Chapter 5 - The Land That Was Never About Wade
Rosalie investigated Eleanor's history.
She found records.
Letters.
Old school committee minutes.
Eleanor had tried to establish a rural school years before the flood.
The town rejected her proposal.
Too expensive.
Too few children.
Too many people believed ranch children needed labor more than books.
Eleanor purchased land anyway.
She planned to try again.
Then she died.
Rosalie finally understood.
The inheritance wasn't payment.
It wasn't gratitude.
It represented unfinished work.
She accepted the property.
But twenty acres immediately went into permanent trust for the school.
The stone house she kept.
“For yourself?” Wade asked.
“Yes.”
He smiled.
“Good.”
Rosalie raised an eyebrow.
“Don't sound too pleased.”
“I like knowing you own a house.”
“Why?”
“Because if you ever invite me inside, I'll know you meant it.”
That answer stayed with her.
Vivien began assisting at school.
At first Rosalie assumed guilt drove her.
Then she discovered something surprising.
Vivien was excellent with children.
She could make shy pupils speak.
She turned spelling into games.
She made even arithmetic entertaining.
One evening Vivien admitted:
“I like this.”
Rosalie smiled.
“You sound horrified.”
“I am.”
“Why?”
“Because Mama spent twenty-five years telling me my great talent was being pretty.”
Rosalie laughed.
“You remain competent at that.”
Vivien threw chalk at her.
The sisters were healing.
Not returning to what they had been.
Building something new.
Wade kept his distance.
He had promised room.
Rosalie discovered she hated receiving exactly what she had requested.
Two weeks passed.
Then three.
When Wade visited the school, he discussed repairs.
When they met in town, he tipped his hat.
No pressure.
No courtship.
Rosalie finally cornered him beside the stable.
“Are you avoiding me?”
Wade looked surprised.
“You asked for room.”
“I didn't ask for Wyoming.”
His mouth twitched.
“How much room would you prefer?”
Rosalie stared at him.
“You're enjoying this.”
“A little.”
She laughed despite herself.
That evening they walked beside Cottonwood Creek.
Rosalie asked:
“Why me?”
Wade thought.
“You want a flattering answer?”
“No.”
“You don't perform.”
“What does that mean?”
“When you're angry, you're angry. When you're frightened, you don't pretend to be charming. When you care about something, you work.”
Rosalie looked toward the water.
“That doesn't sound romantic.”
“It is to me.”
She smiled.
Then clouds gathered.
Within hours a storm struck.
The creek rose violently.
Rosalie and Vivien remained trapped at the schoolhouse.
Near midnight lanterns appeared.
Wade and his ranch hands arrived carrying blankets and supplies.
He did not say, “I've come to rescue you.”
He asked:
“What do you need?”
“Firewood.”
He carried firewood.
Later Rosalie joined him beneath the porch roof.
Rain poured around them.
“I missed you,” she admitted.
Wade looked at her.
“That sounds inconvenient.”
“Terribly.”
“You still have room.”
“I know.”
“What do you want?”
Rosalie reached for his hand.
“This.”
Wade closed his fingers around hers.
No kiss.
No proposal.
Just warmth.
Then lightning illuminated a rider approaching through the storm.
Horus.
He nearly fell from his horse.
“Rosalie!”
Wade ran toward him.
“What happened?”
“Lydia.”
Rosalie's heart stopped.
“She left the house.”
“Where?”
Horus held out a soaked note.
Only seven words remained legible.
May you like
I am going to finish what Eleanor began.
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