Catching the Rose

by Belinda Kroll

  Shrugging away from Amy’s embrace, Veronica finally acknowledged Brad’s tissue to wipe her tears as she murmured, “I’m sorry, Brad, I don’t mean to put you on guard.”

  Startled by Veronica’s quiet mentioning of his name, Brad struggled to hide his surprise from Amy’s keen gaze. It would not do, to have Amy attempt to match-make. Affixing a smile to his face, Brad murmured, “That’s quite all right. If you wish, I could escort you to your room.”

  “I’ll be restored presently,” she assured. “I own it to my weak upbringin’, Mr. Williams.”

  Catching the slight sarcastic inflection in Veronica’s tone, Amy tilted her head in the direction of the hall, and followed Brad out of the kitchen with an apologetic smile to Veronica. Firmly pulling the kitchen door shut behind her, Amy patiently watched Brad pace, surprised by his agitation as he growled, “She isn’t revealing something. Why does Miss Vernon mourn her father if she disliked him so?”

  Amy pondered this with a sigh, and finally answered, “You know, Brad, I don’t know. Ronnie even told me, back in Richmond, that I shouldn’t be surprised if she didn’t show signs of mournin’.” She paused as he frowned, clasping his hands behind him, and she couldn’t help but ask, “Shouldn’t we inquire after her?” and smiled as he jerked in her direction. It seemed as though Brad had already forgotten her presence. “I merely ask for Veronica’s sake,” she hastily explained as his eyes narrowed in his usual suspicion.

  “I can’t go in alone,” Brad replied.

  Veronica wiped her tears with finality, standing to blearily smile as Amy and Brad entered the kitchen after their brief tête-à-tête. It was quite odd, how Brad stared at her, and Veronica found his gaze almost too much to bear. “Mr. Williams, are you quite all right?”

  Brad picked up her handkerchief from the table, slowly turning it over in his hand as he mused, “You threw this. Shall I keep it for you until you have use of its services again?”

  A fast blush captured Veronica’s face as she reached for the handkerchief, shocked when Brad pulled away in a teasing fashion. “Give me my handkerchief, Mr. Williams,” she said, eyeing Amy in confusion.

  Amy shrugged: she did not know what had gotten into her cousin’s head.

  “I thought you didn’t want it,” Brad protested.

  “My handkerchief,” Veronica said, insistently holding her hand out. His hesitation made her frown, and it was all she could do not to stomp her foot and scream aloud.

  “If I think you deserve your handkerchief, Nettle, I will give it back to you.”

  Veronica’s eyes narrowed at the mentioning of that atrocious name, Nettle. “Will I get it back before I leave?”

  “Why, do you want me to keep it?” his tone was all astonishment, though Amy saw through the glint in Brad’s eye that he meant for the conversation to take such a turn. Her head cocked to the side as she began to inspect her cousin, who had never shown so much interest in one of her friends before. The evaluation was interrupted as blushing Veronica grabbed Amy’s arm and dragged her from the kitchen, muttering of insufferable Yankee men.

  Veronica was unaware Brad followed until he jumped before them, preventing access to the stairwell. “Nettle, take your handkerchief back. I merely teased,” he said, placing the little cloth in her hand with a smile.

  “I…well, thank you,” Veronica glanced at Amy in surprise, who exchanged a shrug.

  Rocking on his heels, Brad suddenly cleared his throat and stiffly bowed, the glint in his eye all the more brighter, Amy noted. “Miss Vernon, rest assured, I will not pester you anymore today,” he said. Saluting Amy, he turned to disappear up the stairs.

  “Your progress with my cousin is absolutely astounding, Ronnie. I believe he will be in love with you by the end of the week,” Amy observed with a bemused smile up the stairwell.

  * * * * *

  June, 1861

  Veronica leaned toward the bedside candle to see her journal. She tried to focus on the blank page, as she had for the past half hour. She couldn’t follow Brad’s reasoning for being so congenial. His touch had been much too gentle, Veronica decided, and wondered whether this had anything to do with Amy’s jest of his affinity.

