Chapter Eleven

"I don't have another payment for you yet," Rose whispered on the porch as she pulled her threadbare shawl tighter around herself and shivered in the cold.

The slick dressed banker from Millerton simply shook his head. "I have to have a payment, Mr. Howell, or I am going to be forced to take what you owe in collateral."

Rose glanced at the cabin and felt a touch of panic. "Mr. Winston, please, you can't take our home! Not in the middle of winter!"

A fit of coughing overtook Rose and her lungs began to burn as her breath left her. Her throat was sore and her chest burning when the coughs finally began to subside and she gripped the porch banister tightly.

"You should see a doctor over that cough," Mr. Winston noted, his thick black brow raising.

"I have no money for a doctor," Rose countered. "Just as I have no money for your payment. Please Mr. Winston, give me until the spring and I'll think of some way to pay you back. You can't take our home from us in the winter.. we have nowhere to go!"

"That's not my problem, Mrs. Howell," Mr. Winston replied with an uninterested shrug as he glanced at the two mares in the corral.

Rose clutched at her shawl and turned her face away from the burning wind. "Please, Mr. Winston, have a heart," she pleaded. "I'll do anything to keep a roof over my son's head."

Mr. Winston's gaze returned to her and the lust in his gray eyes caused Rose's heart to thunder with fear as she took a quick step back. "Anything?" he whispered.

Rose nearly tripped over the rocking chair as she took another quick step back and grabbed the wall to steady herself. "I'll get you your money," she vowed.

"One month," Mr. Winston replied, his gaze trailing down her body and causing Rose to feel exposed, vulnerable and sick. "You have one month to pay me and if you don't have the money when I return then I will take my payment however I see fit."

"I'll have your money," Rose vowed, squaring her shoulders bravely even as she trembled inside.

Winston reached out his hand and ran a long, slender finger down her cheek. Rose's knees shook with fear as the man removed his hand, tipped his hat and left the porch. "One month," he repeated as he mounted his waiting horse.

Rose watched him ride away before collapsing in the rocking chair. Despite the coldness of the morning, Rose was covered in a thin sheen of sweat and her heart was beating far too quickly. Her every breath sent knives into her chest and her head was dizzy.

Rose was sick.

There was simply no getting around that fact. And there was no getting around the fact that there was nothing she could do about it. Rose didn't have time to be sick. Rose would not build up another credit at the docs for herself—and what money she had left from Langston had to be saved to get them through until she could make more.

Rose rarely fell sick and generally when she did, she got better in time without the aid of medicine. She had to believe this time would be just the same.

Rose had too many other worries. She had no idea how to come up with another payment for the banker. He wasn't happy with only part of what she owed—he wanted the entire amount and Rose simply did not have it. Even if Rose cleaned twenty houses and patched one hundred pants, she wouldn't have the three-hundred dollars that Winston Meade was demanding.

Rose knew that the next time, Mr. Winston rode in, she would have to greet him with her rifle. After his threats, Rose new the next meeting wouldn't be a professional one. If Winston Meade thought that he was going to touch her, he had another thing coming.

There had only been one man in her life whose touch hadn't scared her to her core but that man was long gone now and Rose would do well to forget about him.

Rose coughed into her hand several times and whimpered at the pain in her chest. She rose to her feet, weaving slightly on her weak legs. The scent of fresh baked biscuits, gravy and eggs filled her nose. Rose sighed. At least there was plenty of food in the house and Langley had new warm clothes and boots on his feet.

She owed that to Marston. If he hadn't brought that money when he had they would have surely frozen or starved to death by now. Thoughts of Marston filled Rose with a pain and longing so deep that she was forced to push them away.

Langley was sitting at the table reading a story book and Rose offered him a smile before wrapping her shawl tighter around herself and beginning to prepare them both a plate of food. The inside of the cabin was drafty and chilled. The fire in the cook stove was dwindling and the wood box beside it was empty.

"Langley, go and fetch some wood from the woodshed. Your food will be cooled off the way you like it by the time you're done." Or have a sheet of ice over it at judging by the temperature in this cabin. Rose hated this. It was rare for a winter to be so cold here in Louisiana but they were certainly getting a taste of the north this year.

