Catching the Rose Read online

  “What did you say?” His alcoholic breath sat heavily in the air. Veronica’s nose recoiled as her stomach audibly turned. “You said Amelia Williams, did you not?” he demanded, his eyes narrowing as Veronica glared and similarly demanded, “You know her?”

  He threw one of his grimy hands around Veronica’s neck. “You must not call her over. I promised her that I would not…who are you?”

  Wrenching away from his grasp, Veronica slapped the man’s face, yet again surprised by the brightness of his eyes. “I am Veronica Vernon, and I tire of your impulses, sir! Leave me be or I shall—my goodness, Amy, this here is not a joke!”

  The man grabbed her arm. “You mustn’t! Veronica, it’s Mr. Harris.”

  Amy turned and dropped her basket. To see a drunken man grappling with her friend was entirely disagreeable. She rushed to grab his shoulder and fiercely spun him around.

  “Why, hello, Amy,” he slurred, a faint frown dashing across his whiskered face.

  “You’re drunk,” she said, pushing him in disgust. He stumbled to the ground in his loose shoes. His blonde hair was matted against his head, and was as dirty as his clothes were tattered. Amy turned to find a woman standing nearby. “What happened to him?”

  “Well, all his fancy friends enlisted in the army, ma’am, and he didn’t. He’s been an outcast since, and his parents won’t have anythin’ to do with him ‘till he straightens out. You’d think a young lad of twenty-somethin’ would be a little more supportive of his government.”

  Amy hesitated as she realized he had fallen asleep in the mud. She daintily lifted up her skirts, watching the toe of her boot shine in the morning sun. Clenching her eyes shut, she briskly rammed her boot in his side.

  His eyes screamed bloody murder as he jerked awake, looking for the man who kicked him. When he found Amy, he stupidly gazed at her. He looked at his muddy apparel and grimy hands, and again at Amy’s stoic face. It seemed to scare him from his drunken state. “Hello, Amy,” he said, standing. He hardly contained his surprise as Amy sighed in exasperation and hugged him, though he was muddy.

  Veronica grimaced as she saw the mud eagerly jump to Amy’s skirts.

  “Everett Harris, what are you doin’ here, dressed like that?” Amy demanded

  Mr. Harris shrugged, attempting to wipe the mud from his face. “I heard you were in town and so decided to drop by?” he lamely said, his excuse sounding pitiful in the dense air.

  “You are comin’ with me,” Amy began, ignoring Veronica’s shocked squeak, “and you are goin’ to wash every nook and cranny of your dirty body, before you even think of visitin’ me.”

  Veronica could not believe Amy had allowed such talk to jump from her lips, and she grabbed Amy’s arm in an attempt to shake some reason into her. “Certainly he will not be comin’ home with us!” Blushing as she caught Mr. Harris’s curious gaze, she lowered her voice to say, “Amy, you must be out of your mind. Look at his clothin’…do you think he is the only bein’ livin’ there?”

  The mischievous glint in Amy’s eye revealed to Veronica that her last comment did not fall on solemn hearing, though Amy replied, “Ronnie, he took me in when no one in this city would—I owe him as much.”

  “You really are Ronnie Vernon, aren’t you?” Mr. Harris incredulously asked, finally entering the conversation with a whisk of his grimy hand through his matted hair.

  “How do you know me?” she demanded, her curiosity overcoming her abhorrence.

  “My sister repeatedly tried to play matchmaker, Miss Vernon. I am sure you know me.”

  Pausing to recollect just which sister Mr. Harris spoke of, Veronica suddenly snapped her fingers and laughed aloud. What a joke that she should have met the sister her first day in Richmond! “Of course, Everett Harris, sister of busybody Mrs. Johnson. That was quite a fortune you lost, Mr. Harris. Pray, tell me just how many races…?”

  “One.”

  Veronica opened her mouth as though to reprimand, but was silenced by Amy’s glare.

  “Let us go,” Amy said, picking up her basket to walk between the two aristocrats. She felt Veronica lag behind more than she saw it, and, feeling Veronica deserved an explanation, told Mr. Harris to wait. Stepping across the street, Amy murmured, “Are you upset because I am bringin’ Rhett—Mr. Harris home?”

