Ireland Rose

  Now Rose was sitting in the middle of the pond without a paddle for her boat. She wanted to buy land that belonged to Haw, but was occupied by Donal. She sought counsel from Haw once the first dinner meeting was over.

  Haw suggested she take an opposite corner from Donal’s home and build there on his section. That way each would have their own land and perhaps Donal, with the money Rose paid him, would pay Haw.

  While Elsa and Rose worked in the kitchen, Elsa confided that Haw didn’t really expect the money, but all the same, he felt Donal should pay his part so that he would be free of the guilt.

  Rose agreed. “Ownership requires money. But for those without it, the strain causes hardship.”

  Within weeks a deal had been struck. Donal was so anxious to receive the cash from Rose he sold her off a good portion, saying his children were gone anyway and didn’t need so much. Rose now owned 42.6 acres of Irish soil.

  Now to build a dwelling.

  Haw and Elsa had the gift of design. And Rose was so grateful for the time she spent with Ava who showed her ideas to improve the Charleston house. Plans were drawn up at their kitchen table.

  “Donal,” Haw said, “has the gift of working with his hands. He will build your house. I can only assist.” Haw went down to see Donal and settled on a price.

  The building began the last week of October. Haw and Donal worked side by side many an evening, along with other young men hired from around the area. They had to get the shell up before winter. There would be time to work inside during the colder months.

  Life was simple and it was good. While the men worked, Rose helped Elsa cook for the workers. Many an afternoon was spent writing letters to Portia and Matilda Jane and Stella and Ava. She learned a bit more Gaelic from Haw and several words of Dutch from Elsa. Already CJ was bonding with Elsa and Rose felt like she had found the life she was made for.

  Good weather and enough money brought her house up in six months. While the men worked Elsa showed her how to prepare a small garden spot in the rocky soil. They dug up and carried small rocks and formed an edging along the front of the house for the flower bed. Rose couldn’t have been happier.

  The day she moved in, everyone had come and Haw stood at the front door and prayed a prayer for the house, the lands, the occupants and any visitor who might pass by.

  Dinner was made over the fire with her new kettle. When the younger men left, she, Elsa Haw and Donal sat at the table and admired their work.

  “Donal, you have the gift of building. I never knew how much until now.” Haw said. He tapped the table with his fingertips and tipped his cup to his lips.

  Rose felt the tension in the room. As long as the brothers had been working together everything was fine. She noted that Haw never made a decision on how the building was constructed, only worked at jobs he could handle.

  Donal sat quiet for a long time . . . and when Rose looked up, she saw him struggling.

  Then when Elsa’s eyes filled, suddenly hers did too.

  “No one has ever told me that.” Donal’s low voice filled the room.

  “Well, now they have.” Haw stood and lifted his cup. The four stood and clinked cups over the table.

  Rose could have died with joy on the spot. If this were any indication of how God was going to use this house, she was going to love being a part of it.

  Chapter 64

  It was mid-April 1887 and Rose had just planted her first seeds. The bed had been prepared while the house was going up and it was finally time to start the garden. Carolina Jane was ten months old. Each morning she took the little one for a stroll over the new pathway created by walkers coming from the main road.

  The fireside at night was her favorite time. Even though the winds blew warmer, still the nights could be chilly. The winds whistled around her house creating a soothing sort of sleep.

  Elsa and Haw came to visit her often, Donal less often as days progressed. Donal McKensie had taken the money from the sale of the land, bought new tools and started finishing off newly built homes. His work with wood was becoming known throughout the parts. And he started making payments to Haw for the land. Haw and Elsa were so proud they helped spread the word about Donal’s fine workmanship. Soon wealthy people from Dublin paid his travel fees and provided room and board to come and build for them.

