Catching the Rose

by Belinda Kroll

She cringed. “No, I…surprisingly, I am not repulsed.”

  “I said repelled. I am repulsive, then?”

  “You are nothin’ compared to Bentley.”

  “I will explain to your mother that you wish to follow your father’s plan accordingly.” Brad swiveled from his spot as though duty bound.

  Veronica grabbed his arm in alarm. Surely he jested! Gasping as he towered over her, she resisted the insane urge to kiss him. What a moment to think such a thing. “What are you…!” she blushed as she was very simply kissed.

  Brad released her as hastily as he claimed her, sheepishly brushing back his hair. Veronica was determined not to reveal he was her first kiss, horrible man. If not for Bentley, she would be expected to marry him. “You are most intrepid.”

  “Only as intrepid as a friend is expected to be.”

  “Yes, a true friend would be comfortable bein’ so bold.” She stepped back, horrified that a blush rose. She sat on the gazebo seat, feeling for her nonexistent journal.

  “What should I tell your mother?”

  “Oh, heavens. I don’t know, Brad. You deserve to be a part of our family. You know us too thoroughly not to be. But I cannot accept this mode of proposal. Surely you understand,” she stammered, watching as he bowed with a frown and left. The bitterness quickly set in, and Veronica wondered why she had refused.

  “Quite a gallant man, Ronnie,” an unwelcome voice observed.

  “Yes, quite,”—she tightened her grip on the seat edge—“more so than you, Uncle.”

  “Pledgin’ to save you. How heroic! But, he doesn’t know why you must marry Bentley.”

  “What do you mean?” Veronica asked, keeping her back to her uncle.

  “Haven’t you ever wondered about his heritage? That’s funny…I have. I found some of the most interestin’ things about him in here,” Uncle said, flourishing a black book.

  “You read my diary!”

  Uncle flipped through to read, “‘Brad is so insufferably handsome.’ Bold words, Ronnie.”

  “Don’t call me that.”

  “Did you realize Mister Williams is a Yank? You must have. It’s right here on page…”

  “Uncle!”

  “And that means his sister and cousin are yanks too. And if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were in love with this Yankee beast.”

  “I—that is ridiculous. You don’t know any better if you’re makin’ a claim like that.” Veronica stammered, insulted that everyone seemed to assume such an untruth.

  “And yet how betrayed you felt when he revealed his ruse as beloved Jack. You never cared half so much when you realized I hid your letters from your momma.”

  “I expect you to have no morals.”

  Uncle threw the book at Veronica’s head, missing as she nimbly ducked. “I do not think you understand what I am sayin’. I have been inspectin’ Bentley’s house: quite a nice establishment. If you do not marry him, I will reveal your Yanks to the sheriff. You want to save them, don’t you? See, that’s what Bentley loves about you. You’re so kind and carin’.”

  Veronica turned to leave, swishing her skirts with an undisclosed glare. She stood firm as he stepped forward, his arm ready to slap her for insolence. “I am ready, Uncle. You may strike.”

  He glared at her, unwilling to reveal his surprise that she be so strong and willing to stand his punishment. Raising his hand higher, he smiled when her gaze flinched. “Three weeks. You have three weeks to think about it, Ronnie.”

  After leaving to toss through the night, Veronica awoke early to reclaim her journal from the gazebo and sit in the library, shaking her head over trivial old entries. Unaware Brad watched from the hall, she slammed the book shut, declaring she would no longer write.

  Deciding he would ask whether anything had happened after he left, Brad frowned at the sight of her tears. Certainly, nothing he said the night before had caused them.

  “Good morning, Miss Nettle, where is Uncle Matt-rat today?” he asked, entering the room with a decidedly cheerful stride.

  “With Bentley. He’s always with Bentley.” She glanced out the window to see the indistinct figures of her uncle and ex-fiancé walk the grounds.

  “And that doesn’t bother you?”

  “When they are together, I am not needed. I would rather have them together than me with one of them.” Veronica avoided his gaze, uncomfortable with how piercing it seemed in the morning. Brad was becoming rather like Bentley, never knowing when to let things be.

  “Fair enough.” He paused, burning to question whether she changed her mind.

