Prairie Rose by Catherine Palmer

Sunday. The man certainly did need one. Though he washed his face and hands at every meal, he never took off the only shirt he had, and it was in dire need of a wash. Chipper needed new clothes, too. Of course, Rosie herself had only the one dress, but she managed to wash it now and again, hang it up in the night air, and wear it again by morning.
    Determined to fulfill her promise to her employer, she selected a pair of grain sacks that had been dyed a beautiful sky blue— the exact color of Seth’s eyes. As she slit the sides of the sacks, Rosie thought about those blue eyes. When Seth had laughed that morning in the barn, his eyes had lit up and begun to sparkle. They fairly glowed against the deep tan of his face—as though they were lit from inside with a hot blue fire. Rosie felt her stomach do an odd little flip-flop at the mere memory of the way Seth Hunter had looked at her as they danced.
    She wished she could say it had been a look of fascination, intrigue, or maybe even admiration. But Seth probably thought his hired hand was a little touched in the head, the way she had been so silly about finding the grain sacks. Rosie didn’t care. After all, the first chance she had, she was going to ask Rolf Rustemeyer to marry her, and she felt pretty sure he would say yes. He thought she was beautiful.
    She draped the grain sacks over one shoulder and set out from the house toward the creek to find Seth and take his measurements. As she tramped down to the water’s edge, an odd thought occurred to her. She had met Rolf Rustemeyer three times now: the other day on his land, earlier that morning in the barn, and at lunchtime. What color were his eyes?

    A pontoon bridge. Perfect. The bridge would drop when the creek ran low—as it did right now. It would rise when the creek ran high. Seth’s infantry unit had built and crossed a hundred pontoon bridges during the war. He knew the bridge across the Bluestem would need to support the weight of heavy wagons and be stable enough to keep travelers from toppling into the water. The construction would require strong cables, two or three flat-bottom skiffs, wood planks for the walkway, and secure piers on each bank. But how to explain the structure to Rolf Rustemeyer?
    Seth rubbed a hand around the back of his neck as he studied the big German. Maybe the thing to do was call on Rosie. At lunch, she had managed to teach the fellow the English words for meat, potatoes, and bread. She could get a few facts across to him by pointing things out with her hands or drawing pictures in the dirt.
    On the other hand, Seth wasn’t crazy about the way Rustemeyer ogled Rosie. The man had no manners. He followed her around like a big, shaggy dog. When she set out the lunch, he would have wagged his tail if he’d had one. And he ate like he hadn’t had a decent meal in two years. He probably hadn’t. Most bachelor farmers had a hard time tending to both crops and housekeeping. Like every unmarried male homesteader other than Seth, the German would be eager to find himself a wife. Though isolation and language barriers had kept him from the few social gatherings on the prairie, Rustemeyer wouldn’t overlook an unmarried female living so close at hand.
    No, Seth thought he’d better try to explain the pontoon bridge to the German without Rosie’s help. After all, she belonged to him . No, that wasn’t quite right. She worked for him. And the more she worked around the house, the better he liked having her here. No doubt about it, Rosie could cook. Clean, too. The garden looked good. Chipper stayed busy. Even the floor—
    “Fräulein Mills!” Rolf hollered, waving one of his big beefy paws. “How you are?”
    Seth glanced up to see Rosie coming down the creek bank, her skirt dancing around her ankles and a smile lighting up her face. She was toting some blue grain sacks over one shoulder. As she approached, Rolf nudged Seth.
    “Pretty, ja? ”
    “What is it with you?” Seth said,