The River Rose Read Online Free

house. The O'Dwyers lived in the room on the right side and Jeanne and Marvel on the left. The one thing that Jeanne treasured most about the single room was that it had a fireplace. That was why she had decided on renting the house instead of living in a more convenient boardinghouse.
    Finally they reached her home, and Jeanne dreaded the next few minutes. She felt terribly guilty about Roberty. She didn't know if he had any family, any parents. She didn't even know if he had a home or if he was one of the true orphans who camped out in the summer and slept in a crowded church shelter on the coldest winter nights. But what could she do? Just because he had adopted her, that didn't mean that she could adopt him.
    Jeanne opened the door and they went into the dark hallway. From the O'Dwyers, loud voices sounded, arguing about someone's tobacco, and one of the children was crying. The strong smell of onions pervaded the hall. Roberty slipped past her, laid his bundle of wood down at her door, then pulled some sticks out of his pocket. "Here's the rich pine, Mrs. Bettencourt. How many matches do you need?"
    "How many do you have?"
    "'Bout a dozen left, I think," he said, groping in the dark hallway.
    "Good, I'll take whatever you have. Now, I want you to take this, Roberty, for the wood and the rich pine and the matches. And for Merry Christmas," she said, handing him two quarters.
    His dulled eyes grew round. "Gosh! Thanks, Mrs. Bettencourt! Merry Christmas to you too, and, and I'll see you tomorrow with the pine cones!" He turned and ran out the door, pulling it securely shut behind him. He always hurried away like that, as if he sensed Jeanne's turmoil over asking him into her home. With regret, Jeanne opened the door to her room and hurried to bring in the wood and put all of her things away.
    But somehow Marvel must have heard them, perhaps when the door slammed, for the O'Dwyers' door opened and she came running out. "Mama, you're home! Why didn't you come get me?" she cried, throwing her arms around Jeanne's legs.
    "Because I have a birthday surprise here for someone and I was trying to hide it," Jeanne said, swooping down to lift her up and kiss her. "You're going to have to go stand in the corner and hide your eyes."
    "That's silly, I haven't been naughty," Marvel scoffed. "I've been very good today."
    Jeanne let her slide down to the floor, and Marvel's eyes grew big and round as she saw the bulging canvas bag on the worktable. "Gunness! Are those all your things, Mama?"
    "They are mine and yours," Jeanne said, smiling. Marvel always said gunness , not goodness . "Now, if you'll let me get my breath, and get that fire going good, I'll show you our treasures, and tell you about my exciting adventures today."
    "I'll help you," Marvel said happily. "With the fire, not your breath."
    Jeanne took off her cape and muffler and then carefully removed her mobcap. It looked clean, but of course her apron got dirty in the course of a day's work. She threw it into a bucket of water with boracic acid in it, for she had found that just soaking it overnight would remove the stains without having to scrub. Smoothing her hair, she put on a black wool shawl and went out in the hallway to fetch a good-sized log for the fire. She and the O'Dwyers split the cost of a cord of wood, which ran about ten dollars.
    Marvel stood at the fireplace with the poker, vigorously stirring a good-sized bed of coals and carefully placing small branches on it. The coal-glow lit her intent face. Though she had inherited Jeanne's large dark eyes, she was rather a plain child, with a thin face and mousy sandy-colored hair. Small for her age, her hands were more like a four-year-old's than a six-year-old's. Her legs and arms were skinny, and her neck seemed too small for her head. This was not evidence of malnutrition, because Jeanne was vigilant about feeding her well. Rather, it was because she was frail and sickly. Marvel had been born two months