  “Three weeks, Mr. Williams.”

  “Pardon?”

  “My answer, my final answer, will be given in three weeks. My uncle has declared it to be so, and I felt it only right to inform you.”

  The soft edge in her voice was confusing, and Brad could not make heads or tails of it. She had rejected him, and yet it seemed his offer was still an option. “Very well,” he snapped, waving her off as he rose. “No need to see me to the door, Miss Vernon, I can see myself out.”

  Bewildered by his sudden temper, Veronica wondered whether she was entirely sensible as her mother suddenly entered.

  “Ronnie, what is this I hear that you have rejected Brad?”

  “Momma, please. I have a headache.”

  “And no wonder, dear. Why would you choose Bentley over a delightful creature like Brad? I do not understand it.”

  Veronica caught a laugh. “Since when has Brad ever been a delightful creature?” she threw her hand up in immediate silence. “No matter, I don’t want to hear it. I have three weeks, three weeks to decide. Uncle had proclaimed it. Though he knows my answer anyway. Momma, I can’t stay here much longer. What can I do, to avoid Brad and Bentley?”

  Bella frowned in thought. “You have always had a better hand at managin’ this place than me. Perhaps it would do you a bit of good to take over what should have been my duties. It is a time consumin’ job, and your uncle could hardly protest, as it is a knowledge all women should know before marryin’.”

  “Yes…yes, I will. Thank you, Momma.” Veronica pecked her mother’s check with a kiss, rushing from the room to dress in more appropriate clothing. She shouldered the responsibilities with a cheerfulness that confused the Yankees. Veronica left her flounced gowns in the bedroom with her silks, preferring a large apron and everyday calico. She even dismissed Nan to her mother, feeling Nan was only needed to lace her hoopskirt and corset.

  Every morning, Veronica awoke at daybreak to plan the day with Maum Ruby. The first week, her dependence on Maum Ruby was embarrassing—but as Veronica had never thought of her plantation as a large farm, it had taken that week to understand everything. In the process of learning the importance of field hands and blacksmiths, Veronica reclaimed her post as slave doctor in the dark of night, aiding in two childbirths, though she was untrained.

  Somehow, Veronica managed to stay occupied enough to only be available at meals and that half hour before bed. Awakening at daybreak was something she was proud of, and made her feel all the more independent. On one such morning, as she struggled to carry water accompanied by Nan with her own bucket, a shadow crossed Veronica’s path and grabbed the heavy pail from her white-knuckled hands.

  “Nettle, what has gotten into you?” Brad hastened to match her irritated stride.

  “Momma sees nothin’ wrong with me learnin’ how to run a plantation—not that she does it anyway.” She averted her gaze, afraid to look into his questioning eyes. “I never understood why she preferred to act as though in a consumption. It’s such a shock, you know, convertin’ from pampered belle to plantation mistress. So many things and people to take care of.”

  Brad set the bucket down to grab Veronica’s shoulders. “You decided, then.”

  “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” she nervously laughed, attempting to pull away.

  “I’m sure you do. Your Uncle Matt-rat has looked so smug since the moment you aw
oke with this chip on your shoulder, determined not to look in my or Bentley’s direction. What are you trying to prove?”

  “I am determined not to be the insipid southern wife whose sole concern is her children and husband. At least you can put country ahead of such domestic affairs. If I marry Bentley—if, mind you—I will be isolated to tend his house and…God-forbid…children.”

  Here she paused to blush, dropping her gaze. “If I marry you, I will be disinherited and disowned. No longer a Vernon. I will be blotted from the family Bible. It will be like I never existed. I won’t be able to visit Schönheitstal, nor my mother.”

  Brad bit back his reply as she continued, “At least if I marry Bentley, the first year we live in town I can ride out to Schönheitstal and see Momma.”

  “And that balances the cruelty you are sure to bear as Bentley’s wife?” Brad’s grip on her shoulders tightened. “Veronica, listen to you…”

  “I have. For two weeks I’ve given up every comfort to get the plantation into workin’ order. And every moment I didn’t focus, my thoughts strayed. You don’t understand my turmoil. Now let me be—we’re wastin’ precious cookin’ time. I have yet to get this water in, and the coffee won’t be warmed without it.”

