Sweet Briar Rose

by Lena Goldfinch

  Rose had a very clear image in her mind of that.

  She jumped guiltily as Aggie breezed in again, carrying two plates of apple turnovers and wearing her wide infectious grin. She was a petite young woman with a trim, almost boyish build. A woman who’d grown up on a horse farm in Kentucky before marrying and heading west with her husband to start a church here in Sweet Briar, Colorado.

  For the past several days, Aggie had welcomed Rose into her home, baked wonderful pastries, and fed Rose until she was sure her dress would no longer fit.

  How did this tiny woman manage to stay so slim?

  It did seem she never sat down, even now as she silently offered Rose a plate and dipped her fork again and again into her own turnover. Within minutes, they’d scraped their plates clean and returned their attention to getting Rose changed into her wedding dress.

  Aggie fastened the skirt. “Now the jacket.”

  Rose dutifully slipped the long slim-fitting sleeves over the equally slim-fitting blouse she was wearing. She and Aggie buttoned up the many tiny pearl buttons.

  With that done, Aggie spun her around and around to check the fit, making Rose laugh helplessly.

  “Aggie! Stop! Or I shall need to lie down until the room stops spinning.”

  Aggie set Rose firmly before her, smiling. “Perfect. It’s entirely perfect for you. This darker shade of pink complements your lovely complexion so well.”

  “It’s a miracle it still fits,” Rose said with a relieved smile. She took a steadying breath. The room hadn’t truly begun to spin, but she did feel the slightest bit lightheaded. “I’m afraid I’ve eaten far too many of your glorious pastries these past few days.”

  “To my mind, you needed feeding. If anything, you’ve got an extra bit of room here.” Aggie pinched a loose fold of fabric away from Rose’s waist. There was a note of question in her voice. Not probing, but concerned.

  “After Papa died—well, I often didn’t eat. Not deliberately. I just didn’t have the heart for it. I didn’t have the heart for much.”

  “Well, that’s understandable.” Aggie reached for Rose’s hands and gave them a sisterly squeeze. She was close to Emmett’s age, younger than Rose had expected, and not at all like the reverend’s wife back home in Maine, a stuffy middle-aged woman who never showed her teeth when she smiled.

  “But now look at you.” Aggie smiled, unabashedly showing off a teensy gap between her front teeth. Like her smile, she had an openness about her that seemed so genuine. “Your cheeks are practically glowing.”

  “Thank you, Aggie.” Rose bit her lip, afraid she might actually cry. She didn’t want red eyes and splotchy skin for her own wedding. “I’ve never had a sister, but it almost feels as if I have one now.”

  “Don’t make me cry.” Aggie gave her a quick bracing hug and another of her wide smiles. “Now,” she said, pushing Rose away in a playful manner, “what shall we do with this hair of yours?” She plucked at a springy coil experimentally.

  “There’s really not much we can do besides put it up,” Rose said, grimacing. “My mother has always said, ‘There’s nothing to do with your hair, Rose. Just look at it! All these awful wild curls.’”

  She could hear her mother’s disappointment so clearly as she said it.

  “What?” Aggie looked at her as if she’d just said her hair was green.

  “What?” Rose repeated blankly.

  “You have the most marvelous hair, Rose. And if your mother couldn’t see that, then... Well, that’s neither here nor there, is it?”

  “Then what shall we do with it?” Rose had to blink a couple of times to clear her vision. She’d sent a telegram to Mother and Frank as soon as she’d been able. Their reply had been brief, but...warm enough, wishing her happy. Expressing polite regret that they couldn’t be there.

  Rose hadn’t expected them to travel to Colorado for her wedding. The thought had never crossed her mind, not really. So none of her family would be at the church to see her wed. She felt curiously detached at the thought of Frank and Mother not being here.

  But she felt a pang that her father wouldn’t be there to give her away.

  She couldn’t think about that.