  So much was so good, Rose could hardly believe she had been reluctant to return with her parents. Her one regret. Yet some things in life had to happen in an order of which one cannot understand -- she mused one day as word came via mail from Portia. Charleston was still rebuilding. Rose loved the news from Portia…dictated to Lily. Lily’s handwriting was so much improved, Rose commented on it to her. Jamison’s Orphanage was nearly finished. Workers from parts all around the country had come to help Charlestonians rebuild and the timing was perfect. Jamison’s had the help they needed. There was room for double the children with the new accommodations. The good ladies from St. Michael’s church, after suffering their own maladies, realized the importance of helping others in less fortunate situations.

  Mrs. Pinckney donated yards and yards of material for curtains to cover the entire top level set of windows. Thirty-two in all. Nettie knew because her girls had sewn every single pair with the addition of two more Singer sewing machines, also donated by Mrs. Pinckney. Lily learned how to sew. And Emmanuel was respected in the streets. He had put up every last brick and repaired every last window. He and Thomas rebuilt the chimney.

  Stella’s baby boy had been born with much difficulty but both were doing well, she wrote. They were planning a move to Savannah to take over her father’s house. It seemed much safer, away from the quake area and Foster had finally found another position as a bank officiant. They were bursting with joy…she could feel it in Stella’s letters.

  Ava had written only once and the letter had been about the weather, the rebuilding, her husband’s position at the bank. Nothing about herself.

  Rose set aside Ava’s letter and gazed at the writing on the envelope of the last post. It was familiar. She sliced the envelope and opened a one page note.

  Mrs. Lovell, it is imperative that I speak with you. I am bound

  for London at the first thaw of the Atlantic. You may expect me

  sometime in late April, early May.

  Sincerely, Captain Ashton Wyatt

  Her heart did a triple beat. What was imperative? Trouble at the bank. Had Mr. Dalton given Emmanuel difficulty. Even though Rose had left everything in his name Mr. Dalton had refused to speak to Emmanuel. Her mind worried. She set the letter aside and forced herself to be patient. Whatever it was, there was nothing she could do about it now.

  What day was it? The time flew by so quickly and she rarely checked the calendar except when writing a letter. She dashed to her art room. It was April 16th. Her hand flew to her mouth. Less than two weeks away? CJ fussed and she went for her.

  “Soon missy, we’re going to take your socks off and set you on the grass so you can learn to walk.” She laughed when CJ laughed. “We will be having a visitor. Thanks to Captain Wyatt I have a daughter. We shall show you off and see what he thinks of you now.”

  Rose felt like creating today. She set up her easel out of doors first, then put a finely stitched light yellow dress on CJ and set her on her best quilt. One her mother made. She set her just right so the hills and trees would form a good background. The sun shone on her dark curls perfectly. Rose’s heart fluttered inside.

  She was hard at work turning her head this way and that for the best view because the pencil in her hand was magic today. When she was finished, she had a beautiful rendition of her daughter. Memorizing the colors of the grass, the sky, and the soft yellow of her dress, she would set to work tonight and color in the details with her paints.

  The day flew by once again. Twice she gazed at Captain Wyatt’s note and twice she forced her thoughts elsewhere. Portia said trouble will come all by itself, we must not go looking for it, she reminded
herself.

  Late into the evening the colors were added to CJ’s portrait, Rose careful not to move the paper so the colors would not run together. She dabbed carefully then set the heavy paper flat on a towel in the middle of her hand-made table. She ran her hand over the smooth wood table thinking of Donal McKensie and felt proud to have his work in her home.

  * * *

  The weeks went by and still no word from Captain Wyatt. Perhaps he had not known where to find her. Lily had said in a letter he had come calling and needed her location; he had urgent news for her. Rose shrugged and finished yet another painting. Perhaps it was good news.

  The hand-drawn coal pencil sketches from Charleston were hung as a series, another design by Donal, in a square. Nine frames perfectly the same and perfectly symmetrical had taken up one wall. She loved gazing at them. Remembering her people. Her husband. One was of a trunk with blue envelopes laying across the top, a lacy handkerchief and a ladies watch alongside. She still remembered the love that flowed from those letters.

