The Gift of a Child

Oh, Seth, Rose thought as she moved quickly toward the trio, no doubt about it. These two are passionately in love.

* * *

Once again Seth had to admit his sister could sweet-talk him into anything. Being thrown from a bronc, though, might be easier than watching Sophie stroll toward the river with Charlie Devane, picnic basket in hand on this Sunday afternoon. It confounded him that his father seemed to take this budding romance in stride.

So, more fool he, he’d once again agreed to wait in town to fetch his sister. Fortunately, Ezra Kellogg, overhearing Sophie’s request at church, had invited him home for Sunday dinner. Given the prospect of spending time with Rose’s cooking and Alf, he hadn’t needed further persuasion.

Even from the Kelloggs’ front porch, he could smell the tantalizing aroma of roast chicken. Ezra greeted him at the door and ushered him into the parlor, where Alf sat on the carpet beside a stack of blocks. “Sett?” The boy let the block in his hand drop to the floor and held out his arms to Seth as he ran toward him. Seth settled in a wooden armchair, cradling the boy against his chest, unfazed by the gray cat who jumped up to join them.

“Alf seems powerful fond of you,” Ezra noted, sinking into the rocker.

“He’s special,” Seth commented, feeling the boy’s small hands gripping his wrists.

“It’s good for him to have a manly influence beyond his tottering old grandpa.”

“I can’t help wondering where he came from. What he’s been through.”

“We may never know,” the older man said. “My prescription for him is love and coddling, and Rose is doing a pretty good job of that.”

Talk then turned to the pastor’s sermon and speculation about Ulysses S. Grant’s presidency. All the while, Seth could hear the clink of china from the kitchen. After a few minutes, Rose, her face flushed, summoned them to the table. As Seth set Alf down in his chair, he wiped the youngster’s runny nose with his bandanna.

The meal lived up to its promise, and there was little conversation until they were all satisfied. When she cleared the table, Rose paused at Alf’s place. “Aren’t you hungry, dear?”

Seth noticed then that the boy had succeeded in making a lake of his mashed potatoes and gravy, into which he’d stirred small bites of chicken, but had eaten little.

Alf hung his head. “Don’t want food.”

Rose set down his plate and put her hand on his forehead. “Papa, do you think he has a bit of fever?”

Ezra got up from the table and took the boy in his arms. He, too, laid a hand on Alf’s forehead. “Perhaps.” He examined the glands along the boy’s chin line and looked deep into his eyes. “How do you feel?”

Alf snuggled against the doctor, his eyes at half-mast. “Sleepy.”

“Maybe he overdid at church,” Rose suggested, her face drawn.

“In that case, it’s nothing a good nap won’t cure,” Ezra said, carrying the boy into the bedroom, trailed by Rose.

Restless, Seth moved into the parlor and sat in an armchair. Surely this was a spring fever. Nothing to be concerned about. Yet his mind defied him as his thoughts turned to the time they had almost lost Sophie when she was a little older than Alf. He now tried to console himself with the knowledge that most childhood illnesses could be survived. Quietly, Ezra reappeared. “He’s asleep. Rose will be out shortly.” He consulted his pocket watch. “While Alf rests, I’m going to work in the garden.”

Feeling out of place, Seth got to his feet.

“No, son, please stay. Perhaps you can divert Rose while the boy gets the rest he needs.”

After Ezra went out the back door, Seth waited, wondering how he could possibly be company for Rose.

Finally she glided into the room and sank into a rocker. “He’s asleep, though fitfully.”

Her high-collared apple-green dress set off the depth of her troubled eyes, and he resisted the urge to take her hand and tell her all would be well. He didn’t know that, and even if he did, he hadn’t the right.

They passed a few moments in silence while Seth struggled for a conversation topic. He finally spoke. “I understand from Caleb that your Aunt Lavinia will be arriving shortly.”

The minute he saw Rose’s shoulders droop, he knew he should have come up with some other opening. “You don’t seem happy with the prospect.”

Rose, usually so calm, almost serene, worried the buttons on her shirtwaist with her fingers. “Lily is pleased, but my memories of my aunt make me...” she hesitated “...apprehensive.”

“How so?”

Rose levered herself up from her chair and paced the room as she answered his question. “She is a grand lady, Seth. Her life has been so different from ours, from my mother’s.” She straightened an antimacassar on the back of the settee. “She has never known want. Her house is the stuff of fairy tales. The time Lily spent in St. Louis accustomed her to Lavinia’s ways, but I have little idea of what is motivating her to come.”

Sensing there was still more Rose needed to say, Seth waited. She made another circuit of the room before returning to her seat. Taking a deep breath, she looked him straight in the eye, and in a hushed voice said, “Seth, I’m scared.”

“Tell me about it.” He clenched his hands in his lap, feeling out of his depth with female confession.

“It’s Alf. I can handle whatever opinion Aunt Lavinia may form of me, but I’m terrified she will reject Alf. After all, he is of mixed parentage, and as several people in town take pains to point out, I am an unmarried mother. Neither of those circumstances, I’m sure, would meet the standards of high society.”

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