  It seemed she had a sister now in Aggie, didn’t she? And she’d met several people from town yesterday, as Emmett had insisted on squiring her up and down Main Street in his sleigh. He’d seemed intent on inviting the whole town to their wedding. He introduced her proudly to his neighbors, any of them who’d ventured outdoors to give her a welcome. Most had. They’d all expressed glad surprise at the news. It was obvious from every reaction that her husband-to-be was well thought of in Sweet Briar.

  And not a soul had failed to tease him about his freshly shaven face, causing him to flush an attractive shade of red. Much to Rose’s delight.

  But now, Aggie had stepped back and was looking Rose over, circling around her and occasionally testing strands of her hair.

  “I think we should leave it down,” she finally decided, with an air of pronouncement. “Perhaps pin up a few pretty curls around your face.”

  “We can’t leave it down,” Rose protested. “It’s a mess.”

  “All it needs is a little smoothing. We’ll borrow some of Earl’s pomade.” She grinned. Her husband, who appeared to be a dynamic young pastor, was balding. He wore what remained of his hair as a closely trimmed cap of blond fuzz.

  “Does he have pomade?” Rose asked quite seriously.

  “He does. It sits quite unused with his shaving kit.”

  Rose blinked at Aggie owlishly, causing them both to dissolve into laughter.

  “He used to have a full head of hair, and then one day...” Aggie shrugged. “I think he looks well without it, don’t you?”

  “He does. A distinguished man of God.”

  She snorted. “Distinguished. Yes, he does look that. And ever so handsome, even without his hair.” She sighed dreamily, with a far-off expression. It was delightful to see they were still so much in love.

  “How long have you been married?”

  “Almost eleven years now.” At Rose’s look of surprise, she confided, “We were wed young. Earl was so determined to leave. I was so determined he wasn’t going to leave without me.” She shrugged again.

  Eleven years. And yet it was still just the two of them. Had they wanted children? Rose didn’t dare ask.

  As if the thought were close to Aggie’s heart, she brought up the subject herself.

  “We’re hopeful, Rose.” She placed both hands over her nonexistent belly.

  “A baby?” Rose whispered, delighted.

  “I’m fairly certain.”

  “And you’re happy?”

  “I’ve been sick every morning for the past couple of months.” Aggie smiled wryly, then her expression turned wistful. “This was meant to be our nursery.” She looked around.

  There were pretty yellow cotton curtains in the windows, trimmed in ruffles and parted to let in the light. Rose could well imagine a crib where the narrow bed was.

  “Perhaps it will be soon,” Rose said, already envisioning herself at home in the evenings, sewing a little baby blanket for her new friend.

  And then it struck her she’d be a married woman for all the evenings in her foreseeable future.

  She’d be a wife.

  She placed her hands over her own tummy.

  “Got the butterflies?” Aggie asked.

  “A whole host of them,” she admitted, smiling weakly. “My mother never...well, that’s ‘neither here nor there,’ as you would say. At least I’m not ignorant of the most basic facts. It’s simply the...details.”

  “You mean you don’t know?” Aggie plopped down on the edge of the bed, her eyes widening.

  “Only the most basic facts.” Rose flushed, painfully embarrassed.

  “I’m not sure I could...explain.” Aggie suddenly looked very flushed herself and perhaps a little ill. Rose didn’t know if that was because of their conversation or her morning
sickness.

  “Oh, I wouldn’t ask that of you!” she exclaimed, though to be strictly honesty, she had hoped Aggie would offer to enlighten her, if only a little.

  “Well, I can’t very well send you off to your wedding night with so little to go on.” Aggie stood up and paced around the braided rug.

  Finally, she stopped before Rose and gently pushed her toward the edge of the bed.

  “All right. You had better sit down for this, I guess.” Aggie stood there, with spots of bright pink on her cheeks, but her mouth set in a grimly determined line. It seemed once Rose’s newfound friend decided on a course, she wasn’t about to turn back.

  “But my skirt, we just pressed it—”

  “Never mind that for now. This is more important than a few creases. You’ll be sitting on a pew for the entire worship service this morning anyway.”

  Rose soon discovered that Aggie was right, about everything. Her ears were presently filled with a whole host of details. Details that made her blush. Details she was very glad to know before her wedding night.