  Someday, perhaps someone would love her that way. Right now she was so satisfied with her life, she didn’t need more.

  Chapter 65

  May arrived with sunshine and promise. New buds had opened in her garden, an array of wildflowers across the front of the house enclosed by the low rock wall she and Elsa had built.

  Pansys and Primrose, Daisy and Cowslip, even some beautiful purple Violets were just beginning to show their colors. The long leaves and white puffs of Cottongrass flowed in the winds.

  Elsa brought starts from her own garden every time she visited. So the beautiful colors would soon be full and vivid. A view that would call for another sketch and color, Rose mused.

  In a month CJ would reach her first birthday. Rose wanted it to be special and planned for a picnic out of doors -- a simple dinner on the grounds with her two uncles and aunts, time for her daughter to play. On a recent trip to Dublin with Elsa, Rose and bought a large roll of canvas for her paintings. Haw was building her a frame; one a little larger than her usual twelve inch square ones. This would be a special sketch. Rose couldn’t wait to celebrate. The color portrait would hang in her daughter’s room. One for every birthday would follow.

  Excitement reached her ears when she heard CJ calling her. “Mama.”

  Rose’s heart never failed to lurch when she heard the little voice trying out her first word. She tiptoed to the door and peeked her head around and saw the chubby arms go out straight in front of her. No mother could resist that. Rose hurried to her and pulled her out of bed and into her arms.

  “Oh we must change you.” She said sweetly and kissed her neck, making her giggle; a sound Rose could hardly abide without a tear coming to her eye. What a treasure God had given her.

  When that was done and she was freshly washed and dressed, Rose knew she would have to be quick about breakfast, so set her down. CJ crawled off her pallet and came straight for her skirts. She liked to hide herself in them. She did not try to walk and Rose was in no hurry to rush her. A babe needed time to be a child. She reveled in the noises she made as she pulled herself up by her skirts and teetered, landing on her bottom again and again.

  “One of these days….one of these days…little Carolina Jane….you will be at your first year. And here we are in Ireland. Did you ever think of such a thing?” She talked aloud.

  “I think that even though you were born in Charleston you are an Irish lass to be sure.”

  * * *

  Four days later, Rose saw a horseman heading across the hills. Since there was not another cottage nearby, she knew someone was coming to her. She was not afraid, because the rider would have been directed to her place, most likely by Haw or Elsa. They made a point to know who was traveling past their place.

  She shielded her eyes against the noon sun. CJ had just gone down for her nap and Rose was taking a walk looking for the perfect picnic sight.

  The man and his horse rode directly for her house. She started back, knowing she was probably not in his sight. At one point she was afraid he would reach the house and knock on the door and her child was in there alone. She started to run and by the time she walked through the back door of her cottage she could hear the loud banging on her front door. She stopped a moment, listened for CJ and hearing nothing rushed through the house to stop the noise. Jerking the door open without looking through the window first was not wise.

  Hand over her heart she caught her breath and standing large in her doorway was Captain Wyatt. She couldn’t actually see the top of his head. He was tall enough that he had to bend his knees to show his face. She gasped when his deep voice reverberated, “There was no time to write another letter.”

  For a moment she stood stuck in her thoughts. It was so strange to see him in Ireland at her door, she forgot her manners, then recovered.

  “Captain Wyatt, please come in.” She stood aside and watched as he ducked and entered her house. He looked huge in there. She put her hand over her mouth to hide a smile.

  “What is it? “ He grumped.

  “It’s just that…that you’re so tall, the house seems smaller.” She told him truth. “Are you famished after the long ride, sir?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, then hang your hat on the peg there.” She pointed. “And come have soup. It’s been cooking since early this morning.” Rose went to get bowls, knowing the best thing to do was feed a man after a long journey.

