Catching the Rose Page 6

  “I was thinkin’ about home, and just life in general, I suppose,” Everett mused, making room for her voluminous skirts. He smiled, though it was half-hearted, and Veronica nodded for she knew the philosophical mood well.

  “It is because of the war. It’s makin’ everyone think.” She paused. “Do you regret things, Rhett? Do you regret not doin’ certain things, just in case somethin’ were to happen?”

  “I never regret not doin’ somethin’, because I did everythin’ I wanted to. The nice thing about bein’ rich, I guess. Only thing I regret is ruinin’ my friendship with Amy. Never really thought about it before, but it…makes a man think.”

  “My father used to drink a lot. We’d—my momma and me—we’d help him up the stairs when he came home drunker than the bottle. But my daddy had everythin’ set up. I was gonna marry his favorite boy, I had lots of money to keep the plantation goin’, and my momma was gonna be taken care of.” She ruefully laughed. “He died because he had nothin’ else to do.”

  Rhett didn’t know what to say: Veronica wasn’t being the demure girl he had been led to believe she was. He rather liked the change. “You weren’t very close to your daddy, were you?” When she shook her head, he nodded. “Me neither.”

  * * * * *

  Rushing down with her journal and pencils when Amy beckoned, Veronica sat at the library’s little table and asked, “Shall you read aloud tonight, Mr. Harris?”

  “You can’t read without me,” Amy smiled, setting aside her book. She flinched when there was a pause in the conversation, as Everett sharply glanced at her in surprise. Glad when Veronica noticed her discomfort, Amy was surprised to hear Veronica impulsively ask, “Rhett, have you ever heard of anyone named Jonathan?”

  “Could you be more specific?”

  Playing with her pencils, Veronica mused, “He would have moved to Richmond four or five years ago, from South Carolina. I suppose he would be about your age, at least early twenties, I should think.”

  Everett sat in his corner chair, his brow furrowed as he attempted to remember any youth resembling such a vague description. “Had a shock of black hair, and blue eyes?”

  Amy’s eyes widened as Veronica and Everett chatted. How curious, the similarities were.

  “Exactly so! Have you any idea where he might have gone?”

  “What is he, a lost lover?” Veronica’s reddened cheeks revealed more than if she had answered, and Everett let the matter lie. “No, I don’t know where he might have gone. I’m sorry, Veronica. I rather believe he has gone farther north, but I would have no idea where to tell you to look.”

  There could be no possible way they talked of Amy’s cousin, though he had the same black hair and blue eyes. His name was not Jonathan—surely that dispelled any worries.

  Unconscious to Amy’s thoughts, Everett began the nightly read and Veronica relaxed. As her concentration slipped, she drew random lines, which somewhere sparked inspiration. A chin appeared, stubborn yet yielding: a compromising chin. The mouth was decidedly male, but not familiar. She glanced at Everett, but his mouth was distinctly sweeter.

  Amazed, she watched her hand draw the mouth as though she knew him intimately. His eyes were deep and haunting, and gazed as though he knew her. She drew his wild hair, smiling as with a deft sweep she drew a dark shock of it tumbling from their carefully combed waves. Veronica blushed, for those eyes talked to her, and she didn’t like it. Shaken, she shut her journal and concentrated on Everett.

  Amy was curled on the sofa, knowing it improper to do so. Her hoops puffed around her as she rested her cheek on her knees. She watched Veronica draw, though she could not see the project. Her friend looked the most peaceful since her arrival in Richmond, Amy observed. She smiled as Veronica smiled, and with each passing moment felt her curiosity abound. What could Veronica be drawing to cause such enjoyment, and yet warrant such a violent slam of her journal? She bit her lip as Everett finished reading, avoiding his gaze as he put the book away.

  Veronica rested her chin in the palm of her hand as she watched Everett leave the room, noting Amy did not. “Rhett seems to make this place real homey-like. Don’t you think so, Amy?”

  “I suppose he makes it more a home than a house,” she allowed, neither quitting her dreamlike state nor her seat, quite unaware that Veronica frowned. “Ronnie, when are we plannin’ to go see that battle?”

  Veronica smiled: this was a topic she had not brought up in a while. “Whenever it happens,” she said, quitting her seat to sit beside Amy.