  “I might have been married to him by now, if it hadn’t been for my father bein’ set—well, never mind that. Mr. Harris has been smearin’ his family name for some time now. And you are bringin’ him to our home!”

  “He is an old friend.”

  Veronica looked Mr. Harris over. He wasn’t so bad looking, now that he wasn’t falling on her. And if he took that bath Amy threatened, he might look handsome. To think that Mrs. Johnson had actually thought she would consider marrying such an inebriate made Veronica shiver with anger. “Don’t expect me to help if he drowns in the washroom.”

  Amy accepted this as Veronica’s blessing as she waved for Mr. Harris to join them.

  Mr. Harris sheepishly smiled at Veronica, who sniffed and declared she “Would look upon him no more until he bathed.” Upon reaching their block, she rushed ahead, as she wished to see Mrs. Beaumont’s face. Veronica gave her hat and shawl to Nan, who greeted her quietly at the door, and rushed into the library, where she greeted her proprietor with a kiss on the cheek. “Mrs. B, you will never guess…” She followed Mrs. Beaumont’s gaze and frowned.

  “And who may this be?” Mrs. Beaumont blinked at Mr. Harris’s appearance.

  “This is Mr. Everett Harris, and he would…like a room here.” Amy tactfully ignored Veronica and Mr. Harris’s looks of dismay. “He can pay you within the end of the month, when his funds come into town.”

  “I have a room open for him, if he’d like to stay.” If this happened to be the Everett Harris Mrs. Beaumont suspected, this was certainly an act of providence.

  Amy glanced at Everett, wrinkling her nose. “Do you happen to have a tub?”

  About to lead them to the washroom, Mrs. Beaumont paused and looked Mr. Harris over. “You remind me of someone I remember meetin’ before I had to open my house as a lodgin’. In fact, I am sure that you have the same eyes as a friend I used to have. Ronnie, I am sure you know who I speak of, no doubt you have spent many days with the family in your travels. Do you, by any chance Mr. Harris, know a Mr. Archibald Harris?”

  “He is my father, madam,” Mr. Harris bowed.

  “A great man, your father,” Mrs. Beaumont smiled. Upon reaching the kitchen and updating Maum Jo with report of a new border, she felt rightfully elated. The Harris’s were a rich family—with both Veronica and Everett beneath her roof, it would be no time at all before she recovered her social slot. Unable to keep her smile from her voice, Mrs. Beaumont called Mr. Harris to the kitchen, leaving Amy to rush upstairs and find him clothing from the vacant boarder’s rooms.

  Veronica was surprised everyone had taken to Mr. Harris so quickly. Even Nan had gone off, clucking over the dust and dirt, and with a frown Veronica realized she was neither needed nor wanted. The women were taken away by Mr. Harris’s charm, if he had any. There was absolutely no getting through to Amy, Veronica resentfully realized, slumping into a nearby chair. Catching sight of her friend running by, she called out.

  “I’d love to stop and chat, but it’s imperative I burn his clothin’. I think I saw somethin’ crawl in the folds of this great jacket!”

  For a man who had seemed very disgusting to Amy upon first sight, he certainly had a way of keeping her attention. Veronica stomped to her bedroom, where she slammed the door and tumbled to bed, falling into a restless sleep until supper.

  * * * * *

  Once realizing Veronica was nowhere Everett could possibly have been found, Amy lightly ran to their bedroom and found her sleeping fitfully. She was hardly surprised to find Veronica alone and sleeping: she had been awakened much too early, and her dislike of Everett’s sudden arrival had caused some tension. “Ronnie?” When this warranted no respon
se, Amy leaned close. “Veronica!”

  Veronica blinked: sleep had not yet been banished from her eyes as she rolled from her stomach. “What is it?”

  “Supper. Are you not hungry?”

  Veronica brushed a lock of hair away from her face. “You came just to tell me that?”

  Amy seemed surprised, as she stood from the bed to examine the full-length mirror. Deciding not take offense from Veronica’s tone, she looked herself over. Pleased with her brown dress and red ribbon in her hair, Amy rocked on her heels. “Do you not want to eat?”

  Veronica waved Amy’s comment away impatiently, as though it had no consequence. “Just let me change.” She pulled out a blue-and-white striped cambric-muslin from her trunk. Not looking when Amy closed the door, she angrily wrenched it on. Veronica leaned out the door to call for Nan, and suddenly decided against it as she threw her hair into a matching hairnet.

