Free Prairie Rose by Catherine Palmer Page B

free hand into his lap. Deciding the whole business of holding hands was for children, Seth propped his elbows on the table and closed his eyes.
    How long had it been since he had prayed? During the war, maybe. A battle. Cannonballs bursting all around. A prayer for preservation. A cry for safety. Nothing more. He couldn’t remember the last time he had spoken with God. Or listened. After all, God had allowed the Cornwalls to banish him from their property, allowed his best friend to be killed, allowed Mary to die.
    “Are you going to pray before the supper gets cold, Mr. Hunter?” Rosie asked, slipping her hand into his. “At this rate, the turnovers won’t be worth feeding to the chickens.”
    Seth glanced at her. Then he looked down at their clasped hands—his large and hard, hers much softer. An ache started up inside his chest. He couldn’t speak. Could hardly move.
    “Dear Father,” Rosie said softly, “I thank you so much for our safe journey across the prairie. Thank you for this beautiful home Mr. Hunter has built. Thank you for providing us with this fine supper—surely more than we can even eat. In the name of Jesus Christ I pray. Amen.”
    Rosie gave Seth’s hand a gentle squeeze. Then she picked up her spoon and began to dish out the scrambled eggs. “I have never, never in my whole entire life felt so happy,” she said. When she looked up at him, Seth saw that a streak of stove blacking smudged her cheek and a puff of white flour dusted the end of her nose. Unaware, she gave him a warm smile.
    “Have you ever been this happy, Mr. Hunter?” she asked.
    Scooping up a spoonful of greens, Seth couldn’t bring himself to answer. He felt a strange tickle at the back of his throat. And he had the terrible feeling he was going to cry.

CHAPTER 5
    R OSIE had been happy at supper. But when she saw where she was to spend her summer nights, her spirits flagged. The barn smelled to high heaven. What little hay was left over from winter had grown stiff and moldy. Three milk cows and the mules used the barn for shelter. The chickens roosted in its rafters. And as she climbed the rickety ladder into the loft, Rosie gasped and stiffened in shock. On the moonlit barn floor below her, a five-foot-long blacksnake slithered out from under a tuft of loose hay and disappeared behind a wagon wheel.
    “Don’t worry about that fellow,” Seth called up. “He’s not poisonous. He keeps the barn cleaned up for me—eats mice.”
    Wonderful , Rosie thought. How comforting .
    “Are you all right up there?” Seth asked.
    Rosie looked over the edge of the shaky platform. “What about grizzly bears?”
    “We don’t see them around much. They follow the buffalo.”
    “Wolves?”
    “Same.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “Would you like to keep my rifle on hand?”
    Rosie shook her head. She could cook and clean and can and pickle—but she didn’t have a clue how to shoot a gun. Seth glanced around the barn before looking up at her again.
    “Well, then,” he said, “good night, Miss Mills.”
    “Wait, Mr. Hunter!” she called out. “Please send my bonnet back to the Home. It’s to go to Lizzy Jackson—after I die, I mean.”
    “Die?”
    “Just see that it goes to Lizzy. She’s wanted it ever so long, though Cilla gave it to me instead. I’d like Lizzy to have it.”
    Seth shook his head. “You’re not going to die in the barn tonight, Miss Mills.”
    “Tomorrow you might put a bolt on the door.”
    “I can do that.”
    “Thank you, Mr. Hunter.” Rosie drew back from the edge of the loft, but through the chinks in the floor she could see Seth staring up at where she’d been standing. She thought he had half a mind to allow her to sleep in the house—though she wouldn’t do it. Such a thing would be improper. No, she would just make do in the barn, with the mice and the snakes. …
    Seth finally left, and the absence of the lantern plunged the barn into darkness. Fortunately, through the