Chapter 17 - The Wild Rose Home
The Bennett house became the Wild Rose Home.
Young women could live there while training as teachers, nurses or bookkeepers.
Widows learned trades.
Women abandoned with children found temporary housing.
Girls escaping unwanted marriages found protection.
Above the door hung a sign:
YOUR FUTURE REQUIRES YOUR CONSENT.
Vivien stared at it.
“Mama would have fainted.”
Rosalie smiled.
“Then she would have recovered and joined the committee.”
“Probably.”
A nineteen-year-old named Clara became one of their first residents.
Her family wanted her to marry a rancher twice her age.
She wanted to become a nurse.
“I have nowhere else,” Clara said.
“Yes, you do.”
“What if my father comes?”
“He might.”
“What will you tell him?”
Rosalie looked at her.
“I'll ask you what you want.”
Clara began crying.
No one had asked before.
Rosalie recognized that silence.
The Wild Rose Home grew.
Donations arrived.
Margaret Hollis contributed money from Missouri.
Former students helped.
Eleanor taught evening classes.
Vivien organized the library.
Rosalie was seventy-eight when Vivien became seriously ill.
She sat beside her sister.
“Remember when I stole your brooch?” Vivien whispered.
“You've apologized for fifty years.”
“Not enough.”
“It was enough around year thirty.”
Vivien laughed weakly.
“I wasted so much time competing with you.”
“We both lost time.”
“Did you ever hate me?”
Rosalie considered.
“Yes.”
Vivien nodded.
“Fair.”
“But I loved you too.”
“Both can happen?”
Rosalie smiled.
“Eleanor asked me that once.”
Vivien closed her eyes.
The sisters spent their final afternoon remembering childhood.
Thunderstorms.
Berry picking.
Secret sweets.
Vivien died that evening.
Rosalie became the last surviving member of the original Bennett household.
She grieved.
Then continued.
At eighty-three, Rosalie gave the silver brooch to Eleanor.
“You may keep it.”
Eleanor closed her hand around it.
“Thank you.”
“Or sell it.”
“Mother!”
“It's yours.”
Eleanor laughed.
Rosalie smiled.
That was the point.
Once a gift was truly given, the giver surrendered authority over what happened next.
Weeks later Rosalie asked Eleanor to take her to Cottonwood Creek.
They sat beneath the trees.
“Your father stood here once,” Rosalie said.
“You've told me.”
“He was fourteen.”
“You've told me that too.”
“Old women repeat themselves.”
“You've also told me that.”
Rosalie laughed.
She looked toward the water.
For a moment she could almost see Wade.
Young.
Hat in his hands.
Waiting for permission to walk beside her.
“Ready to go home?” Eleanor asked.
Rosalie nodded.
“Yes.”
But Rosalie had one final project left.
May you like
And she intended to finish it before she followed Wade anywhere.
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