  Brad brushed a rebellious curl from Veronica’s forehead. “In the meantime, try not to kill yourself as you restore the plantation.” Seeing her smile, he released his hold. Picking up the bucket, he was suddenly conscious that Nan had gone and come back with a second pail of water. “What are we having for breakfast?”

  Veronica laughed, swatting his arm as she shook her head.

  * * * * *

  December, 1861

  The third week, Uncle Matt-rat forbade Veronica from aiding in the plantation affairs, claiming no man wanted a woman who could think so independently. Of course, this only afforded more time for Bentley and Brad to harass her. Though, Brad had been quite inattentive, of late, and acted as though her mere presence made the air taste foul.

  After an intensely silent evening in the library, Veronica felt the pain of rejection far worse than Brad, for she realized she was not accustomed to it. Not from him. Quite bewildered as everyone departed for bed, she waited until the hall was emptied of everyone but herself and Brad. They maintained eyesight long enough for her to blush, which immediately paled as he turned away with a finality that chilled.

  “Brad—” She rushed forward to catch his sleeve. He stopped, turning to face her as she frantically realized she had not considered him stopping. First and foremost in Veronica’s mind had been what to do when Brad ignored the plea in her voice.

  “What?”

  Veronica vaguely realized the bulk of his arm through his sleeve. He could easily throw her across the hall. “I’m sorry,” she stammered, hating the blush that defiantly rose.

  He gazed at her with a bemused smile, and the look in his eye almost caused Veronica to lose her resolve. “For what, Nettle?”

  “For whatever I have done that upsets you.”

  “What makes you think I’m upset?”

  “You won’t look at me. You won’t speak to me. For a while there, I was practically Madge to you, and now I’m…a mere hostess to a houseguest,” Veronica lamely concluded, her shoulders slumping in resentful hopelessness. Brad had been her greatest advocate, until this marriage affair. Why couldn’t life go as planned?

  “I thought it to be for the best that I remove my affinity for you. You are to be married.”

  “You have no idea what torture you sentence me to when you speak such words.”

  “Well, it’s probably a little less than what I feel,” Brad hissed, jerking his arm from her soft grip. He had done very well, the past week, avoiding Veronica’s notice. This sudden tête-à-tête had the prospect of ruining everything.

  “There are no options, and we cannot escape. Do you not understand?”

  “You still have my offer, Nettle. It still stands. I don’t understand your hesitation.”

  “You do not know what my uncle threatens.” Veronica narrowed her eyes to hide her sudden tears. Pathetic emotions.

  “Uncle Matt-rat? What could he possibly threaten you with?”

  “I do not wish to speak of it. I only wanted to apologize. It seems everyone but me knows I am to marry Bentley, so I suppose it makes no difference in tryin’ to explain. Goodnight, Mr. Williams,” she snapped, slamming her door as the look on his face firmed her resolve. Knowing she would forever rue the day, Veronica sought her uncle the following morning to submit to his idea of marriage to Bentley. Immediately after, she found the entire house rejected her society. Nan and Bella alone consoled, for they knew the reason of her acquiescence.

  Madge, though jealous of Brad’s attention, knew Veronica lost much by agreeing to marry Bentley—and by accepting Bentley, she rejected Brad. No one was entitled to reject Brad. Amy could not understand it. After railing so long against Bentley, why would Veronica suddenly decide to marry him, unless she was the vindictive girl Madge first thought? And Brad! He totally ignored Veronica. If Veronica was in the room, he was not. He had to discover what Veronica’s uncle threatened her with—for obviously, that was the only reason why she accepted Bentley. There was no other explanation. He sourly walked to the library and shut the door, depending on the current aura of unsociability to avert disturbance of his isolation.

  Desperate and with no one to run to for comfort, Veronica stumbled into the library to escape Bentley’s attentions, slamming the door.

  “I would appreciate it if you didn’t do that again, Nettle.”

  Veronica jumped. “I thought I was alone.”

  “As did I. It seems we are both wrong.”

  With a light smile, Veronica locked the door so Bentley couldn’t get in and said, “I have not seen you since—” She paused, realizing he avoided her as Amy and Madge did. Surely, he was not so petty. Veronica could feel Brad wanted to be more than friends. His gaze would not make her blush if it were not so. “How have you been?”

