Rose Red and Black Bear

by Gwen Williams

  * * *

  Rose Red and Black Bear

  Rose Red and Black Bear: Chapter 1

  Rose Red and Black Bear: Chapter 2

  Rose Red and Black Bear: Chapter 3

  Rose Red and Black Bear: Chapter 4

  Rose Red and Black Bear: Chapter 5

  Rose Red and Black Bear: Chapter 6

  Rose Red and Black Bear: Chapter 7

  Rose Red and Black Bear: Chapter 8

  Rose Red and Black Bear: Chapter 9

  Rose Red and Black Bear: Chapter 10

  Rose Red and Black Bear: Chapter 11

  Rose Red and Black Bear: Chapter 12

  Rose Red and Black Bear: Chapter 13

  Rose Red and Black Bear: Chapter 14

  Rose Red and Black Bear: Chapter 15

  Rose Red and Black Bear: Chapter 16

  Rose Red and Black Bear: Chapter 17

  Rose Red and Black Bear: Chapter 18

  Rose Red and Black Bear: Chapter 19

  Rose Red and Black Bear: Chapter 20

  Rose Red and Black Bear: Chapter 21

  Rose Red and Black Bear: Chapter 22

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  An eRedSage Publishing Publication

  This book is a work of complete fiction. Any names, places, incidents, characters are products of the author’s imagination and creativity or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is fully coincidental.

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or any portion thereof in any form whatsoever in any country whatsoever is forbidden.

  Information:

  Red Sage Publishing, Inc. • P.O. Box 4844 • Seminole, FL 33775

  727-391-3847 • eRedSage.com

  Rose Red and Black Bear

  An eRed Sage Publication • All Rights Reserved • Copyright © 2009

  eRedSage is a registered trademark of Red Sage Publishing, Inc.

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  ISBN: 978-1-60310-366-4 • 1-60310-366-X • Rose Red and Black Bear • Adobe PDF

  ISBN: 978-1-60310-367-1 • 1-60310-367-8 • Rose Red and Black Bear • MobiPocket

  ISBN: 978-1-60310-368-8 • 1-60310-368-6 • Rose Red and Black Bear • MS Reader

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  Published by arrangement with the authors and copyright holders of the individual works as follows:

  Rose Red and Black Bear © 2009 by Gwen Williams

  Cover © 2009 by Kanaxa

  Printed in the U.S.A.

  Book typesetting by: Quill & Mouse Studios, Inc. • quillandmouse.com

  * * *

  Rose Red and Black Bear

  * * *

  by Gwen Williams

  * * *

  To My Reader:

  It seems just the tiniest bit ironic that something I loved as a child, reading fairy tales, should inform my writing as an adult, and yet there it is. This fairy tale is the first in a two-part series about the sisters Snow White and Rose Red. In this story you will meet Rose Red and Black Bear. I hope that you love reading the story as much as I loved writing it.

  Rose Red and Black Bear: Chapter 1

  Once upon a time, in a faraway land on the other side of a tranquil sea, there lived a widow with her two beautiful daughters. Sweet, good-natured girls, kind and attentive to their mother, Snow White and Rose Red could not have been more unlike in appearance and character. One, Snow White, with alabaster skin, blue eyes, pink lips, and hair the shade of spun honey, was shy. Rose Red was the bolder of the two, with a face dotted with tiny freckles, green eyes that sparkled, ruby-red lips, and hair the color of midnight. But for all their differences, the sisters loved each other and their mother dearly.

  In front of their cottage, at the end of the little flagstone path leading to the front gate, grew two rosebushes, one that blossomed white, the other red. Seventeen years earlier, at the time of the girls’ birth, their father planted those rosebushes, and every springtime, when the roses bloomed their delicate petals, the girls gathered them up and kept them in a beautiful bowl to remind them of him. Every morning, Snow White and Rose Red placed a rose on their mother’s tea tray, so that she too could be reminded of her husband’s deep and abiding love.

  That year, springtime passed into autumn, and then it passed into the cold darkness of winter.

