The Soul of the Rose

by Ruth Trippy

  “Certainly.” Her mother’s lips curled up. “I’d like to hear anything you can share. I’m all curiosity.”

  Celia gathered up her skirt and ran upstairs to her bedroom. Mrs. Chestley never wrote her, only to Mother. She settled herself in the chair near the window.

  Dear Celia,

  I’m writing to say how much we miss you, especially my dear husband. He had thought I couldn’t be replaced in the bookstore until you came along. Now, he says you can’t be. You had such a way with the display window. I try to imitate you, but you always came up with new ideas. People tell me they came by the window just to see your arrangements. Hooray for you, my dear.

  Also, I heard Mrs. Harrod wrote you and I thought, why don’t I do the same, particularly when I know something of interest to you, something known only to my husband and myself.

  Mr. Lyons dropped by the bookstore yesterday and had a long conversation with my husband. He’s been reading the Bible straight through. Isn’t that amazing? He’d just finished the gospels. He talked as if Jesus were more than a good teacher. The account of His crucifixion moved him greatly. Now he is on to the book of Acts. I am so excited and will keep you apprised of any developments.

  Edward! Immediately, Celia got down on her knees, hugging the letter to her as she knelt by the chair. She prayed his heart would be opening to the truth. Of how the Lord loved him. Dear Mrs. Chestley for writing her.

  “Isn’t it wonderful our neighbors gave us all these cherries?” her mother said, putting aside a bowl for supper. “There’s nothing like eating fresh fruit in summer. And I can’t tell you how much I’ve appreciated your help this afternoon.” Celia caught her mother’s quizzical look. “You’ve been rather quiet. Nothing wrong, is there?”

  Celia didn’t answer right away. “You remember that letter I received last week from Mrs. Chestley? Remember how she wished I would work for them again? Do you think there’s a possibility that will ever happen? They are such dears. I’m feeling now as if I’ve left them out on a limb.”

  “But there’s Mr. Lyons.”

  “Exactly.” Celia sighed.

  Her mother wiped out a bowl before speaking. “We are promised the Word is ‘sharper than any two-edged sword, dividing bone from marrow.’ It does just that in a person’s thinking. In his heart. Who knows how Mr. Lyons’s perception of life might alter while reading the Bible? Where God’s concerned, my dear, there’s always hope.”

  “Oh, Mother, I want it so.”

  “Here’s a few cherries, I kept some aside for just us.” Her mother handed her a small bowl of the fruit, then sat down with her own dish.

  Celia looked up. How beautiful Mother was. No wonder Father was still taken with her after all these years. How she hoped— She sighed again.

  “Anything else on your mind?”

  Celia laughed, felt a blush creep up her face. “I suppose so.I was thinking—when I first arrived some weeks ago and came into the study early, I noticed as if for the first time how affectionate Father was with you. How he loves you and wants to be with you. I had wondered about myself and. . . .”

  Her mother pushed aside her bowl of fruit. “What a lovely thing to say about your father and me.” She looked at her daughter, smiled, then briskly suggested, “After we finish eating these, why don’t you take some to your grandmother. A walk will do you good. There are times in life when it doesn’t pay to sit around too much.”

  Celia blushed again. “This is one of them?”

  “Yes.” Her mother smiled. “And if it’s any comfort to you, I imagine Mr. Lyons needs to stay busy as well.”

  “Oh, Mother!” Celia rose and hugged her hard.

  Minutes later Celia placed a cloth over the basket of deep red fruit. She had wanted to talk with Grandmother again anyway.

  She opened the white picket fence to her grandmother’s yard and ran up the front steps. Flinging open the door, she shouted, “Grandmother! I’ve a present for you.”

  “I’m back in the kitchen!”

  It felt good to be on such familiar terms. Celia cherished the strong, sweet connection between Grandmother and herself, and these feelings had strengthened since their heart to heart about Edward last week.

  She entered the kitchen and plunked her basket of cherries on the table. Grandmother was stirring something on the stove.