  “June 15, ‘61

  “DIARY—I have been here but two days, and am in complete confusion. Brad Williams is polite only because he knows it is confusing when he teases two minutes later, and is kind only when the mood suits. And, I am afraid I enjoy his attentions in excess. How I could think of him in this fashion is quite beyond my existing mindset. It distracts me, but I fear there is nothing I currently can do about my escape from my marriage situation. I am determined to elude marriage to Bentley.

  “I can only hope I will meet a man who would pose as my fiancé, so that I will not be forced to marry Bentley by my ever-so-solicitous uncle. It was very generous of my uncle, I know, to strike this odd bargain. I am glad that I have been given the opportunity to find a replacement fiancé by the time I return home. I hope to find Jack to at least pose as my fiancé; he was such a good friend I don’t see how he could refuse me.”

  Veronica paused and sighed, the desperation of her situation becoming more and more prevalent as she wrote. Shaking her head, she roused herself to continue with the entry:

  “I know, now, that Momma doesn’t like Bentley. Never has and probably never will, I suppose. Perhaps I have wrongly judged her. Back in Richmond, Rhett promised to inquire after my Jack, or rather, Jonathan. Next I write I hope have greater clue as to his whereabouts. Or, I will at least have someone to help me escape Bentley.

  “And while I am here, I might as well unload a thought that settled heavily on my mind today: I admit, quite unwillingly, that Brad is insufferably handsome. I will have to constrain my reactions to his overwhelmingly attentive manner, for it is unthinkable that I be attracted to him. True, I feel as he does about my home society, but he speaks so arrogantly that I would rather spit in his eye than agree with him!”

  Washington was quite insane: or so Veronica thought. She heeded Brad’s strong suggestion that she remain indoors, considering her southern heritage and accent. For all Veronica knew, she was the sole purebred southerner left in Washington, and that hardly consoled her unease. Less than a mile away, Yankee soldiers camped in shantytowns, hastily thrown up in the midst of war. The unkempt capital decidedly displeased Veronica’s taste.

  And to add to the confusion, Veronica increasingly found herself in Brad’s company. Seated in the library, her spot of refuge, she desperately wanted to be alone. She glanced up from her needlepoint to find him staring, and couldn’t help but smile as his gaze flickered to his book.

  “I don’t need companionship, Mr. Williams. The knowledge in these books suits me just as well as your enlightened presence,” Veronica said, including the room in her needle’s flourish. Frowning when he showed no inclination to answer, she walked across the room and tapped his head with her thimble finger. “Mr. Williams?”

  Brad cleared his throat and turned the page, perusing the book with great speed. Veronica dropped to the lounge, watching him with a laughing eye though she carried the impression of annoyance. With a sigh, Veronica reasoned Brad to be fresh and mysterious, and she smiled for it seemed he quite unintentionally persuaded her to dismiss the fair-haired men she knew.

  Glancing into the mirror, Veronica was aghast to see her reflection boasted disarrayed hair and pale cheeks. She brushed unruly wisps into her bun and pinched her cheeks to retrieve their usual healthy glow, abruptly stopping when she caught Brad watching with undisguised admiration.

  “What has four eyes, but cannot see, Nettle?” he impulsively asked, turning another page in his book, looking bored out of his mind.

  “I’m sure I don’t know,” Veronica replied with a nervous laugh.

  “Mississippi. They have four eyes, but cannot see.”

  “See what, pray tell?”

  “The injustice of slavery.”

  “You say such things as though they are fun
ny,” Veronica replied, snapping her needle.

  “Whoever said I was trying to entertain you, little Nettle?” The room went silent as Brad returned to his book, pleased with his attempt at conversation, unaware that Veronica thoughtfully watched him skip pages until she finally stowed her needlepoint away.

  “May I repeat, Mr. Williams, that I do not need your companionship?” she said.

  “Ah, yes. You seem so thoroughly engrossed in your current occupation of…staring into the mirror. Perhaps I should leave you to your business,” Brad commented, his brow arching. “Shall I call upon you in an hour to inspect your progress?”

  Veronica couldn’t help but smile at his ridiculousness as she sat beside him, pushing his shoulder in response. She sat in the anticipation that Brad would comment on her willingness to sit so close, though she didn’t need companionship. Disappointed when she was ignored, Veronica turned to watch the window in a daze.