  “I received a letter statin’ Richmond armies are gatherin’ at Manassas Junction, in Tudor Hall. No doubt, the Yankees will show up. They will probably be fightin’ for control over Richmond.” She paused, hoping Veronica wouldn’t question the source of the letter.

  “Why, that’s wonderful.” Veronica picked up her journal, hiding it from Amy and Mrs. Beaumont. The thought of them finding those haunting eyes of her recent project was unnerving.

  “What’s that you’re hidin’, Ronnie?” Amy asked, peering to see the mysterious package.

  “Nothin’.”

  “It’s not nothin’, let me see,” she demanded, pulling the sketchbook from Veronica’s protective arms. Her hand caressed the cover, opening it as Veronica motioned she do so, to find a whimsical plantation landscape. “Your home?” She traced over the heading “Schönheitstal.” Veronica nodded as Amy carefully turned the page to find a portrait of a woman who looked enough like Veronica for Amy to say, “Your mother is beautiful.”

  Veronica frowned, remembering when she had to turn to Maum Sukie, for her mother was much too busy with an affected consumption to console her childish worries.

  “I’m in here, Ronnie!” Amy was pleased, for the portrait captured her serious nature without destroying her willingness to laugh. “You are very talented,” she murmured, sifting through sketches of Mrs. Beaumont, Maum Jo, Nan and Everett. “Who is this man you draw so frequently and deface?”

  Veronica leaned to see the portrait Amy regarded with evident pleasure. “An acquaintance—I’m sure I wouldn’t want to call him more. I dislike each picture I draw, because it does not capture his true spirit.”

  “He seems very athletic, and handsome. His eyes show intelligence, and his chin a stubborn streak. Is this not what you want to portray?” Amy glanced at Veronica to see her cold gaze and set mouth. Evidently, there was a history to accompany this man, and it was obvious Veronica did not feel comfortable looking at or talking about him. Anxious to reconcile, Amy turned to find the just-completed drawing. She dropped the diary. “How do you know him?”

  Veronica dove in time to catch her journal. She glanced at the page and was hardly surprised to see the man with the evocative eyes, merry and serious together. She hardly liked to look at the page, and Amy seemed to be similarly affected. “I have never met him. If anythin’, it’s just a memory of Jonathan, except, he’s older in this portrait. I’m not sure how I did that, but somehow this man appeared in my mind, and I was compelled to draw him. Do you know him?”

  “He reminds me of Brad. You have depicted him so well that I am amazed. You have never met my cousin?”

  “Never.”

  Shaking her head in confusion, Amy resolved that the matter would perhaps make more sense after a night of much needed rest. Visiting her Richmond friends had not gone as well as she had planned, especially without Everett as an escort. Consequently, she was in a foul mood and this new event did not sit well tonight. “It’s gettin’ late, Ronnie. If we are to sleep tonight, I think perhaps we should leave for bed.”

  Veronica nodded, leading the way to their bedroom. The night’s silence usually comforted, but tonight it was uneasy and formal.

  After blowing out the candles, Amy slipped into bed, greatly unnerved by Veronica’s exactness when drawing her cousin’s face. “There is somethin’ odd about this entire situation,” Amy murmured as she turned to sleep.

  * * * * *

  As Maum Jo ritually s
hook the foot of her bed and threw open the curtains, Veronica jerked the covers from her head and cried, “Why must the day begin so early?”

  “The day has yet to begin, Ronnie,” Amy sighed, stumbling from her bed to reach for her morning gown. Shaking her head at Veronica’s determination to stay in bed as long as possible, she splashed her face with tepid water and pulled up her hair. “Veronica, do you not feel as uneasy as I? Now that we have decided to visit my uncle in D.C., I feel as though we should not.”

  “Why?”

  “We have just rented this room, and now, after a month of bein’ here, we have decided to leave for this scheme of yours to watch a battle.”

  “We are payin’ for the time that we are not here. What are you worryin’ about?” Veronica reached for her green dressing gown. Tying the belt, she glanced out the window. She could hardly admit to Amy that her nonchalant attitude of leaving Mrs. Beaumont’s attributed to living from trunks the past two years. “It seems like it’s goin’ to be a nice day to be travelin’.”