  Ensconced at the hearth on one particularly brittle night, as the wind howled and tore at the shutters, the girls worked on a quilt while their mother read to them passages from the Bible. At once their tranquility was shattered by a cacophony of sound, a pounding on their front door.

  “Oh, dear, Mama,” Snow White cried in terror. “It’s a monster!”

  “Oh, no, dear child,” Mama said, gazing out the shuttered window. “It’s merely a traveler, frozen through.” Her gaze shifted to Rose Red. “I always keep an open door to any wandering traveler. Let him come in and take shelter from the cold night air.”

  Rose Red did as her mother bade. She hurried to the door, slid back the bolt, and in blasted an icy chill as their traveler burst inside. It was no man, but an enormous black bear.

  “Oh, no!” Snow White screamed. “He’ll eat us alive!”

  “No, no, no, I assure you.” The bear’s voice rumbled in a deep baritone. “I mean you no harm, dear ladies. I merely seek shelter from the icy wind.”

  And indeed, the poor black bear did appear to be half-frozen, close to death. Icicles clung to his fur, and ice matted down his eyelids. Only his large brown eyes expressed his warmth of spirit.

  “Come,” Rose Red said, taking the bear by his enormous arm. “Come warm yourself by the fire.”

  Snow White crept to her mother’s side as Rose Red showed the giant black bear to the warmest spot on the hearth, directly in front of the roaring fire. The bear stretched himself out on his belly, and slowly the icicles melted from his paws and his arms, and his eyelids fluttered closed and he drifted to sleep, slumbering through the night.

  In the morning, when Snow White and Rose Red arose and trotted downstairs to the sitting room to check on the bear, they saw with a pang of regret the bare hearth. He’d slipped away.

  “Oh, dear,” Snow White lamented. “He’s gone.”

  “Yes,” Rose Red murmured. “And without saying good-bye.”

  Snow White spoke of her sadness, but Rose Red felt his absence more keenly. She’d hoped to speak to him that morning, offer him a pot of tea. The only visible proof of his presence at their hearth, a few stray strands of black fur, dotted here and there on the hearthrug. Rose Red bent down and picked up a handful of fur, rubbing it between her thumb and forefinger. The outside fur was coarse and bristly, but the downy fur from the inside of his coat was surprisingly soft to the touch. Bringing the strands of fur to her nose, she inhaled deeply the scent of the woods, of dirt, of earth. Yet in the downy soft fur, she sensed an undercurrent of tenderness. Tears sprang to her eyes and she dropped the fur into the fire.

  Then she heard her sister cry out, “Oh, look, Rose Red, look!”

  Snow White stood in the doorway, clutching an empty pail, her slight form silhouetted in the morning haze. She pointed a trembling finger at the walkway. There, neatly stretched across the flagstones, was a freshly killed stag. She gazed at Rose Red with a look of terror, but Rose Red laid a reassuring hand on her sister’s shoulder.

  “Black Bear left it for us to eat.”

  “Oh.” Snow White’s face softened. “Well, and what a kindness on his part.”

  “Yes,” Rose Red agreed. “He wanted to re-stock our low provisions.”

  Black Bear returned the following evening and again str
etched himself on the hearth before the fire. He listened as Mama read Bible passages, and watched as the girls worked on their embroidery.

  As the girls grew more accustomed to the bear, and he to them, they came to sit beside him near the fire. Sometimes, playfully, they would punch his thick fur with their small fists.

  One night, Rose Red hit the bear hard, harder than she meant, and the bear cried out, “Alas, Rose Red, Rose Red, would you have your suitor dead?”

  Suitor? Rose Red did not know what to make of this, and so she withdrew her small fists and did not pummel the bear anymore. His words had a strange effect on her. She avoided his gaze for the remainder of the evening. Suitor! A peculiar stirring rose up from deep inside, and it troubled her. But after a time she grew easy with him again.

  Black Bear was always discreet in his habits. The girls were not innocent, for they were country girls. They knew the ways of the animals, having birthed calves, milked cows, and seen the way the bulls behaved. But Black Bear was careful not to do or say anything that would cause the girls or their mother any discomfort. One evening though, shortly after his arrival, Black Bear fell into a deep sleep, and the girls believed that he would sleep through the night as usual. But he startled them at one point by mumbling aloud, “No, I shan’t let you.”

