Fräulein Mills,” Rolf said, stepping up beside Seth. “How you are?”
“I’m fine, Mr. Rustemeyer.” A sudden thought occurred to Rosie. A bright hope. A brilliant plan. “Sheena’s sister has come from Ireland. Caitrin Murphy.”
The German’s gray eyes shifted their focus to the vision in emerald green. So did Seth’s blue eyes. Both men instantly swept off their hats as Caitrin glided forward on her little kid boots.
“Pleased to meet you, I’m sure,” she said tilting her pretty head of red curls at the two men. But her attention turned quickly away. “Jimmy O’Toole! How well you look! Sure you’ve put on weight since I saw you last—and all of it muscle.”