  Her grandmother looked up. “Pudding for you and the family. I had a feeling you might be over today, or soon at any rate, so decided to make some.” She gave one last stir and took it off the burner. “There, that needs to cool.”

  “Just smell it. Our family favorite, old-fashioned vanilla.”

  “And if it hasn’t cooled enough by the time you leave, you can send one of your brothers for it later.” Grandmother’s eyes sparkled. “But would you like a taste now?”

  Moments later they sat by the table, each holding a miniature white crockery bowl containing the dessert. Celia dipped in her spoon, blew on it a little and carefully tasted the silky pudding. “Grandmother, this warms my insides as nothing else. Makes my visit doubly pleasurable.” After a few minutes, she carefully scraped out the last of the pudding, put her spoon down and gazed at Grandmother.

  “Something’s on your mind,” her grandmother said briskly.

  “Yes. It’s about—” Celia hesitated.

  “Edward Lyons,” her grandmother finished.

  “How did you guess?”

  “I see it in your eyes. They shine. And there’s a restlessness about you. I can see the signs.”

  “The signs?”

  “Of someone in love.”

  “Oh, Grandmother! I do so love him. But I promised myself that unless Ed—Mr. Lyons changed, I couldn’t go back to the Chestleys. I’m too much drawn to him. As hard as it is to be separated by all these miles, I do believe it would be harder to remain true to God and my convictions if I were around him.” She rose suddenly. “Those last few times we were together, I felt as if I—physically—” She felt her chest tighten. “I just wanted to be with him. Oh, Grandmother, what am I to do?” She put her hands to her face. Her shoulders quivered. “I didn’t want to leave him.”

  “But you did leave. And it was right to do so, considering your differences. Before I go any further, dear, I want to say that whomever you marry, you will have differences. It’s a part of marriage. However, sharp differences in faith are too important to ignore. God’s Word must be heeded in this, or more unhappiness will breed than you care to deal with.”

  “I couldn’t disobey God. That’s what decided me to come home.”

  Her grandmother rose and said, “Somehow, I feel sure the Lord has used Mrs. Divers’s house fire in Edward’s life. We don’t always understand God’s dealings, but we can trust Him. Even when He uses extreme measures to accomplish His ends.” Then she held out her arms and held Celia hard and close.

  An hour later, Celia closed the front door, considering what her grandmother had said. Decided, too, that whenever she needed comforting, she would go to Grandma’s.

  She held the basket with care as she walked down the porch steps. Vanilla pudding had replaced the berries. It was still quite hot, but the basket made it easy to carry. Her brothers would crowd around her, if they were home, and she would be the center of attention. How she loved bearing gifts to her loved ones.

  Closing the white picket gate, a flash of scarlet winged over her path. A cardinal. Edward loved the color red and its many shades. She fancied he loved even the lightest pink because of her preference. The beautiful red of the cardinal struck a strange little chord in her. Was it a sign from heaven? She felt more lighthearted on the walk home.

  As she came into view of her own house, she saw her father rise from a porch chair. “Celia!” he called. “A letter!” He hurried down to meet her.

  They met at the end of the walk and he relieved her of the basket. “Mr. Lyons wrote me with a short note enclosed for you. Why don’t you sit on the porch and read it?”

  Edwar
d had never written her. She looked at her name on the folded manila paper. The script was an elegant, strong autograph, but looked as if written in a hurry. She sat with her father hovering nearby. He placed the basket on the porch floor.

  She opened the note.

  Dearest Celia,

  Recently, I came across this poem, one that should be set to music. The words express the song of my heart:

  “My faith has found a resting place—

  Not in device or creed:

  I trust the Everliving One—

  His wounds for me shall plead.

  I need no other argument,

  I need no other plea;

  It is enough that Jesus died,

  And that He died for me.”

  I plan to see you as soon as possible.

  Your own,

  Edward

  Tears sprang to her eyes. She cried, “Oh, Father!” and handed him the note.