  Startled, the girls looked up from their embroidery and cast uneasy glances at one another. They glanced over to Mama, seated in her armchair, but she dozed, her book of sonnets turned face down on her lap.

  He was still for a long moment. Then he abruptly rolled onto his side so that his back faced the hearth.

  “No right to do that, go away. I command you. Leave now!”

  At that moment, Rose Red’s gaze fell on the dark patch of fur where Black Bear’s manhood reposed. What she saw pulled the breath from her lungs. She knew it was highly improper to gaze upon it, yet she could not pull her focus away. His manhood was startlingly erect, fully engorged, and it swelled to an even more magnificent size as Black Bear muttered under his breath. “No, no, no! I beseech you—aaargh!”

  This last burst of noise startled Mama. She jumped, noticed her book of sonnets on her lap, adjusted her reading glasses and resumed reading.

  Awakened by his own cry, Black Bear lay there for a moment before his eyes focused. He gazed at Rose Red. A flush of shame coursed across her cheeks and she ducked her head, focusing on her embroidery. But from the corner of her eye, she saw Black Bear conceal his manhood as he rolled over onto his stomach.

  “Ah, me,” he sighed. “Mama, will you read a sonnet to me?”

  Mama smiled. “Gladly.”

  Snow White and Rose Red glanced furtively at one another from under their eyelashes, but spoke not a word. Rose Red tried to push the image of Black Bear’s throbbing manhood out of her mind. But as she went to bed that night, her thoughts kept returning to that image, his massive erection that looked so eerily human.

  But there were no further incidents of that nature, and so the winter passed peacefully enough, with Black Bear arriving just at dusk, stretching out on the hearth, and falling asleep as the girls worked at their sewing. And in the morning, he would have left a fresh offering on the walk—a wild pig, a brace of pheasants, some lovely chestnuts.

  On the last day of winter, as the snow melted from the ground, Black Bear arrived at the appointed hour, stretched himself on the hearth, but did not sleep. He looked at each of the women in turn, his gaze falling on Rose Red last, his brown eyes warm and full. “You saved my life this cold, hard winter,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “You restored my soul and my heart. I shall never forget your kindness.”

  “You saved us,” Rose Red murmured. “What would we have done without our daily offerings?”

  “I shall never forget it,” Black Bear repeated. “And now springtime arrives, and with it, my departure. I must go deep into the woods. As you know, the wicked dwarves will be tunneling out of the ground soon, now that the days grow warm and the soil soft.”

  “Yes.” Snow White shuddered. “The dwarves.”

  “Yes. The dwarves cannot come to the surface during the winter, for the ground freezes solid. But once the ground thaws, they can chop their way back above-ground and do their mischief.” He cast a glance at the widow. “Keep your daughters from harm, and do not trust the dwarves. They are dangerous, evil creatures.”

  “Indeed they are,” the widow replied.

  And with that, Black Bear rose to depart.

  Rose Red followed him to the door. So when Black Bear lifted his paw to unlock the latch, only Rose Red saw something strange, a sliver of gold shining just under Black Bear’s arm. It glittered in the bright morning light. She started, and then the sliver of gold shimmered from sight.

  Had it been an illusion?

  She looked up. Black Bear stood in the doorway, gazing down at her. “Take care of yourself, Rose Red, for I would not have my lover dead.”

  There again, he was using courtship words—and to describe her. Rose Red gazed up into Black Bear’s large brown eyes and shuddered with a pent-up desire. “I would miss our evenings together by the fireside. I would not wish for any harm to come to you either, dear bear.”

  “Nay,” Black Bear said, “no more would I.” He rested his massive paws on her shoulders and gazed down at her for a long moment.

  An inexplicable sensation rose in her belly, and she half hoped that he would kiss her. She wondered if Black Bear felt the same way, but she realized how wrong it would be. Reluctantly, she lowered her gaze.

