Catching the Rose

by Belinda Kroll

  And yet, Veronica could not really blame Amy and her cousin, for her demeanor towards Brad had been anything but inviting from the day they had met. When did Brad say he knew the truth? That party at Mrs. Beaumont’s? Perhaps Veronica had known the truth then, as well. She had to admit the thought had crossed too many times to properly discount it.

  How aggravating, to be right.

  “This is why you must believe that I am he. I would not have known you called me Jack had I not been Jack …I have not changed so much in appearance, Veronica, to make this seem entirely impossible.” The frown on Veronica’s face made him smile, as Brad realized he made sense. “Do you understand my reasoning for even admitting as much? You don’t have to marry Bentley. You found me…Jack. Your fake fiancé to replace Bentley.”

  Veronica shook her head, hugging her arms as the blood commenced its flow. She couldn’t help but think his violent grip on her arms had not been necessary. “My uncle.”

  “Ah, yes. What has Uncle Matt-rat threatened you with?” Brad sighed, aggravated when Veronica replied with great precision, as though afraid he would not understand: “I only agreed to marry Bentley because Uncle revealed he knew you, and Madge, and Amy were Yankees. I’m marryin’ Bentley to protect you.”

  Veronica felt caged against the door as Brad paced before her, and she cried, “Would you kindly stop? I am becomin’ dizzy.”

  “What are we going to do?”

  “The safe thing: you’re never comin’ back and you’re never causin’ trouble. It’s the only way, Brad…Jack…what do I call you?”

  “I don’t care, just so long as you’re talking to me,” Brad smiled, relieved she took his news so well. Perhaps she would call off the wedding!

  “Bentley, as my fiancé, will determine whether I speak to you or not,” Veronica replied, spinning to open the door. “And don’t follow me. I am not in the mood to be followed.”

  Brad watched her walk to the gazebo in the dimming light. If only he had an excuse to follow. Veronica deserved an apology, though she had been rather discriminating by keeping her uncle’s blackmail a secret.

  “Why don’t you follow her, dear?” Bella asked, appearing beside him. “It is all right, if my husband—notorious Uncle Matt-rat—finds you. I will explain I sent you out for fear she would not come in at a logical hour.”

  “What do you think of this business, Mrs. Vernon?”

  Bella shrugged, her displeasure ill-masked. “I cannot change her mind. I never have been able to. And you cannot stop her, either. Her mind is made. But I cannot comfort her, either. Please, go. She will resent my presence.”

  He strained to see what Veronica did, blinking as she fell to the bench, burying her face in her hands. “Keep watch,” he murmured.

  Bella smiled, happily sitting in the library with no such thought in mind.

  “Nettle, what are you doing in the dark?”

  Veronica jumped from her seat, whipping out her handkerchief.

  “I don’t suppose you’re crying because I have not left yet—ah, you are? What a cruel thing. Well, be glad of this: I will be gone soon; you will be married and will have fulfilled your duty to your name and family. All will be well,” Brad smiled, rocking on his heels.

  “I will not sit here and listen to your preachin’ of my duty to my name and family. You left the day of my father’s funeral. You left me with Bentley. I cannot forgive you for that.”

  Brad paused, feeling the mood of the gazebo much too serious. He almost resented the fact he had admitted to being Jack. “I’m sorry. I have been very selfish these days, and I apologize. I would offer a kiss in reconciliation, but as I was slapped the last time I tried.”

  Glaring through her tears, Veronica left Brad in the gazebo. For once, she had managed to contain her emotions. What a small victory, that was. Setting her shoulders, she stiffly walked to the library where she rightly assumed she would find her mother.

  “Ronnie, dear, he loves you,” Bella murmured as Veronica sat across the room.

  Veronica laughed, tucking her handkerchief beneath her embroidery. She waited until the slave had finished lighting the candles before answering. “Bentley? Good lord, Momma, don’t remind me.”

  “No…Brad.”

  “Don’t be absurd.” This was hardly the time to speak of such things. Not with the wedding two days away.

  “His easy manners appear only in your presence, and he will not watch me so ardently. Quite insultin’, knowin’ I don’t make men’s heads turn.

  “He would not have lied to me, or taken advantage of my naïveté. Or ignored me when he heard I accepted Bentley. He never asked me why. He just accused me and hurt me.”

  “Those are matters of pride, not heart. What does your heart say?”