  After reading he said, “He wrote me he would ordinarily await the favor of a reply, but finds he cannot wait that long. From the date in his communication to me, he will be here tomorrow. You better tell your mother.” He handed both notes to her.

  Celia took them and hastily opened the front door. “Mother!”

  29

  Celia arranged the large bouquet of orange lilies in the tall vase. Their glowing color would brighten the dark foyer, the flower offering meant to speak a warm welcome to Edward. Her heart sang with the anticipation of his arrival.

  Turning from the hall table where she placed the flowers, she ascended the stairs. Next, she would change into her white lawn dress. Mother was giving her the remainder of the morning to get ready. How would she arrange her hair? In a chignon, maybe, with a flower nestled at its side. White with just the faintest hint of pink in its throat.

  Standing in front of her dresser, she drew open the top drawer. Nestled in a corner, wrapped in a fine handkerchief, rested the ruby ring Edward had given her. Should she wear it? Her heart said, Yes! Her better sense said, Wait. She had shown the ring to her parents on first arriving then put it away. Her siblings didn’t even know of its existence.

  After the noon meal, she stood at the upstairs bedroom window keeping an eye out for the anticipated guest. Her father and her brother Joe would meet Edward at the station. What would they talk about on the walk to the house? The weather? That would be an appropriate topic since the air was balmy this late in the summer, a day surely meant for Edward and her. The graciousness of the Heavenly Father’s gift brought tears to her eyes.

  There, coming in sight down the road, the three of them walked with Edward in the middle. Her father was slender and her eldest brother looked a mere boy next to Edward. He walked with a vigor that threatened to outstrip the other two. Was he that eager to see her?

  The threesome turned into the front walk, her father now leading the way. She saw Edward glance up at the window where she was hiding. Had he glimpsed her? She felt her heart start to race.

  She could not miss his entrance. She hurried across the room, out to the hall and skimmed down the stairs. Just as she reached the bottom step, the front door opened. She stopped just there, eagerly seeking his large frame. His eyes searched for hers, speaking a silent endearment. Then he stepped forward, holding out his hands. “Hello, Celia.” He hadn’t waited for the lady’s customary first gesture.

  “Hello, Edward,” she answered softly. He pressed her hands, holding them long before releasing them.

  Her mother appeared from the back of the house. Apparently, she had waited, hidden, anticipating this moment as Celia had. “So good to see you again, Mr. Lyons.”

  Her glance now included both Mr. Lyons and her husband. “Would you gentlemen like some refreshment? I have tea, coffee, or lemonade. Mr. Lyons?”

  “Whatever the rest of you will be taking.” He was all affability, wanting to please rather than be pleased.

  Her father gestured him down the hall to his study. Last night, Father had made clear he would first speak to Edward alone. Before turning, Edward’s eye found Celia again. Her heart went down the hall with him and watched as he and Father entered the study.

  Celia and her brother followed Mother into the kitchen. “Since it’s a warm day, I think your father would like a cool drink, as would our guest.” Mother started pouring lemonade into the glasses. “I have enough for all the children. Would you take these glasses out to the back yard?” Her look indicated her son.

  “Would it be too much for me to bring the tray into the study?” Celia asked.

  Her mother looked at her fondly. “I know how much you’d like to, but under the circumstances, I think I should. Besides, I want to take the measure of their conversation—what I can hear of it—and I also think I will be less of a distraction.”

  Celia wanted so to be near Edward, to make him feel welcome and comfortable. An idea came to her. “Mother, may I first run to the garden and cut some flowers to arrange on the tray?” At her mother’s nod, she hastened outside with the cutting shears.

  What to choose? Something scarlet. She looked at the zinnias and quickly clipped three. Once inside, she cut the blossoms near the head and put all three in a small bowl of water. They filled it to its lip with a cheery splash of color.

  “That will look lovely against the light yellow of the lemonade, Celia. We’ll put it all on the black lacquered Chinese tray.” She added a plate of Grandmother’s cookies. “I’ve always been thankful to the Hodges for giving us this tray as a wedding present.”