  “Tolerable. Just tolerable,” he replied, ignoring how Veronica blinked in surprise. Perhaps the humidity affected him more than he admitted, she thought as he said, “What is it you want, Nettle?”

  “You sit so solemnly; you’re obviously upset. What are you thinkin’ about?”

  “Absolutely nothing.”

  “I didn’t mean to upset you.” She awkwardly stood before him, knowing if she left, Bentley would find her. But it was obvious her company was not wanted here. She watched Brad as he moped, noticing his hair was darker than his brows as he snapped, “What do you want, Nettle!”

  “Nothin’. I do not want anythin’.”

  “Well, stop staring at me.”

  “I’m sorry—” Veronica paused, anger fueling her confusion.

  “You are not sorry.”

  “Yes, I am. What do you know of what I think?”

  “I know enough.” Veronica sighed, not knowing how to respond as he snapped, “Stop staring at me!”

  “Am I botherin’ you? Do you want me to go?” she demanded, stomping her foot. He glared at her hem and resolutely clamped his mouth. “I’ll go if you want me to,” Veronica said, shaking her head as he refused to answer. “Fine, then. I’m goin’. Don’t lock the door behind me…I’ll make sure no one bothers you.” Her skirts whipped her legs as she stormed to the door. Reaching for the knob, Veronica jumped as Brad’s hand closed around hers. The carpet had concealed his flight. “What do you want?” she mimicked his previous tone. Brad shook his head, as though he knew that’s not what she meant to say. Her irritation grew as she realized he was right. “Do you wish me to leave or not?”

  “Veronica, don’t make this harder than…”

  “I don’t suppose it could be harder than realizin’ you have to marry a man you would hang for simply tryin’ to breathe,” Veronica muttered.

  “Stop interrupting and let me say my piece, Nick,” Brad raked his fingers through his hair as though he could push his concerns awa
y. Her shock made him flinch, and he wondered what had caused such a reaction.

  The sudden tears that sprung to Veronica’s eyes stung. Their presence caused an invasion of sobs, and she found herself hating her weak emotions more than Brad. The name had slipped from his lips, of that Veronica was sure. She felt as though she was crumbling apart, like brittle bread: hard, unfeeling and delicate to touch. How she resented his concerned gaze!

  “Veronica, what is wrong?”

  Her hand moved before she could think of moving it. With a cry of rage, Veronica slapped Brad. The shock of her hand making contact with his face reverberated through her body. Recoiling against the door, Veronica wished she had not locked the door. The library was no longer a safe haven. With an inward laugh, she decided Brad’s expression would have been frightening, had she not been quite so mad. “Only one person called me Nick and you’re not him,” she whispered, gasping as Brad grabbed her arms and furiously shook her.

  “How dare you speak to me in such a manner? This entire ruse to escape your fiancé has nauseated me to this, Nick,” Brad shouted, realizing the strength of his grip through the flinches that constricted Veronica’s face.

  “Stop callin’ me that,” she cried, clawing at his grip.

  “Veronica, I am Jonathan.”

  “You are not,” she retorted, attempting to pull away as Brad jerked her close to glare into her eyes. Veronica could not bear to look in his eyes: they told the truth when she did not want to hear it.

  “I knew it at the party, when you spoke of Schönheitstal, your parents, Maum Ruby and Sukie and Bentley,” Brad continued, his spiel becoming quick and earnest. He had to make her understand! This piece of information, Brad knew, would change everything.

  Veronica risked seeming foolish as she repeated herself.

  “Oh, please. You have known it from the uptake, Nettle. I am Jack, now get over the shock and begin to scream or something,” Brad said, dropping his grip as her air crumpled.

  “You couldn’t possibly have known I called him Jack, had you not been Jack.” It was too horrible to comprehend, and yet it made entire sense. The portrait she drew before meeting Brad and the fact that the portrait was a perfect rendition; the confusing chemistry; Amy’s distress that they fought. Amy, surely, knew that Brad was in actuality Jonathan…Jack. Oh, how Veronica hated them for keeping such a secret!