Rose felt naked despite her modest dress. She looked over herself clandestinely just to be sure. Of course she knew she was dressed, yet she felt utterly vulnerable and bare, especially without the wedding ring ensuring some respectability.
“Excuse me, Miss?” A soft voice broke Rose out of her reverie. Rose looked up at an old man; he was a colored man, with white hair and crooked spectacles. She smiled. There were not many colored men in Denver.
“Are you in the right place?” he asked, his eyebrows knitting in concern.
Rose clutched her emerald green silk purse, her favorite with the silver snake for the clasp. She scanned the street where more than a few pairs of eyes looked at her with earnest curiosity. Here she was, a white woman, standing in a well-tailored ensemble and fine boots, in what appeared to be a poor and predominantly black neighborhood.
She smiled nervously at the kind stranger, trying to decide what to do next. “I’m looking for a woman … I believe her name is Martha. You see, my cousin passed away and before her death she sent me a letter to—”
“Oh,” his face relaxed with understanding. “You’re here to claim little Daisy.”
Rose could have kissed him with gratitude as her stiff shoulders relaxed with relief. “Yes!” she sighed. “I have the address, but I don’t see numbers for the flat.”
His eyes twinkled. “Happens with old buildings; the numbers fade. Luckily for you, Miss, I know where Miss Martha lives.” His smile faded. “It was heartbreaking for the whole neighborhood when our minister and Miss Nell died.” He shook his head, “Typhoid is a terrible sickness. It takes our loved ones away so quickly. A thief in the night.”
Yes, a cruel thief to whom poor, vibrant, and perfect Nell had fallen victim.
Nell had always seen life differently than most. She saw love and beauty everywhere. It was one of the many things Rose had admired about her. She had loved Nell dearly, cherishing the summers her cousin would come to visit Rose in Colorado. She was the only cousin Rose had. After Rose’s marriage, the visits ceased, but the letters continued. Two years ago, Nell confided her love for a Negro minister, Thomas. Rose had laughed at the irony. She by then had married a well-to-do white man whose family owned a good deal of the railways in Colorado. Rose had naively believed Cade would love her more than a wasted hand of cards and a shot of whiskey. She thought marriage would bring her happiness. It hadn’t. But Nell … Nell was happy. Then, one month ago, Rose received a letter that changed her life. Her cousin knew death was imminent, as it had been for her beloved husband.
Take my baby girl away from the South, Rose. Nell had pleaded. Keep her safe, and love her as your own. My parents will never deign to look at her, and she is far too precious to not be fiercely loved.
Rose blinked rapidly, her mind whipping back from the host of memories she held. “Is there no chlorine in the water system here?” she asked softly. She knew the answer; only modern neighborhoods had chlorine to burn away deathly sickness.
The man shook his head. “Not in parts like these,” he sighed. “Look here, Miss, a woman like you shouldn’t be walking around door to door. Allow me to go and fetch Martha for you.”
Rose nodded her gratitude and waited agitatedly for him to return. A baby, she would have a baby to care for. The thought filled her with wonder and dread. Had that not been her life the past few years? Emotions at war with one another? Feeling both intense love and hate for a man. “Miss Rose Castle?” A small dark woman dressed in a pale yellow dress and carrying a bundle came hobbling down a set of cracked stairs. Rose hurried forward, eager to see Nell’s daughter.
“Martha Smith,” Rose greeted her with a smile as she waited at the bottom of the stairs. The woman smiled, gingerly patting the bundle.
“You look like her, you know, Miss Nell. She had them blue eyes too with corn-silken hair.” Martha slowly made her way down the rest of the stairs. “I just fed her some canned milk and burped her real nice so she’d not fuss for you. Took her about two weeks to get used to canned milk. She’s a bit on the thin side because of it.”
Rose swallowed what seemed like a giant rock in her throat at the mention of her cousin.
Martha turned the bundle outward, and Rose couldn’t help the gasp of joy that escaped her lips. A baby of five months blinked at her. She was the color of Christmas caramel with eyes of light turquoise and warm brown hair that fell in ringlets around her cherubic face that dimpled at the cheeks.
“Daisy.” Rose breathed. A weight seemed to fall from her as she reached for the little girl. “Daisy, Daisy, Daisy,” she repeated, kissing the warm skin and snuggling her nose into the folds of the baby’s neck.
Martha dabbed her eyes. “My Thomas kissed her that way, too.”
Rose looked up at the woman with a sad smile. “I wish I could have known your nephew. He must have been a wonderful man.”
Martha chuckled. “He was the kindest minister there was, almost as kind as Miss Nell herself. She weren’t scared of what might happen, marrying him. Her pretty curls and big eyes hid a strength not seen often. Only for Daisy did she worry. She worried her baby being half white and half colored that—” Martha bit her bottom lip. “Well, you know.”
Rose closed her eyes for a breath to hold back the wave of tears threatening to break.
“Was she sick long?” Rose asked.
“Three days. The typhoid hit this area hard. When my nephew Thomas crossed that river into Heaven, it was then that Miss Nell wrote you the letter entrusting little Daisy into your care. She was calm after she wrote it, and then said she’d be meeting with Thomas. Next morning, she,” Martha cast her eyes down, “she was gone.”
Rose looked down at Daisy, focusing on the precious life that had been entrusted to her. “At least they had love.” Martha’s additional words shook Rose out of her thoughts. “The real kind. You know, the love where they ain’t thinking of themselves but of each other? That’s God’s love. You know what I mean?”
“Yes, that is God’s love,” Rose agreed. Her suffering had cemented her knowledge of God’s love when her own husband’s love waned. Daisy’s soft hand suddenly reached up and grazed Rose’s chin. “And perhaps,” Rose took hold of the little hand and kissed each fingertip, “I will know it again now.”