  “Are you sure you want to do this? What if somethin’ goes wrong?” Amy finished braiding her hair, and pinned it into a bun. It always amazed Veronica how fast Amy was able to finish her toilette, seeming much like a bird as she flitted across the room. “Come along, then, Ronnie. Dress for travel: we need to leave as soon as possible.”

  Veronica ducked behind her screen, glad that Nan was busy with her trunks to yet again help with her own toilette. “Could you pass me my gray suit, dear?”

  Amy pulled out Veronica’s requested clothes and followed behind the screen to help Veronica’s healthy frame into her corset. Gasping with the effort, she said, “Do you not think you should cut back on your sweets?”

  Veronica blushed, gripping the bedpost to aid in her attempt to stand still as Amy tugged. “I eat more when I’m nervous, Amy. I have never met your family, and what with all your talk of your cousin I am all afraid that he will chase me from the house.”

  Amy laughed as she managed to tie the last ribbon in place. Surveying her work with great satisfaction, she said, “Makes no difference, you will be losin’ that weight with my relatives. They have me workin’ there all the time.”

  “Workin’! On what?” Veronica cried, pulling her dress over her hoopskirt. Buttoning her blouse, she waited for an answer as Amy pulled her hair into a simple but attractive chignon.

  “Oh, I don’t know. Sometimes I work in the garden, or take care of the horses.”

  “You have no slaves?”

  “Of course not—we are Yankees, remember? We sold them when my uncle read the book Uncle Tom’s Cabin.” Catching Veronica’s suddenly dark glance, she quickly assured, “We have servants, so it isn’t as though we are poverty stricken.”

  Veronica waited until the last hairpin was tucked into her abundant hair before she tentatively asked, “May I still work the garden?”

  “When has it ever been a rule that one cannot do chores if one wants to?” Amy laughed, picking up her valise and content in knowing that her trunk was already on the carriage. “We want to get there are soon as possible, Ronnie, and this day is perfect for travelin’, as you said.”

  Veronica pulled on her gray bolero jacket, finishing what she laughingly referred to as her ‘confederate uniform’. She brushed her skirt and fastened her hat, dashing after Amy down the stairs and out the door. Beaming at Everett as he aided her into the carriage, Veronica was sure he smiled only because he did not want to laugh at her exuberance.

  Amy bit her lip as Veronica settled beside her, quite sure that if they did not leave soon they would miss the train. “I hope we shall see more of each other, Rhett—this time was nice, but much too short,” she said, smiling as she amiably shook his hand.

  “I am sure we shall. Such good friends cannot be parted easily.” He grinned, turning to Veronica as she held her hand out for him to kiss it. “I hope you enjoy your taste of war.”

  “Please, call me Ronnie. I shall feel more at ease next time we meet, if you do so.”

  “Amy, give your family my love, and Ronnie—see, I shall call you that until you are sick of it—I’ll search for your Jonathan even if it’s the last thing I do.”

  “Good luck,” they said as he stepped back to allow Mrs. Beaumont to say her farewells.

  “Here, take this basket for the trip. And don’t you lose it, it’s my favorite. Mrs. Johnson gave it to me years ago and it would be very unfortunate should you lose it to Yankees. It would not look so good for me, I’m sure you can tell. Actually, I would much rather give you another basket, but it's the largest I have and the only one that would carry all the food I thought you would need.” Pausing as Everett gently pointed out the time, she rushed, “Oh do enjoy your trip! Tell me whether the yanks are really all that everyone says. Make sure to remember everythin’ for when you get back—I want to hear all!”

  As they departed, all smiles, Amy was sure they would be well received in Washington, and was slightly put out that Veronica fell to sleep once the train had started. Only when the train stopped to refuel did Veronica awake, to abruptly cry, “Where are we? This cannot be Washington!”

  Glancing out the soot-streaked window to see the surrounding fields, Amy laughed and set her book aside to explain, “This is Manassas Junction. We already switched from the Virginia Central to the Orange and Alexandria Railroad. Now we’re refuelin’.”

  “Well, then wake me when we reach almighty Washington,” Veronica mumbled.

