Rose (18 page)

Kase felt Quentin watching him intently. He kept eating.

“Guess if you don’t want to bring her out, I could send one of the boys after her. One I know to be a real gentleman, that is.”

Kase nearly choked. He swallowed and then ground out, “I’ll take her.”

With her head bent in concentration, Rosa tugged a shawl tight about her shoulders and carefully walked across the uneven ground. An autumn chill rode the ever-present wind as the morning sun shone bright in a cloudless blue sky. Stealing a few precious hours away from the endless tasks in the kitchen as well as the close stuffiness that pervaded Flossie’s parlor, Rosa made her way across the open landscape, intent on visiting Giovanni’s grave.

She had awakened with a deep longing for home and family coupled with a need to escape the daily routine she had established in her new surroundings. After a brief visit to Flossie’s to quickly dust and set the kitchen to rights, Rosa set out to find the graveyard, traveling in the direction she and Kase Storm had taken the day she arrived in Busted Heel.

She paused for a moment to look back at the two even rows of wooden structures that comprised the town and shook her head. The place looked more like a child’s set of wooden blocks than a true village. From a distance it appeared fragile enough to be toppled by a storm. Rosa sighed, shook her head, then turned northwest and continued on. She judged the gravesite to be on a knoll just ahead and was soon reassured when she spied a lone gnarled sage that had managed to gain stature in the twisted form of a tree. They had passed by the same landmark in the buggy that first day.

For a moment she wondered if it was a good idea to be so far from the town all alone, then put the thought aside before it became aft unlucky one. She did not intend to stay long, and judging from the emptiness of the landscape, she did not expect to see another living soul.

Marching on with stalwart determination, she skirted the largest of the countless rocks embedded in the dry soil. Tufts of thick sun-yellowed grass along with scattered animal dung and the dry remnants of spring wildflowers littered the ground. Bordered by the mountains on the northwest, the landscape was deceptive. It had appeared flat when she gazed at it from her kitchen window, but once she started out on foot, she discovered that the land had been molded into gentle waves that rose gradually toward the mountains. It was vast, windswept, and seemingly barren and did little to relieve the sense of loss she had experienced all morning.

Within-half an hour’s time, Rosa reached the graveyard. She walked inside the dilapidated stake-and-wire fence before she paused to look back at Busted Heel. The town had become a speck on the horizon. As she walked past the few scattered graves, Rosa wondered who might be buried here and how they came to die in such a place. When she reached the crude wooden cross that marked Giovanni’s grave, she tossed aside a few loose rocks and sat down on the ground beside it.

Alone on the prairie, Rosa thought about all the times in Corio when she had wished for a moment’s peace. Now her wish had come true and she found that the countless quiet hours she spent alone were wearing on her. Flossie Gibbs had befriended her and she felt she could go to her for advice and companionship, but the kindhearted woman was not
famiglia,
not of her blood or background. There was no one here who really knew Rosa, her likes, her dislikes, her own personal history. She missed the close bond that came with such knowledge.

She had written to Zia Rina, but it was far too soon to expect an answer. It would be weeks before her letter reached Corio and perhaps months before Zia Rina sent one in return. Smiling, she imagined her aunt carrying the letter to the village and showing it to everyone. She shook her head and wondered how many arguments would arise as the family sat around the table deciding what to include in their response.

Using the corner of her shawl, she wiped away the fine dust that lingered on the cross and wondered if her own stubborn determination would force her to spend her life alone on the prairie. Would the years slip by as quickly as the past few weeks until she was as gnarled and bent as the twisted sage? Would she dry up and blow away like the tumbleweeds?

As much as she hated to admit it, Rosa began to wonder if Kase Storm had not been correct in insisting that she leave Busted Heel. At the very least she could have gone to San Francisco to live among other Italians. There she could have spoken her own language and lived among people whose customs and manners were familiar to her. Here she was so lonely that not a day passed when she did not think of her former home and family.

Her thoughts led her to wonder what sort of a man Kase Storm was. Why was he so bitter? So intolerant? She knew he was as determined as she, a man who, once having decided upon a course of action, did not like to change his mind. But why was he afraid to show any emotion other than anger? And even that he often tried to hide behind a cold stare.

Rosa tried to remember if she had ever seen the man smile. She did not think so. Nor had she heard him laugh. It would be a challenge to try to make him laugh. It would be a pleasant change to see his eyes shine with happiness. Could he ever be anything but upset with her? Her thoughts wandered until she found herself thinking it might be nice to experience his kiss again, and then suddenly, remembering where she was, she quickly crossed herself and glanced at Giovanni’s grave. Apologetically she shrugged and said aloud, “What harm is there now, Giovanni? It is because you left me alone that I think such thoughts.”

Deciding that she had spent enough time away from her tasks, Rosa stood and shook the loose soil from her skirt. She looked up at the rugged mountains in the distance and then out across the land. When she noticed a lone rider coming from the direction of town, she chided herself for not having seen him sooner. He was still too far away for her to make out what manner of a man he was, and she knew a moment of fear. All of Kase Storm’s warnings came to mind. Should she run or crouch behind a grave marker and hope he passed by without noticing her?