  “Wash up there at the bowl.” She pointed again.

  He took off his coat and hung it on the peg next to his hat. Rose’s nerves tittered. A man in her house. A child asleep in the other room and food cooking over the fire in her kettle.

  Suddenly she felt fear shiver down her back. He had said he had urgent news. By the time those thoughts formed, she found him standing aside watching her, waiting to be invited to sit down.

  “Please sit.” She motioned to a chair and realized she forgot the bread. She brought it wrapped in a towel and placed it in the middle of the table then spooned up a full bowl of soup for him and a half bowl for her. She doubted she could eat until she knew why he had come all the way from London.

  He settled his tall lanky frame on the chair and gave her a quick look when she didn’t proceed.

  “Do you mind. We pray at mealtime.”

  “No.” he said and lowered his head.

  Rose’s heart skipped a beat and she said a quick prayer, hoping the Lord understood she didn’t remember a word she said.

  “Now, sir, enjoy. Have you been to Ireland before?” Rose took a knife and sliced off big chunks of bread.

  “No. It is my first time.” He picked up his spoon and ate.

  She ate, actually enjoying the taste of the food. She could see by the look on his face that he, too, was eating heartily and she liked that.

  He enjoyed the food, but she could see he was not himself. He did not smile. He did not make conversation only answered her questions politely. She sensed that he was filling his stomach and then he would be decent to hold his temper and tell her what he had come for.

  When he had finished a second helping, Rose laid her spoon down.

  “Captain Wyatt, why have you come?”

  His dark eyes found hers for a second and then he stood pushing his chair back noisily as he got to his feet.

  He was going to pace.

  And indeed he did. Back and forth he went thinking. Hands behind his back.

  “Please be out with it.” She stood and cleared the dishes from the table and set them aside. “It cannot be that bad.”

  “It can and it is.” He stopped and stared at her as though she were the problem.

  She laid the last bowl on the sideboard and turned to him.

  “Has someone died?”

  He stopped and stared again. “Then you know?”

  “Know what?” Now her heart began to prepare for bad news

  “Ava’s husband has been killed. Gunshot to the back. Unknown person.”


  Captain Wyatt had said the words so coldly, she wondered that he could say them without flinching. For she was looking straight at him when he said it.

  “Mr. McGuire?” She knew why Ava had not written.

  “But…”

  “There is more.” He said and gave her his back, ducking down to look through her windows.

  “Is the child asleep?” He turned to face her.

  “Yes.”

  “Then would you mind if we stepped outside. I can’t abide . . .”

  She knew his trouble. He could not stand small spaces. Seamen couldn’t. She understood.

  “Of course.” She snatched a shawl from the back of the rocker, stepped into the room to check on CJ and went out with him, her thoughts of Ava and she in her grief alone.

  “He was killed by someone. They don’t know who yet.”

  “Killed? Why?” Rose whispered.

  “You don’t need to know the circumstances. Take it from me that he probably deserved what he got.”

  Rose wanted to turn and shout at him. No one deserves to die at the hand of another. But she kept her peace until she could learn more. Captain Wyatt was a hard man. But she knew he and Ava had come from the orphanage and there was usually a hardship story to go along with each one who found themselves there.

  “But Ava…did she deserve that?” She asked quietly.

  “No, she did not. She was only hoping to make a good life for herself. Her beauty drew Theodore Madison McGuire. He wanted her for his trophy. And he knew she would be grateful to be married into one of Charleston’s wealthiest families.”

  Rose didn’t understand.

  “He married her for his gain.” That was it. “He was a coddled and corrupt man born of riches, noble blood and cold hearts.”

  Rose heard those words from behind him. He had given her his back again, talking over his shoulder. She couldn’t disagree with the statement. She sensed something was not right when she first met Mr. McGuire. But murder? She watched him run his hands through his black hair and turned to face her. She felt frightened for the first time. Something in her heart rushed to fear.