And she had, even though there had been other occasions when she’d been called that and worse. Colton had once punched one of his friends in the mouth for calling her deranged. None of the words made much sense to Rosie. Aunt Clem had told her she was too pure and sweet to understand such obscenities. Nevertheless, Rosie knew the words weren’t said with kindness. Sometimes she wondered what it was about her being slow that so offended people. It wasn’t like she was trying to upset them. She only wanted to make friends, but they didn’t like her. Emma was really the first outsider who had ever told Rosie she wanted to be her friend. Whenever she was in Emma’s company, Rosie knew no one would hurt her. Now it was Rosie’s turn to guard Emma from mean people. Even if that person was one of her brothers ... or all of them.
“Do you remember how long we have to bake the cookies, Rosie?”
She thought back to Emma’s instructions. “Fifteen minutes.”
Emma smiled. “Exactly right. So check the clock we put on the table.”
Rosie went to the clock and thought for a moment. “The little hand is on three, so that’s the hour. The long hand is on five, and that’s the minutes.”
“But it’s not five minutes, is it, Rosie?” Emma asked.
What was it about the time? Rosie thought hard for a moment. “When it’s minutes each number ... each number ...” She slapped her hands against her sides. “I can’t remember, Emma.”
“That’s all right. We only just started working on how to tell time. You’re doing really great, Rosie. You remembered the hour hand. Now, some clocks, like the grandfather clock back in Texas, have little marks all the way around the face of the clock. So the first little mark at the top just to the right of the twelve is the one-minute mark. Remember?”
“Yes.” Rosie nodded and started to get excited. “Each mark is a minute, and the minute hand points to the total that go with the hour.”
“Yes! Very good. And each of the numbers one through twelve mark five minutes.”
“But they also mark the hour, but with the little hand, right?” Rosie wanted to make sure she was remembering correctly.
“That’s right.” Emma smiled. “I know it’s hard. You have to be able to add or even multiply to understand exactly what time it is, but I promise you that after a while you’ll just look at the clock and know. You won’t even think about it.”
Rosie gave a sigh. “I want to know. I want to remember.”
“I know you do, and it’s so much fun working with you to learn.”
Taking a deep breath, Rosie focused on the clock. “We practiced counting five at a time for the clock.”
“That’s right. So for each number we added five to figure out the minutes. The one counts as five minutes.”
Rosie nodded and jumped in. “The two is ten, and the three is fifteen.” She wasn’t at all sure why the math worked, but Emma had assured her it did. They had spent over an hour learning to count by fives. At least, that was what Emma called it.
“In this situation, we want the cookies to bake for fifteen minutes. If you start on the five and count by fives to fifteen, what number would you land on?”
She looked at the clock. The five represented the starting place. Five minutes put them at the number six. Another five minutes made ten, and that put them at the seven. Another five...
“The eight. When the long hand is on the eight, then fifteen minutes have passed.”
“Exactly right!” Emma was just as excited about the answer as Rosie was. They both knew it was a hard-won victory.
Emma gave her a hug. “I’m so proud of you, Rosie. You’re getting better and better at figuring it out.”
“But everybody else already knows this.”
“They only know it because they learned it as children in school. It’s frustrating that you weren’t allowed to learn it when you were little, but you are learning it now and doing a good job. Don’t give up.”
Rosie had no intention of giving up. She was so excited about the idea of learning to read that she wanted to beg Emma to spend all her time just doing that. It was fun to learn to bake, and she wanted to know how to cook, but reading was even more important. If she could read, then she could use the Bible on her own. Just thinking about that made Rosie want to do a dance in celebration. Even if she didn’t know how to dance.
That night back at the boarding house, Colton couldn’t figure out what in the world had gotten into Rosie. All he had done was try to comfort Emma. Maybe it was his own fault for never showing much emotion or tenderness. His father had all but driven it out of him. He knew his lacking had turned aside women who might otherwise have agreed to seek him out as their suitor. Of course, his father hadn’t encouraged such a thing. He assured Colton there was more than enough time to find a mate, and when he did, he should make certain of the most important considerations. Her financial assessment came first. She must be a woman of means, having inherited a fortune through her parents or grandparents. She needed to be high on the social registry and able to introduce him to other wealthy people who wouldhave the potential to benefit him. It was all about the money, and Colton had allowed his father’s guidance in this area. Now, however, it seemed so unimportant.
It was true that Emma had money—Benton money—but Colton would have taken an interest in her even if she’d been poor. There was just something about her that he couldn’t help but be drawn to. He enjoyed everything about her, especially their discussions. But Rosie had been offended by his actions, and it still baffled him as to why.
All at once it came to mind that perhaps she was jealous. Emma had shown her such devotion, maybe Rosie was afraid that Colton would take that away. That had to be it. Rosie was just feeling overcome by worry that she might lose Emma’s attention. Maybe he could reassure her that no matter what, he and Emma would always be there for her.
He leaned back in his chair and smiled. If Tommy had been here, they might have had a good laugh about it all. Colton thought again of his brother. Watching him face Stella, then seeing the life go out of Tommy’s eyes was something Colton would never forget. He had been dead before he hit the floor. There were no last words or instructions. No ability to avoid the inevitable. Colton’s smile faded.
And then there was Emma. The bullet grazing her without her even realizing it for the shock of what had happened to Tommy. The blood slowly oozing out across the white gown. So much blood. Colton wished he could wipe those images from his memories. Somehow, he doubted that he ever would.