  Black Bear lifted his paws from her shoulders and dropped to all fours. “Good-bye, Rose Red. Of the three of you, I shall miss you the most.”

  “And I will miss you as well,” Rose Red said.

  Black Bear gave her one last mournful look, then turned and lumbered down the garden path, not stopping, not looking back at her.

  She watched him as he unlatched the garden gate and clicked the gate shut after him. He padded across the road and into the meadow, heading toward the woods. She watched until he disappeared into the forest. An emptiness filled her heart, a sense of loss, the sort of loss she hadn’t felt in many years’ time. Not since the day her father died.

  Rose Red and Black Bear: Chapter 2

  Two years passed, and each winter was a mild one. The brutal winter that brought Black Bear to them seemed only a distant memory. One fine morning following the second year’s springtime thaw, Rose Red strode into town to do her marketing. When she finished, she was headed toward the post office to see if Mr. Trimble possessed anything of interest for her—a piece of gossip or a letter from a distant relation, anything would do—when she saw her friend Tarquin leaving the postmaster’s office. Her call of greeting died in her throat the moment she saw the flaxen look on Tarquin’s face. He looked pale, ill, and clutched a crumpled letter in his fist. His gaze was so unfocused that at first he did not notice Rose Red.

  “Tarquin? Are you quite all right?”

  He blinked. His eyes cleared. “Hello, Rose Red,” he rasped.

  “Tarquin? Whatever’s wrong?”

  “Here.” He thrust the crumpled paper into her hand. She smoothed out the page as best she could and, her fingers trembling, she read:

  Be it known that Tarquin Roland Mason is herewith commanded to make himself available to General George Pattison, on the 1st day of May, in the year of our Lord, so as to receive instructions concerning his enlistment in the Twenty-fifth Regiment, to begin his tour of duty as a first class soldier-at-arms.

  “Oh, no,” Rose Red murmured. “The war comes to us at last!”

  “We leave, as you see, the first of May.”

  A wild thought came to Rose Red, and she fixed her gaze on Tarquin’s face. “We could be married by then.”

  Tarquin scoffed. “We hardly know each other, Rose Red.”

  “Tarquin, how can you say that! I’ve known you for two years. Don’t you want to make me your wife?”

  He turned his face away. “You�
��re too young.”

  “No, I’m not. I turned twenty in April. I’m of age, Tarquin.” She dropped her bag of shopping and took his hands in hers. “Make me your wife, Tarquin. I’ll be the best wife, I promise, so you’ll have something to come home to.”

  He pulled her small hands to his chest. She could feel his heart thump hard. With every heartbeat the muslin fabric of his shirt thudded beneath her fingertips. He said, “I couldn’t bear it, Rose Red. I couldn’t bear it, you waiting for me, for God alone knows how long, waiting for me to come back.”

  “Don’t you understand, Tarquin? I’ll be waiting for you anyway, no matter what happens.”

  “Aye.” He pulled her fingers to his lips, pressing his mouth against her fingertips. “Perhaps I should marry you, then. But we don’t know each other that well. Are you sure?”

  She nodded. “Many of my friends, Tarquin, are married to men they knew after only a few months of courtship. These same friends are now mistresses of their own homes, with babies dandling on their laps.”

  “But are they happy, Rose Red? Are these friends of yours happy in their marriages, to these men whom they hardly know?”

  She bit her lip. “They’re happy enough.”

  “Is that enough for you?”

  A fair question. “I would like to travel,” she said uneasily. “To see the world.”

  “You can’t do that if you’re tied to hearth and home.”

  “I can’t do anything now,” she shot back, an edge of frustration in her voice. “I’m a penniless unmarried woman.”

  Tarquin sighed. “Is that what you want, then? To be married? With a baby?”

  “I want to be married, Tarquin, and yes, I want a baby. And a home of my own. And a husband of my own.”

  “Will that satisfy you?”

  She considered.

  “And there’s no other man for you? No other man for whom you feel—or will ever feel—more than you feel for me in this moment?”

  “What an odd question to put to me.” She pulled her hands from his grasp.