  * * * * *

  Upon entering the Washington train depot, Amy hired a carriage and settled into it, anxious for her home. With great resentment, she found she constantly had to show her Yankee pass; driving through the rutted streets proved difficult at each junction.

  Veronica wrinkled her nose and pulled her cloak close, jumping as men shouted in the street. Peeking from behind the curtain, she cringed upon seeing trash and mud, as though the city had not been cleaned in weeks. “Why does it smell so? You would think Washington had already given way to the Confederates.”

  Amy laughed. “We have no time to keep our streets clean when we worry about the borderin’ Potomac River, as it is already part of the Confederacy. And Maryland was on the brink of secedin’ until we moved into Baltimore in May” (Meltzer). Amy glanced out the window as the carriage slowed. “We must be at my uncle’s.” After brushing dust from her skirt, she straightened her hat and smiled at the attendant as he helped her from the carriage. Amy stepped to the house, reaching for the knocker.

  Veronica nodded to the attendant as he aided her from the carriage, her gaze following the tall, narrow lines of Amy’s residence. It certainly didn’t look large enough to hold a family of five…but if the entire family had Amy’s same resolve to never own more than necessary, perhaps the house had ample space.

  The door flew open. Forgetting her surprise, Amy threw her arms around her uncle, smiling as he murmured, “I would hug you tighter, but I’m afraid I will muss your hair.”

  “Uncle, you tease!”

  As they stepped back to inspect each other’s appearance, Amy’s uncle asked, “Is Richmond all you remembered? And your roommate? Was she all you expected?”

  Suddenly remembering Veronica stood beside the carriage, Amy turned. “My roommate was more than tolerable, Uncle, I assure you. This is Veronica Vernon, my roommate and close friend.” Amy beamed as the aforementioned walked forward.

  Mr. Williams took Veronica’s hand, and in the proper southern way, bowed above it. “I’m enchanted, Miss Vernon, absolutely enchanted. How is it you came with my niece?”

  Veronica had the decency to blush, as she realized perhaps Amy had forgotten to mention that she would accompany Amy north. “I was invited, sir. Amy has told me so much of your family that I was intrigued and most gladly agreed when she invited me to join her—”

  “Miss Vernon,” Mr. Williams interjected, his eyes matching Amy’s own calm mischievousness as he straightened his waistcoat with a thoughtful clearing o
f his throat. “My niece knows we hold her in high esteem. You are quite welcome here if you are her friend.”

  “I thank you, sir, for your understandin’.”

  “Uncle,” Amy said, nudging him with her elbow.

  “You must think me vulgar, Miss Vernon! I have not thought of inviting you in: you must forgive me.” He offered an arm to each young woman and led them to the foyer, releasing Amy so she could remove her gloves and bonnet. Keeping Veronica on hand, Mr. Williams searchingly glanced through the foyer window as though expecting someone else to arrive.

  Veronica found with heightening curiosity that Mr. Williams had almost forgotten about her, as he dragged her to the window in his anticipation of the absent wonder. She faintly cried out as he jerked from the window in anger.

  Mr. Williams flushed as he caught Veronica’s eye, smiling his apology as he led her to the stairs. Shouting up the narrow stairwell, he said to Veronica, “My wife and child should come presently. Please excuse us if we are too loud. We tend to indulge ourselves.”

  Veronica wondered about Amy’s cousin, Brad. Mr. Williams named only one child, and she had been led to believe there were two. The suspense was almost too much to bear, and Veronica felt ready to cry from exhaustion. “How do you wish me to address you, Mr. Williams?” she asked to avoid her tears.

  “All who stay call me Uncle. I would be pleased if you did the same.”

  Veronica forced herself to be congenial as she heard swishing skirts emerge from the stairwell. So, she was to meet the mother and sister of the mysteriously absent son of the house.

  “Aunt! Madge!” Amy cried, hugging each, “How I have missed you.”

  Madge laughed: “You have been gone but a month.”

  Veronica flinched at her accent, feeling as though her ears were boxed by the clipped sound. How surprised she was, then, to find that all but Madge had slight southern accents. Gasping when Amy suddenly grabbed her arm and dragged her forward, she blushed as she was simply introduced as, “This is Veronica Vernon.” Veronica bashfully shook hands with each, cringing when Madge gripped her hand. She immediately decided to be wary.