  “Oh please, Momma, I needn’t hear such idiotic phrases come from your mouth. And it doesn’t seem to matter, anyway, I don’t think,” Veronica murmured, fidgeting beneath her needlepoint.

  “It matters a great deal more than you admit to knowin’.”

  Veronica threw aside her needlepoint, jumping to her feet. Clasping her hands behind her, she grudgingly replied, “I certainly care for him more than I ought. But I’m marryin’ Bentley.”

  “Never did care for that boy—much preferred Jonathan. He had lovely parents. Pity he had to leave. Our Brad quite reminds me of him,” Bella mused, lackadaisically fanning herself.

  Veronica turned away with a frown. It was too late to be thinking such things.

  * * * * *

  The wedding was uneventful in that Brad made no objections as he stood as Bentley’s best man. Amy and Madge, Veronica’s maids of honor, solemnly watched as she voiced her vows while never once looking at her groom.

  Veronica’s composure astonished the Yankee’s, though she silently cried as she walked the aisle amid whispers that she “made such a beautiful bride.” Her vows were steady and serene, though her nose was red and her eyes overwhelmed.

  She didn’t permit herself to look at Brad, not even when he came forward to kiss the new bride. Veronica’s one display of desperation emerged when she clung to his hand, fervently swearing she would get him away and safe, that he need not worry about her.

  “Frankly Mrs. Stratford, you make worrying fun. You never get into such trouble that would really hurt anyone.” He kissed her cheek again, conscious Bentley watched across the room. “I will not leave until I am sure I don’t need to worry about you. Your mother has invited us to stay indefinitely.”

  A bleak smile stumbled across her face as she gripped his hand. “I am glad. She loves you like no other, I am sure. You make her happy and content and I wouldn’t have her any other way—visit me,” Veronica frowned as Bentley decided the tête-à-tête long enough.

  “You’ve made a fine catch, old boy!” Brad said.

  “I know. I once thought she favored you, or perhaps that you was wooin’ her. Lucky for me that my instincts are often wrong.” Bentley slid his arm around Veronica’s waist.

  “We have guests,” she murmured, absently searching the room.

  “I told you to call me Leigh.” Sharply laughing, Bentley turned to Brad with a wink. “My wife, the social butterfly.”

  “More like social nettle,” Veronica murmured, ignoring their wildly different reactions. To think the upcoming month would be spent with Bentley as they settled their new house. She fumbled for her handkerchief as she numbly followed her husband.

  A soft touch on Brad’s arm woke him from his reverie as he watched Veronica and Bentley circle their guests. He glanced down at Amy with gritted teeth as she murmured, “Cousin, what are we to do now?”

  “I’ll have to challenge him. It’s the only way to rid Veronica of his presence.” He hardly noticed her alarmed reaction, as she had meant when they were to leave—not when they were to save Veronica from a fate she chose. Evidently, there was something Amy did not know of the matter.

  * * * * *

  February, 1862

  As Ve
ronica watched Brad and Amy converse with an ease that admitted their intimacy, she found with carefully concealed surprise that envy gained a healthy grip. How she longed for the open gaze of appreciation and love they shared. In fact, if she weren’t so certain of Amy’s standpoint, Veronica would have suspected her in love with Brad.

  Two months of imagined laughter and conversations, and all Veronica could do was sit quite dumbly, waiting for her visit to be over. She had never felt so miserable.

  “Why do you sit so solemnly, Ronnie?” Amy asked, doing so more for Brad’s ease than her own. She had reconciled herself to Veronica’s sudden bouts of somber silence, but she could sense Brad’s concern through his stumbling banter.

  Veronica visibly shook herself free of her thoughts with a quick, tight smile. “I was thinkin’ how nice it would be to have someone to do that with.”

  “Do what, Nettle?” Brad was gratified by her smile. Evidently, she missed their diatribes as well. He waited as she gingerly twirled her spoon in her weak coffee.

  “Enjoy pleasant smiles. Sit close and absorb each other’s joy without shame.”

  “And your husband does not offer this? I am surprised: he seemed quite attentive before the marriage,” Amy mused, filling Brad’s cup. Noticing Veronica’s to be untouched, she set down the pot. “You are not happy, then.”

  “How could she be happy? She sacrificed her happiness for us,” Brad said.