  Dashing down the stairs, Veronica sat at the table while impatiently brushing a fly from her face. “Are we ready to eat?” She stared at the stranger at the bottom of the table. His hair was parted to the side, a blonde lock falling to his brow. Clearly, Mrs. Beaumont had given him cold water to bathe in. Veronica noted how well the brown waistcoat made his complexion a pleasing tan as she stepped on Amy’s foot. “May I speak to you for a moment, Amy dear?”

  Amy grudgingly followed her out the door, silent but suspicious. She waited for Veronica to explain herself, and was exceedingly surprised when she asked, “Is that Everett Harris?”

  “Why, of course,” she replied, watching Veronica open the door to stare at the stranger from behind its protection. After a moment’s hesitation, Veronica hit Amy’s arm and hissed, “How come you never added he was handsome when you tried to convince me?”

  “Perhaps I did not want you to know,” Amy snapped, rubbing her arm.

  It was lucky, then, that he was not the type of man Veronica tended to set her cap on. “It would not matter whether I set my heart on him or not. I think he dotes on you.”

  Amy started, too embarrassed to say anything as she watched Veronica flounce into the dining room. Still too astonished to reenter, she contented herself by eavesdropping.

  “Where’s Amy?”

  “Just takin’ a breather, Rhett.”

  A moment’s silence. Amy berated herself for not being courageous enough to follow. ‘Rhett’ was her nickname—how dare Veronica be so brash? She sat on the library sofa, quite dejected and willing to indulge in her sudden depression.

  “A penny for your thoughts.”

  She gasped, hands flying up in surprise as Rhett fell back to avoid being hit. “I didn’t hear you come in,” Amy choked, as he sat beside her. Still dejected, she found she could not begin a proper conversation, and so they sat in silence until he finally asked, “How have you been these four years?”

  Amy couldn’t very well tell him she quite happily lived with her Yankee family. “Well, I have been here and there, missin’ my friends…” Yes, she felt that properly summed up the past four years politely. “How have you been?”

  “By that you mean, why were you drunk? No? You know why I was drunk, then.”

  “I do not see how it matters.”

  He hesitated. “The sun is below the horizon, and I’m hungry,” Everett smiled, brushing his hair back as he met Amy’s even gaze. “It will be like old times, won’t it, Amy? We shall have a jolly time, I’m sure.”

  She could hardly ignore the slight plead in his tone. Perhaps she was being a little too harsh. “I suppose that all depends on what we shall be doin’, Rhett, but yes, I should like for it to be like old times. Though, I doubt your fashionable friends like me as much as they did when I was your guest. Your sister hardly acknowledged me the day I arrived,” Amy commented, following him to the dining room. She avoided Veronica’s gaze as Everett held her chair out.

  “Yes, well. You know my sister. Mrs. Johnson has never been anythin’ but the most sour of women, and I for one am glad she no longer lives at home. My brother, I am sure, quite agrees with me,” Everett smiled, meeting Veronica’s sparkling eyes as he discerned Mrs. Beaumont’s close relation to his sister.

  Mrs. Beaumont’s eyes widened at such talk, but she was so shocked she had nothing to say. Veronica choked on her gumbo in an attempt not to laugh, as Amy coughed into her napkin.

  * * * * *

  As supper concluded, Everett suggested the small party convene in the library before bed. Amy sat by Veronica, for she didn’t want Veronica to feel as though she were being courted. The many glances Everett had thrown during supper had rendered her incapable of speaking, and out of desperation she asked, “What shall we read tonight, Ronnie?”

  “Why not a selection of Shakespeare’s Sonnets? Or Much Ado About Nothing?”

  Everett spanned the book bindings. As Mrs. Beaumont entered, he grabbed one and settled into a corner chair lit by a kerosene lamp. He threw his legs over one armrest with his head resting on the other—a position Veronica privately tended to use for reading.

  “How long shall we expect Mr. Harris’s stay, Amy?” Mrs. Beaumont sat at a lamp-furnished table to do needlepoint.

  “Your guess is as good as mine, Mrs. Beaumont.”