She glanced around and knew immediately that both ideas were ridiculous. The rider stood between her and town. The headstones were far too narrow to conceal more than a very small child. The man was approaching rapidly now. From a distance he appeared to be part of the horse he was riding. The scene reminded her of the mythical creature, the centaur, half man, half beast. Her heart began a rapid beat.

Stupida, stupida.
She had no one but herself to blame for the consequences of her own carelessness.

As the rider approached, his horse’s hooves churning up the dry soil as it closed the space between them, Rosa strained to see this man who rode so gracefully. He had indeed become a part of the animal beneath him. It was not long before she recognized the man’s face beneath the shadow cast by the wide brim of his hat, but even so, her pulse did not return to normal. She noticed a cloth bag tied to his saddle horn, its contents clinking and chiming together.

Kase Storm drew his horse to a halt just outside the rickety fence, and Rosa prepared herself for an onslaught of disapproval.

Kase dismounted and quickly tied Sinbad’s reins to a fence post before he strode through the graveyard gate. Without a word he glanced first at Rose and then at the deserted landscape as if to emphasize their isolation. Anyone could have come along and raped her, murdered her, or even carried her away, and no one in town would ever have known what had become of her. He was too furious to speak as he watched her expression change from one of open welcome to one of familiar obstinacy. He knew he was in for another argument.

Mad enough to toss her over his saddle and carry her back to town, he took a step toward her. Rose stepped back and nearly tripped over the cross at the head of her husband’s grave. Kase reached out and grabbed her by the wrist to right her before she pulled away.

“I know what you will say to me,” she said before he had a chance to speak. “I am stupid to be here alone.”

“Exactly.”

“And you will say that someone might come and hurt me.”

“Right.”

“Maybe kill me.”

“Yep.”

“And so you are once again angry with me.”

“That’s right.” He folded his arms across his chest and waited for her to go on, admitting to himself that she was doing a fine job without his having to say anything.

Unexpectedly, she began to laugh.

He scowled. “What’s so funny?” he asked.

“You, Marshal. You are always the same. So big and strong and angry. Do you never smile?”

Taken aback, he felt his frown deepen. “No.”

She crossed her arms and looked at him skeptically “Pooh. I don’t believe it.”

He smiled then, unable to resist.

Her own smile widened as her eyes sparkled up at him. “You do smile! A handsome smile, too.”

At that he felt a strange constriction about his heart. He felt safer when she was yelling at him. He resumed what he hoped was an unreadable stare, and then without another word he walked back to his horse.

Feeling relieved and at the same time disappointed, Rosa thought he was going to leave her in peace until she watched him untie the bag on his saddle. The rattling and clinking began again as he carried the bag many yards distance. She watched curiously as he opened the drawstring and started pulling out bottles and cans of all shapes and sizes and proceeded to set them upright on the ground all around him. He placed some in a line, others he stood on rocks, still others he scattered about at random. He left a few bottles in the bag and walked back away in the opposite direction.

She clapped her hands over her ears when he drew his gun and began to blow the bottles to smithereens. The cans bounced and sailed in all directions. He paused long enough to reload when necessary, but kept on firing until he had broken all the bottles and the cans had flown out of range.

She did not think he had missed a shot. Rosa was so impressed by the display that she nearly called out a compliment. He continued to ignore her as he reloaded and holstered his gun and then picked up the bag again. It appeared the show had not ended.

Rosa waited as Kase reopened the bag and drew out another bottle. He held it by the neck, tossed it high in the air, drew his gun, and fired, all in a matter of seconds. The glass shattered and fell like amber hail a few yards away.

He repeated the movement four times, each time holstering his gun and drawing after he had thrown the bottle. Each time he hit the target. Finally, just when she thought he was finished and had begun to walk toward her, Kase tossed one last bottle high in the air, spun, crouched, and blew it apart. He reloaded again.

With an attitude of practiced nonchalance he entered the graveyard and stood before her. He glanced toward town again, then back to Rosa. “Are you ever going to get it into your head what kind of danger you’re in here?”

“I am not afraid of you, Marshal, even if you are a big man who shoots at little cans and bottles.”

“I’m not talking about me. Did you ever stop to think that you could scream your head off out here and no one would hear you?”

“Do you only think of the bad things, Marshal? Do you not think of the good?” With a wide sweep of her arm she made him look out past the graveyard. “The day is beautiful, The air is clean. It is good to walk in the sun. Do you not think of these things, too?”

He looked around. How long had it been since he had really taken the time to appreciate the simple things Rose spoke of? It was a glorious day. Summer was ending, but the days were still sunny and warm. The land was barren, but its very emptiness gave him a sense of freedom. He certainly did not feel hemmed in, as he had back east. Maybe he had forgotten how to think of the good, as Rose suggested.

She stood there smiling up at him with her hands on her hips, her cheeks pinkened by the sun, her eyes aglow. She looked fresh and clean, innocent and inviting. Expectant.

He had to get her back to town before he did something he would regret. “Come on. I’m taking you back.” Without waiting for a reply, he took her by the arm and headed toward Sinbad. She hurried to keep up with him and nearly tripped over a grave. She crossed herself. He tugged her forward. When they reached the massive black horse, she refused to let him help her up into the saddle,