  The scent of roses lingered in Emmett’s room, even days after Rose had left to stay with Pastor Stone and his wife. He was still lying face down in bed now, on the morning of his wedding, inhaling the tantalizingly sweet fragrance from his pillow.

  Roses. Of course she smelled of roses.

  Yesterday, he’d enjoyed several hours in her company. Not nearly long enough. But in that time, he had sat beside her in his sleigh, driving up and down Main Street, since the temperatures had mellowed. Placing heated bricks under their feet had been sufficient to stave off a chill.

  He’d proudly introduced his Rose to his neighbors. She’d sat there in her severe black coat with the cowl collar and an enormous black fur muff in her lap, keeping her hands warm. And that same black winter bonnet perched on her head.

  She’d left her pretty pink scarf behind, much to his disappointment. He had the fondest memory of Rose snowshoeing, her cheery pink and white herringbone scarf flying about. The way she’d laughed and smiled.

  Maybe the unrelieved black would have overwhelmed another smallish young woman, but not his Rose.

  She sat beside him in the sleigh, in all her understated beauty, practically glowing. A few strands of striking black curls had come loose of their pins and fluttered about, gently lashing her face. Her cheeks stung pink by the brisk winter air. Her eyes alight with excitement as they ventured a short distance up the road that led into the hills surrounding Sweet Briar.

  At one point, they met a deep drift blocking the road, and Emmett had to stop the horses.

  “It’s too deep to pass through there,” he told her.

  “I’ve never been in the mountains like this,” she said, looking around her, looking up. An expression of wonder crossing her face. “Just on the train. It’s so beautiful.”

  Emmett imagined her growing up by the shore, with endless stretches of beach and ocean. The Colorado Rockies weren’t anything like that.

  The scenery around them was beautiful. He appreciated it afresh, seeing it through Rose’s eyes. Majestic pines on either side of them, draping over the road. Bright sunshine piercing through the evergreen canopy. Bits of snow sparkling in the light.

  But they were hardly “in the mountains.” They were barely up the gentlest slope.

  Emmett grinned at her. There was so much he wanted to show her.

  “We’ll try again when the road is clear,” he promised, then leaned over to drop a swift kiss on her cheek. He was immediately rewarded with a blush.

  That was the first of several tender kisses. Kisses that heated his blood to a nice gentle simmer and brought out ever deeper shades of pink in Rose’s cheeks. As they made the journey back into town, she spent the time looking down at her soft fur muff, the view around them evidently forgotten.

  For his part, Emmett had driven along with his own pleasant memories to keep him warm, like the way she’d leaned against his shoulder as they kissed, her lips softly touching his. And he’d looked forward to today. When he and Rose would say their vows and become husband and wife. It seemed an eternity had passed since she’d arrived at the train depot. How long had it been? Not much more than a week. It didn’t seem possible that so little time had passed. It felt like he’d known her forever.

  Bright morning light poured in through the bedroom windows, bringing him back to the present. The hall clock chimed seven.

  Emmett stirred, reminded of a whole host of things he needed to do before church, including shaving, naturally, and writing the letter he’d promised his mother. Though his parents weren’t able to make the journey out to Colorado, he knew they were with him in spirit. He and his mother had faithfully corresponded for years. She’d been the first to know when Rose had replied to his ad. Over the past few days, they’d exchanged a flurry of telegrams as well.

  Many weeks ago, before Rose’s arrival, his mother—ever the romantic—had sent along a gift for his bride. Emmett kept it hidden in a box under his bed: a fancy white bridal nightdress, embroidered with pale pink rosebuds. There were satin ribbons and bows too, though Emmett’s attention had mostly been drawn to the sheerness of the fabric.

  With that enticement in mind, he reluctantly left the faint but intoxicating scent of roses behind and pushed himself out of bed.

  Chapter 18

  Early Christmas Morning

  I have a surprise for you.”