  “But surely you must…”

  “I will be stayin’ as long as you approve, Mrs. B. My father will gladly pay for the bill—he will be ever so much indebted to you ladies for findin’ me and keepin’ me from doin’ more harm to the family name.” Everett’s gaze was steadfast on his book, though his heavy tone insinuated his displeasure.

  “You are free to stay as long as you like, Mister Harris, I am quite comfortable with your presence, I assure you. Your mother and father are the epitome of high society, and as their son I never meant to insult you. I do hope that is not how you took my meanin’, for that is not how I meant it,” Mrs. Beaumont said with a blush. Seeing Veronica yawn, she asked, “Have you had a long day, dear?”

  Veronica caught Everett’s eye long enough to draw a smile. “I suppose you could say that. A man accosted me today—luckily, Mr. Harris saved me, which is why he is here.”

  “Why Mister Harris! I had no idea that heroism was in your line of duty!”

  “It was all I could do, Mrs. B. A man cannot stand to see a woman hurt,” Everett said, glad to hear Amy’s laughter envelop the room. Mrs. Beaumont was yet again politely confused.

  Veronica’s smile slipped. Excusing herself before anyone could notice her change in demeanor, she rushed to her bedroom to drag her journal from beneath her mattress.

  “May 17, ‘61

  “DIARY—I am winded. I am come from Mrs. Beaumont’s library with the hopes of unloading my thoughts. Mr. Everett Harris, apparently a very old, kind friend of Amy’s, has come to stay in Mrs. Beaumont’s house until he sees fit that he should leave. He has the money to do so, for if what he says is true, though his inheritance is gone his parents still supply him funding.

  “At first I was entirely against Amy’s decision that Everett stay, for his sister, Mrs. Johnson, has taken to the idea that we should marry. But I find it calming to have a male presence around, so long as he does not impose, as Bentley does.

  “It is insufferable, how Bentley claims my companionship wherever I go. I cannot see how or why he believes he has such entitlements over me. I hate his possessive smiles, dances and talks. I cannot speak one word, for fear he shall own it to my ‘pretty little mindset,’ thereby destroying any validity.”

  “What are you writin’?” Amy asked, causing Veronica to squeal and carefully hug her journal so as not to reveal its contents nor stain her dress. Falling back in amused surprise, Amy commented, “I had not thought to scare you—I merely wondered whether you wrote about me in that secretive little book of yours. I have often thought to start a diary of my own…it is all the rage, you know.”

  Veronica signed her name, ritually scribbled over Bentley’s portrait, and laid the book beneath her bed with the pages open so they would dry. “Pleas
e, don’t look,” she said, catching Amy’s wandering gaze, “I will show you sometime, I swear.”

  Amy stood, hurt by Veronica’s lack of trust. “Mrs. Beaumont has gone to bed, and as I didn’t want to be alone with Rhett downstairs, I also came up.”

  “Why?”

  “I will not be courted by a drunkard, Veronica.” Amy lit her candle and undressed behind her screen. “Rhett is merely an old friend, and I am determined to keep that status, no matter what you, Mrs. Beaumont or Rhett plan.” She emerged in her nightgown and robe, and sat on her bed to lay her forehead on her knees.

  “Doesn’t he love you?”

  “Rhett has much passion, which is good when he is interested in good things. But I don’t want passion. I want stability.”

  “I am a heel,” Veronica muttered, “Here I ask you such personal questions, and yet I will not show you my journal.” She sighed. “It’s supremely hard for me to speak of such things—it is nothin’ against you.” When she received no answer, she changed behind her screen and slipped into bed. Curious people, these Yankees were.

  * * * * *

  June, 1861

  Veronica was infinitely bored, what with Amy visiting a Richmond friend and Mrs. Beaumont reclaiming her spot in high society. Annoyed, she walked into the library with the hopes of finding a book to read while waiting for something to happen. Her fingers ran along the bindings, not motivated enough to pick anything.

  “Havin’ trouble, Ronnie?” Everett peeked over the top of the sofa, his eyes sparkling and mischievous as Veronica jumped in alarm.

  “You rogue. What are you doin’, hidin’ on that sofa?”

  “I wasn’t hidin’. Just…thinkin’.”

  “About what?” Veronica smiled, inviting herself to sit by him. “I would guess, but I am so horrible that you might as well tell all. I am persistent when it comes to these things.”