  “You do that so often, Miss Vernon. What makes you stare so?”

  Deciding not to respond, Veronica impulsively stood from the chaise and moved to the window, clasping her hands behind her back. With a frown, she felt her stomach contract. When last had she eaten?

  Hesitating, Brad placed his book on the table. “I know you don’t need companionship, Miss Vernon. I just feel your recent deficiency of sleep, appetite, and interest in life is becoming a dangerous high.”

  “Since when did you worry over me, Mr. Williams?”

  “I thought perhaps your disillusion was my fault…I did treat you like a bear that first day. I harshly tested your mental strength and put you to ridicule in front of Amy.”

  Veronica blinked as her stomach contracted yet again, and she tried to ignore the amused expression Brad’s face currently carried. “It is kind of you to worry about me, though you don’t have to. I’m just a little tired, is all.” As she turned in irritation, a section of her hair fell. Veronica paused as her hair fell from her bun. Lack of interest, did he say? Closing her eyes against her rising hysteria, she whipped around to face Brad and snap, “And what are you starin’ at?”

  “Your hair has fallen, Miss Vernon.”

  “So, you noticed,” she glowered.

  “I suppose you know it isn’t proper for a woman to wear her hair down before a man, because it signals she wants marriage,” Brad continued, deftly flaunting the situation as he rocked on his heels. She really was too intriguing. He had never met a woman so willing to maintain a sense of dignity and temper even while she blatantly disregarded such strict rules of etiquette. Brad decided he liked Veronica all the more for it.

  Veronica knew etiquette probably twice as well as Brad claimed. Sometimes he was so abominably unfair. She grabbed at the windowsill with an obvious effort, her lack of nourishment making her head spin with the effort to stand still. “Mr. Williams, I would like to hand you a proposition,” Veronica managed, clutching her waist. “If you would get me somethin’ to drink, or some food? If you would be so kind, I promise I will no longer ignore your presence. I…if I don’t eat somethin’, I think I’m goin’ to die.”

  Brad guided Veronica to the sofa with friendly kindness, and, once sure she was comfortable, left on a rampage for food. He returned with milk and a plate of cold cuts and bread, noticing with a smile that her hair was pulled back in his favorite style. Triumphantly sitting beside Veronica, Brad said, “Eat up, you need it. You’re nowhere near the weight you were when you came here.”

  “What do you mean?” Veronica demanded, immediately wishing she hadn’t spoken, for Brad lost his endearing smile. Wishing to make amends, she rushed, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. I have an awful habit of bein’ pessimistic, you know.” Veronica sipped at the milk as Brad handed her a piece of bread. “You know, you remind me of a childhood friend,” Veronica said, watching his hair fall before his eyes.

  “Really?” he asked, only partially interested. Spying an edge of her needlepoint from its bag, Brad realized the project was of a plantation mansion, which looked abominably familiar. Shrugging, he reasoned the plantation was a rendering of Veronica’s home as she nodded and proceeded to say: “He, my friend, was kinder than my father, and stronger than my mother.”

  “What happened?” he asked.

  “He moved,” Veronica said off-hand, shrugging off harbored feelings of betrayal. Knowing Brad’s curiosity rose, she dodged his eye to prevent further questioning, only to notice Madge stood, glaring, in the library doorway. “Rachel!” she cried, jumping to her feet, spilling the plate of meat and nearly her milk.

  Considering the last conversation between Veronica and Madge had ended in a resentful stalemate, Brad was quite ready to see them spar again. Evidently, Veronica had noticed Madge’s jealous tendencies, which therefore explained the fact that she jumped away, unusually distressed. Brad smiled at his sister from behind Veronica at Madge.

  Madge hesitated, unsure who she would derive more pleasure of preaching to.

  “Come, Sister, sit beside me and feast.”

  “Don’t mock me, Brother. You’re a Yankee, she a traitor! Surely you have not forgotten the willfulness of the south. I am sure you have not for only yesterday you preached me. Is there some excuse why Miss Vernon has not been preached to?” Madge glared at Veronica, who retreated to the windowsill. “How is it that you pay more attention to her than me, Brad?”

