first settled in the valley still told stories about having seen grass in those early days that grew over seven feet high. Kate tried to picture the orchards she hoped to plant and wondered if the stubborn grass would choke out her saplings.
"You think it might rain?" Miranda asked.
The sodden earth sucked at Kate's sturdy high-top shoes. "Just what we need, more rain. But, yes, I reckon it might."
"It's good for the roses. You watch. All this rain will make 'em grow like weeds. Purdy soon, they'll be so thick no ground will even show."
Kate settled a hand on her daughter's bent head, uncertain how to reply. Since the visit of Zachariah McGovern's dog, Miranda had become as obsessed with the rose garden as Kate was.
Miranda wrinkled her nose. "Pa'd have fits if he could see them roses. They're purdier this year than ever, huh?"
Miranda's observation made Kate's stomach knot. She tried to speak and couldn't. She knew the child needed to talk about Joseph, to purge herself of the memories, but it seemed to Kate that some things were best laid to rest.
Miranda looked up. "Why did Pa hate the roses, Ma?"
Swallowing hard, Kate said, "He felt flowers were a sinful waste of time."
"Are they?"
Kate wished the question away, but when she looked down, Miranda's big eyes were still demanding an answer.
"I reckon I'm not smart enough to answer that, sweetness."
"Why? If Pa was smart enough, why aren't you?"
Kate smoothed a lock of sable hair from her daughter's cheek. "I'm a female, and females are feeble—" The words caught in Kate's throat, and an unreasoning anger welled within her. Joseph was dead. Dead! He couldn't reach beyond the grave and chastise her if she dared to speak her own mind. Kate took a bracing breath. "I guess it's a matter of biblical interpretation." For once, Miranda didn't ask what that meant. "Your pa believed anything pretty was sent by Satan to tempt us to be frivolous and sinful. I believe God made beautiful things and gave them to us as gifts to lighten our load."
Miranda smiled. "I think you're right, Ma. How could Satan make somethin' as purdy as a rose?"
"That's a good question."
"I don't think he made you, neither, Ma."
Kate fastened a startled gaze on her daughter's small face. Sometimes it was frightening to realize just how much of Joseph's wild ranting the child had overheard.
As if she felt it might he necessary to back up her statement with fact, Miranda added, "You're not a rose, but you're near as purdy. If Satan couldn't've made the roses, he couldn't've made you."
Kate finally gathered the presence of mind to say, "Thank you. Just remember that pretty is as pretty does and that looks only run skin deep."
Reaching up to give Kate's hand a squeeze, Miranda said, "You're purdy inside, too. I bet you even got purdy innards."
Kate couldn't help but laugh. "That's a lovely compliment, I think."
Cutting a swath through the tall grass, Miranda skipped on ahead, her dark hair streaming in the wind behind her.
"Oh, look, Ma, this is where a house was."
As Kate drew near, she saw the tumbledown remains of a foundation and brick chimney. "I'll be." She seldom walked this far into the grazing pastures, and when she had, the tall grass and the rolling lay of the land must have hidden the structure. "I didn't know this was here. This must be where the previous owners built their first home."
"I could play house here."
Kate nudged the crumbling foundation with her toe. "You stay clear of that chimney. I'm not sure it's safe."
Miranda, who, out of habit and necessity, had learned to be more obedient than most little girls her age, made a wide circle around the cascade of bricks and went skipping away through the tall grass. Kate gazed after her, wishing every moment in Miranda's life could have been like this one, carefree and happy.
Suddenly, as if she were a mark on a chalkboard that had just been erased, Miranda disappeared. Kate blinked, not quite able to believe her eyes.
"You think it might rain?" Miranda asked.
The sodden earth sucked at Kate's sturdy high-top shoes. "Just what we need, more rain. But, yes, I reckon it might."
"It's good for the roses. You watch. All this rain will make 'em grow like weeds. Purdy soon, they'll be so thick no ground will even show."
Kate settled a hand on her daughter's bent head, uncertain how to reply. Since the visit of Zachariah McGovern's dog, Miranda had become as obsessed with the rose garden as Kate was.
Miranda wrinkled her nose. "Pa'd have fits if he could see them roses. They're purdier this year than ever, huh?"
Miranda's observation made Kate's stomach knot. She tried to speak and couldn't. She knew the child needed to talk about Joseph, to purge herself of the memories, but it seemed to Kate that some things were best laid to rest.
Miranda looked up. "Why did Pa hate the roses, Ma?"
Swallowing hard, Kate said, "He felt flowers were a sinful waste of time."
"Are they?"
Kate wished the question away, but when she looked down, Miranda's big eyes were still demanding an answer.
"I reckon I'm not smart enough to answer that, sweetness."
"Why? If Pa was smart enough, why aren't you?"
Kate smoothed a lock of sable hair from her daughter's cheek. "I'm a female, and females are feeble—" The words caught in Kate's throat, and an unreasoning anger welled within her. Joseph was dead. Dead! He couldn't reach beyond the grave and chastise her if she dared to speak her own mind. Kate took a bracing breath. "I guess it's a matter of biblical interpretation." For once, Miranda didn't ask what that meant. "Your pa believed anything pretty was sent by Satan to tempt us to be frivolous and sinful. I believe God made beautiful things and gave them to us as gifts to lighten our load."
Miranda smiled. "I think you're right, Ma. How could Satan make somethin' as purdy as a rose?"
"That's a good question."
"I don't think he made you, neither, Ma."
Kate fastened a startled gaze on her daughter's small face. Sometimes it was frightening to realize just how much of Joseph's wild ranting the child had overheard.
As if she felt it might he necessary to back up her statement with fact, Miranda added, "You're not a rose, but you're near as purdy. If Satan couldn't've made the roses, he couldn't've made you."
Kate finally gathered the presence of mind to say, "Thank you. Just remember that pretty is as pretty does and that looks only run skin deep."
Reaching up to give Kate's hand a squeeze, Miranda said, "You're purdy inside, too. I bet you even got purdy innards."
Kate couldn't help but laugh. "That's a lovely compliment, I think."
Cutting a swath through the tall grass, Miranda skipped on ahead, her dark hair streaming in the wind behind her.
"Oh, look, Ma, this is where a house was."
As Kate drew near, she saw the tumbledown remains of a foundation and brick chimney. "I'll be." She seldom walked this far into the grazing pastures, and when she had, the tall grass and the rolling lay of the land must have hidden the structure. "I didn't know this was here. This must be where the previous owners built their first home."
"I could play house here."
Kate nudged the crumbling foundation with her toe. "You stay clear of that chimney. I'm not sure it's safe."
Miranda, who, out of habit and necessity, had learned to be more obedient than most little girls her age, made a wide circle around the cascade of bricks and went skipping away through the tall grass. Kate gazed after her, wishing every moment in Miranda's life could have been like this one, carefree and happy.
Suddenly, as if she were a mark on a chalkboard that had just been erased, Miranda disappeared. Kate blinked, not quite able to believe her eyes.
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