  Celia held the kitchen door while her mother walked through with the refreshments.

  She was sitting at the table when her mother returned a few minutes later. “I think everything’s going well,” her mother volunteered. “Your father said for you to come to the study in half an hour.”

  Celia glanced at the clock.

  “Would you like some lemonade?” her mother asked.

  “Maybe a little. I don’t think I could eat anything.”

  Her mother smiled knowingly.

  As her mother poured the lemonade, Celia’s hand went to her pocket and fingered the ruby ring hidden there. She wondered if Edward would note the color she’d chosen for the tray’s flowers.

  The next half hour, Celia fiddled around the kitchen, helping her mother with dinner preparations as best she could. Finally, her mother laughed. “It would have been better to send you to your room to wait. You’ve just been getting in my way. Why don’t you get along to the study.”

  At Celia’s knock, her father opened the door and motioned her inside, saying succinctly, “I’ll be with your mother.”

  The door closed behind him. Her father was leaving them alone. This surprised her. Her eyes immediately sought Edward’s.

  He stood near her father’s desk. Though the study was softly lighted, his eyes shone with the intensity of his feeling. He strode across the room, stopped in front of her, watching her face. “Your father approves of me.”

  She held out her hands. He grasped them, kissing first one then the other. When his lips rested on her left hand, his eyes met hers, questioning.

  “Oh!” She withdrew her right hand and reached into her pocket, fumbling just a moment for the object at its bottom. Bringing forth the ruby ring, she said, “I would take this out every morning, look at it its scarlet flame in the sun, believing your love burned as bright for me.”

  He reached for the ring and gently slipped it on her finger. “Celia!” He drew her close, pressed his lips against her forehead. Holding her tight, he bowed his head and whispered words she had longed to hear. He told of his suffering after she’d left so summarily, of his determination to visit her father and talk about Christianity with as open a heart as he could muster. And his hope of seeing her somehow, some way.

  When he finished, they stood some moments, silent. Finally, Celia said, “I cannot tell you how it feels to be in agreement about spiritual matters. Tell me, how did it happen?”

  “Here, come to the wind
ow seat.” His hand slipped down to hold hers while he led her across the room. After seating himself beside her, he began, “The visit to your grandmother’s—she has a way about her.” He smiled. “When she spoke of God’s love—for me—I felt my interest quicken.”

  Celia’s eyes began to tear. “Grandmother!”

  “Yes, quite the lady. And you, too, my darling. Your careful explanations about God and then your father’s arguments cleared my spiritual pathway of years of debris. But I didn’t start walking down that path until your grandmother spoke of God’s love. She quoted Him saying: I have loved thee with an everlasting love. And then—Hereby perceive we the love of God, because He laid down His life for us. . . .

  His smile was warm and confident; it lighted his whole countenance. “Oh, the love of God! For each of us! It is deeper than the deepest ocean. But that realization didn’t crystallize till later.

  “When I returned home, I contemplated all this, trying to piece it together—when that dreadful fire of Mrs. Divers’s occurred. It was then I started reading the Bible. Reading it, I began to grasp how great, how monumental God’s redemptive plan was, spanning the ages. John in Revelation wrote it began from the foundation of the world.

  “Celia, I knew that I loved you, loved you deeply. To think that God loved me like that! Light started dawning in me. You spoke of your life changing. Now I know what you meant. My mind, my heart became light, light, light, mingled with the most glorious love.”

  He slipped to his knees. “My dear! How can I thank you for being who you are. It was you and my love for you that opened the way to this revelation.”

  He reached for her hands. “You know the rose that flourished outside the prison in The Scarlet Letter? I was a man, standing inside the penitentiary looking out through bars, my eyes fixed on a lovely rose. A rose that spoke of hope and loveliness. You were that to me.” He turned her hand over, touching his lips to her palm. Kissed it tenderly.