  Jumping from his seat, Brad startled Veronica with his speed. “A word, please?” he muttered, grabbing his sister’s arm, ignoring her whimpers as he dragged her across the library to the parlor. “We’ll be a moment, Miss Vernon,” Brad managed, vacating the room with a definite slam of the doors.

  Veronica turned watch a bird hunt a worm through the library window. The bird reached forward, its body streamlined, beak open in anticipation. The worm wriggled in the mouth of the bird, struggling from impending doom. Sweat from the humid afternoon beaded on Veronica’s forehead. Horrid corset.

  Gasping for air, Veronica stumbled from the house, clutching her bodice. She did not understand this sudden discomfort, and focused on the house to achieve calm. Though she loved her plantation, Veronica found this Yankee house, lacking the stodgy southern customs, offered previously unknown warmth. Carefully tucked in South Carolinian meadows and cotton fields, her home exhibited a kindness her family had never learned to demonstrate to one another.

  Veronica never liked thinking about home, for that meant thinking about her father and fiancé. Now calm, she wandered back to the library and stared into the mirror. A pale, thin little thing, Veronica wondered what made Bentley so obsessed. Her brown eyes were much too large, her nose too exact, and her mouth too eager to speak. Her hair, prided by her mother, currently seemed lackluster. Veronica knelt to pick up the meat, thinking, wouldn’t Brad be amused, to see her cleaning after herself?

  Brad opened the door, ushering his sister through. “Madge would like to apologize.”

  Veronica’s brow arched as Madge grudgingly stepped forward to grudgingly say, “I’ve been…extremely jealous of my brother’s attention. I find it baffling that he finds your company more amiable than mine, and I…apologize for my rude behavior.”

  “I don’t know why he follows me, Miss Williams. My word! —He is in trouble accordin’ to your insight. Your poor brother’s bein’ seduced by a rebel.” Veronica clasped her hands and dramatically paced the room. “Please. If I happened to be on the make with Brad, he’d do what I wanted. Ain’t that right…sugar?”

  Brad smiled as Veronica slipped her hand through his and leaned against his shoulder. She certainly wanted to aggravate Madge. “I suppose so,” he conceded, pulling her close.

  “Brad, you can’t mean that,” Madge gasped.

  “I couldn’t possibly resist such temptation,” Brad chuckled, finally breaking gaze with Veronica to acknowledge his enraged sister. “Madge, we only tease. You excite too quickly.”

  “Who said I was teasin’?” Veronica quipped, turning to pick up the meat plate. “
Hungry, Madge?”

  Madge bit her lip to prevent saying something she yet again would be pulled from the room by Brad for, though she did say, “No, thank you, Miss Vernon. I do not need my brother to scrounge for food.” Grumbling, she left, her rustling skirts accenting her anger.

  Veronica set the plate down, glancing at Brad with a smile as he said, “That was quite a performance,” and sat down. Hesitating when Brad patted the seat beside him, she complied and explained, “I felt it high time I lived up to my nettle-like qualities.” Grabbing a piece of meat, she laughed at Brad’s tendency to study her as though she was something interesting.

  * * * * *

  July, 1861

  As the weeks progressed into a month, Veronica picked up rumors of General Jackson as a threat to Washington’s safety. Ever since the Fourth of July celebrations and parade, the city’s excitement was quite contagious—even for a southerner like Veronica. And the July 16 arrival of Union Major General McClellan with a captured rebel flag almost rallied her belief in the Confederacy (Garrison).

  News of Union troops planning to launch an attack on Manassas Junction not only sparked an interest in Veronica and Amy, but in most of Washington. Hence Amy was hardly surprised to hear carriages en route to battle at the early hour of five.

  Veronica yawned as she sneaked down the staircase with Amy, who held Mrs. Beaumont’s basket in one hand and her shoes in the other.

  Amy shook her head—the signal that someone was awake to sound the alarm of their illegal absence. “I can’t believe I’m doin’ this.”

  “What?” Veronica hissed, peeking around her shoulder, her shoes inadvertently knocking Amy’s head. “Someone is up?”

  “I said I can’t believe I’m doin’ this,” Amy said, inspecting the dimly lit kitchen.