"Yes mama," Langley quickly agreed. He stood up, grabbed his wool cap and scarf from the counter and left the house. Rose sat their food on the table and sat down to wait for her son. He returned several minutes later with only a few small chunks in his arms. "It's empty, mama," he said sadly as he tossed the wood into the cook stove and poked at it with the poker.

Rose took a steadying breath just before another round of coughing took hold of her and she cried out with the pain of them. A tear slipped down her cheek.

"Mama, you're sick," Langley whispered, his face pale. "Let me go get the doc."

"No," Rose snapped sharply, wincing at the harsh tone. "I'll be just fine, Langley. Eat your breakfast and I'll go cut more wood when we're done."

"Okay, mama," he whispered, his gaze going down to the scarred table top.

Rose sighed. "Go ahead and say grace, Langley."

"Dear God, thank you for the breakfast me and mama is about to eat. Thank you for making the hens lay again and thank you for making mama such a good cook. Please, help my mama get better and please look out for Marston wherever he is. Keep him safe until he comes back to visit. Amen."

Langley dug into his food but Rose continued to stare down at her plate as she fought her rising emotions. Rose had lied to Langley the morning after Marston had left so long ago. She had told the boy that he had left in the night because he had an emergency he had to take care of and that he would be coming back to visit them as soon as he could.

Rose had found herself unable to break her son's heart with the truth. Langley worshiped the ground that Marston walked on and learning that the man had abandoned them would have destroyed him.

Rose closed her eyes and sent up her own prayer that somehow the Lord would provide her with a way to pay back the debt she owed the banker. Rose began to eat her breakfast but the pain in her throat made it nearly impossible to swallow.

Once she had forced down as much as she could, Rose stood from the table and headed outside to cut wood. There were plenty of large chunks of log, they simply needed to be cut down to size. Her weak, aching body protested the labor as she swung that heavy axe again and again.

Sweat poured from her skin and her head swam but still Rose continued because she simply had no choice.

Rose stood straight and stretched out her aching back before gazing up at the sky. "Dear Lord, please give me the strength to get through these challenges and help me to remember that this too shall pass."

***

"Cry for me, you little bitch. I love it when they cry."

Rose sobbed and her eleven year old body shook with the intensity of her fear and pain. The man smelled of sweat, horse and tobacco and it was clear he hadn't bathed in a long while. He smiled at her, revealing rotting teeth before pressing his mouth to hers and bruising her tender flesh.

The man stood and readjusted his trousers before smacking her roughly across the face and causing Rose to cry out.

"That'll be thirty dollars," Rose heard her adoptive father say as the man stepped out of her bedroom.

"That seems a little stiff for all I got," the man complained. "Hell, all she did was lay there and cry."

"Yeah, but it was tight and it was innocent so that's worth at least thirty. For anyone else it would be more. You're getting the friend discount."

She heard both men laugh and she whimpered as she yanked her nightdress down over her bruised thighs. There was an unfamiliar dampness between her legs and Rose pulled her knees into her chest and sobbed. She so desperately wished that she could be back in that orphanage.

"God, all that soft red hair and pale skin.. you've got yourself a real moneymaker there," the stranger mused.

"I know," her adoptive father agreed. "I know she's young and inexperienced but what man wouldn't enjoy riding something as tight and fresh as that?"

"I'll probably be back one night soon for another turn."

"We'll be right here."

Rose heard the stranger leave and her adoptive father's footsteps entered her dark bedroom. "Stop your crying, you ungrateful brat! I saved you from that damn orphanage and I'm putting a roof over your head and food in your belly. All I ask in return is that you spread your legs for the gentlemen without sniveling like a babe."

Rose felt her stomach roll and then, much to her horror, she lost her small supper over the edge of the bed. Her adoptive father curled his nose at the acidic scent of vomit. "Damn you!" he exclaimed.

Rose was hauled from the bed by her hair. She stared at the white sheets and saw the blood staining them. Her blood.

"I'm sorry papa!" she whimpered as he dragged her from her bedroom.

"Damn right you are! Now I have to clean up this mess!"

The cold Virginia winter assaulted her frail body as Rose was tossed out into the snow wearing nothing but her nightdress.

Her body hurt too badly to get up and her eyes widened with horror when her adoptive father came striding toward her with a horsewhip.

"You learn to be good!" he bellowed. "Even if I have to kill you to get it done!" He raised that whip high in the air.....