  Emmett’s voice murmured close to Rose’s ear, his pleasant baritone attempting to lure her away from the deepest slumber. It must still dark, she felt, surely. No bits of sunshine were sneaking through her eyelids.

  She was having the most pleasant of dreams, speeding through the woods in an open sleigh. Emmett’s handsome pair of horses trotting smoothly along, casting up powdery snow.

  It was so real.

  She could almost feel the bracing breeze against her cheeks, the solid presence of Emmett at her side.

  If only he would just leave her in peace.

  “Rose.” His hand came to rest on her shoulder, heavy and warm, insistent.

  “What is it?” she mumbled, snuggling deeper into her pillow.

  “You’ll have to get up to find out.” He leaned in closer to nuzzle the most sensitive of spots on her neck, right below her ear. His morning peach fuzz tickled her, and she let out a small reluctant laugh, batting him away.

  “It’s the middle of the night,” she protested, resisting the urge to grab his pillow and bat him even harder with it.

  “It’s well after dawn!”

  “It can’t be.”

  “Well, close enough. Get up, Rose! It’s Christmas.”

  He pulled her into a sitting position, causing the covers to fall away.

  “Emmett,” she grumbled, missing the warmth of her lovely wedding quilt, her body hanging limp in his grasp. She couldn’t quite see the need to awaken, still snug in sleep’s decadent grasp.

  How lovely sleep was.

  She felt herself slipping away yet again, the dream dancing on the fringes of her mind, tempting her back. It really was so, so lovely.

  “Just ten more minutes?” she mumbled. What could ten minutes hurt?

  “Rose,” Emmett urged, laughing. He shook her gently. “Get up. I have something to show you.”

  Rose groaned. Her husband didn’t seem likely to leave her be. He sounded so determined, so excited. Not unlike a boy on Christmas morning. As if he truly did have something intriguing to show her. That did spark a little interest.

  “What?” She pushed away from him, still ever so slightly annoyed at having been disturbed from such a real dream. It wasn’t often she dreamed like this, where she was aware she was dreaming. Where it felt like she was actually there, swaying with the rocking motion of the sleigh. Towering pines whooshing by.

  Emmett simply tugged at her hands until she left the snug warmth of the bed and stood before him, weaving slightly.

  “Up, up, up!”

  “Oh, Emmett.
Can’t it wait?” She looked at him blearily, awakening more fully as she saw his face fall.

  “I suppose it can wait...”

  “Is that toast I smell?” she asked more playfully, feeling guilty now. It appeared her husband had a Christmas surprise planned for her—and she was spoiling it.

  “There’s coffee and buttered toast.” He paused, then added, “With honey.”

  She perked up. She adored honey on her toast, as he knew. Sweet rich honey. And she’d baked fresh loaves yesterday. The toast would be nice and soft inside, crispy and golden brown on the outside.

  “All right then,” she teased him, smiling even as she yawned. He deserved for her to at least make an effort to wake up. He’d made her breakfast. She could smell the toast more intensely now. Delicious. “Where’s my wrapper?”

  She glanced around to find it, but there it was. As if by magic, the soft flannel settled about her shoulders. Emmett helped her find the sleeves and deftly tied the belt about her waist.

  “I’m not a child, you know,” she protested.

  In answer, he cuddled her against him entirely, his mouth pressed to hers, his hands roaming most pleasurably.

  Oh my.

  Rose slipped her arms around his neck and tugged him closer. The most pleasant sensation overtook her, familiar now, not unlike warmed honey filling her veins.

  Since when had she become the experienced married lady? Had it only been two weeks? No, less. One? She couldn’t seem to think, especially about anything as unenticing as the calendar.

  It was all heat and delicious softness. That was what Emmett’s touch was to her.

  Waking her in more ways than one.

  “Shall we go back to bed?” she asked, already leaning that way.

  “What?” He stopped, pulling away slightly. Disappointingly. “What? No.”

  Emmett simply stood there unmoving, apparently trying to remember what they had been doing before. Before the kissing began. The smell of coffee and toast still hung in the air. And he’d said there was a surprise, something he wanted her to see. Most urgently.