Rose sat bolt upright in bed and prayed that her cry of shock wouldn't wake Langley. She pulled back her sweat soaked sheets and moved wet strands of hair from her face. Her weak legs would barely support her as Rose slipped into her robe and shuffled to the kitchen. She leaned against the counter and sobbed into the night.

Dreams and memories of her childhood always did this to her. They reduced her to a trembling, sobbing mess and Rose hated it! She pressed her forehead hard against the upper cabinets in hopes that she could push out the images, the memories, the smells, the pain....

What she wouldn't give to have that cabin door open, to hear those muddy boots crossing the floor, to have that big hand grip her shoulder and to find herself pulled into a solid, strong chest. But that wasn't going to happen. Marston was gone and he wasn't going to come in and hold her before offering her a glass of water and company.

Rose tried to take a deep breath but her lungs cried out in protest. She cleaned her face on her robe and walked to the water pitcher. Slowly, she sipped at a glass and stared at the dying fire in the fireplace.

Her name was Rose—just Rose. She had never had a last name of her own. She had lived through worse nightmares than most people could even dream of and she had come out stronger because of them. This would be no different. She would overcome this sickness, find a way to pay back Winston, keep a roof over her son's head and forget about Marston. Once she did all of that, she would be stronger for having done it on her own.

***

"Well, why don't you look at what I just became the proud owner of!" Jeremiah boasted as he walked out of a west Kansas saloon and stomped across the frozen ground to where Duke and Marston were standing against the wall smoking cigarettes.

"What's that?" Duke asked.

Jeremiah held up a piece of paper. Marston snatched it out of his hand and looked it over. It was the deed to a piece of property and a house up in the Dakota territories. "Some man put it up in the poker game and I won it," Jeremiah informed them. "He said the house is a real nice two story one too. It's a regular old homestead."

"What use have you got for a homestead?" Duke asked with a chuckle.

Marston stared down at the paper with his jaw tight and his heart racing. He knew a good use for this homestead. He imagined cows in the barn and horses in the corral. There'd be plenty of hens in the chicken coop pecking at the ground. There'd be pretty flowers all around the big house and the air would be filled with the ramblings of a ten year old boy as he followed after Marston's heels doing the morning chores. There'd be a soft redhead with snow white skin and a mole above her collarbone hanging and laughing with happiness. She'd be looking up at Marston with all her emotions shining clear in her blue eyes.....

"You okay Marston?" Jeremiah asked, breaking through Marston's daydream. He shook his head and realized that both men were watching him closely.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he grumbled, shoving the paper back into his brother's hands.

'No you're not. You need to go back to them.'

Marston growled and threw his cigarette on the frozen mud. He squished it beneath his boot and wondered what the hell was wrong with him. It had been three months since he'd left Rose and Langley and in that time he'd done a fairly good job at forgetting them. But every now and then their memory would sneak up on him and when it did the pain and longing in Marston's chest were nearly enough to kill him.

"You don't act okay, Marston," Duke countered. "And you haven't for a long time. You seem downright melancholy."

Marston shook his head and pulled his hat lower. "Are we going to stand around talking about feelings all day or are we gonna ride?"

Jeremiah frowned. "Do you want the homestead, Marston? I'd be willing to work out some kind of trade with you."

"What the hell would I do with a homestead?!" Marston demanded. "I sure as hell ain't got a use for one!" With that he strode away toward Buck.

"What the hell is the matter with him?" Jeremiah grumbled as he folded up his new deed and stuck it deep in his pocket.

Duke shivered. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say he was wanting to settle down. He hasn't talked to you about being in love, has he?"

Jeremiah let out a bark of laughter. "Marston in love? Come on Duke! You taught us better than that. Hell, Marston don't care about anybody. You know as well as I do that if a posse of demons got after us, he'd trip us in a heartbeat to save his own skin."

Duke nodded and tossed his cigarette down. "And we'd do the same to him."

"That right," Jeremiah nodded, glad to have things the way they'd always been.

"It still seems like something has gotten under his skin. He's lost his edge, Jeremiah. He seems...softer.. somehow."

The men shared a look of horror. Falling in love was against the rules of survival in the life they lived. If you loved someone then it meant you cared and if you cared then you grew soft. Soft men died.