  “You are still bitter, then, though it has been two months,” Veronica whispered, willing him to look at her. “Do not forget, I did it willingly.”

  “My eye!”

  “It was my choice,” she said, sounding as though she meant to also convince herself.

  “How does married life suit you?” her mother asked, finally joining the conversation.

  Veronica sighed. She would have to leave soon, to prevent Bentley’s suspicious nature from imagining the worst. “Very ill.”

  “Bentley is not attentive?” Bella pressed.

  Veronica’s gaze gloss over as she straightened her posture and placed her hands in her lap. “I am not to speak of politics. I am not to leave the house without my husband’s permission. Nor am I to begin conversations with men, or end them. I am allowed to visit home only with good reason. I am never to speak to…Mr. Williams again.” Veronica paused, dropping her gaze to her lap in shame. “His sister and cousin are sinful and will get their comeuppance. I am to serve and obey—retortin’ is sinful. I am to be simple and beautiful, and simper in the presence of…my husband’s peers. Most of all, I am to allow no one to think there is unrest in our ‘home.’ Should I continue?”

  “He means to kill you,” Bella sighed.

  “Why did you not do as your mother suggested and pose as my fiancée?” Brad asked.

  “It wasn’t right,” Veronica said, staring at her clenched fists. “It was selfish of me to bring you into danger, and it was my responsibility to get you out. You were threatened, and it was only right that I save you from that threat.”

  “As noble as that was, it was not right of us to allow you to do so.” Amy reached for her hand and gripped it tightly.

  Veronica laughed, the first since her marriage. “Yes, it was undoubtedly surprisin’ to know the flighty girl had a brain, then a heart, then a conscience, and finally a sense of what is just. I do delight in confusion.”

  “You never confused me,” Brad argued, his tone low.

  “Didn’t I? What of when I put on airs to spite you and Amy? Surely you do not think my skills of observation have gone so lack to miss your cold eyes and square shoulders,” Veronica mildly snapped, primly smoothing her fashionable skirts. Bentley did so love to spend her money.

  Brad glared at Amy as she choked on her sip of coffee. His countenance sunk as he grumbled, “That is beside the point.”

  “The way you two argue! Ronnie, where did you learn such boldness?” Bella gasped.

  “From Jack,” Veronica smiled, catching the glance Amy threw to Brad.

  “Wonderful boy,” Bella declared. “He was handsome, and kept you out of my hair.”

  “Momma!”

  “Brad, you quite remind me of dear Jonathan. Same dark hair and blue eyes; same wit, too. Always knew it was from his Yankee upbringin’.”

  “Quite, Momma,” Veronica murmured, not daring to look at Brad.

  “Always wanted you to marry him, you know,” she mused, “but it is too late, I suppose.”

  “You remember Jack fondly, then,” Amy said.

  “He was good to my Ronnie. I believe she thought of him as a divinity. And I couldn’t help but love him half as much,” Bella said, watching Veronica suddenly stand. No doubt she felt the conversation had become quite personal, and therefore felt ready to leave the room as Veronica said, “I would like a turn of the grounds, Momma.”

  “Let me escort you,” Brad said, jumping to his feet. An agonizing minute passed before Veronica finally nodded in agreement.

  As they left, Bella commented, “You would think Jack was here, how she carried on.” She benignly smiled as Amy faltered, momentarily choking on her coffee.

  Brad walked silently beside Veronica, who quietly absorbed the sight of her home for so long he was afraid she was determined not to speak. Swallowing a sigh as they turned in the direction of the gazebo, he inconspicuously stumbled as Veronica finally mused, “Well, I suppose it makes sense.”

  “What makes sense?” Brad amiably asked, staring at the grounds as though he did not find her presence captivating. He motioned to the gazebo, glad when she made no comment but willfully stepped inside.

  Veronica sighed, removing her bonnet with care. She could not allow it to be dirtied: Bentley would have a fit. She waited until Brad stood beside her. “Why I did not recognize you for Jonathan—Jack…right away. I mean, it is so obvious now, but…”

  “What is your theory, Miss Vernon? I say, what is your theory?” he stalked forth in a most comical manner, gesturing as though he beheld opera glasses to scrutinize her face. Belatedly, he remembered she was Mrs. Stratford. No matter: it seemed she did not care. Undoubtedly, Veronica still thought of herself as Miss Vernon, if the rumors were true.

  “Sit down, Brad, and stop makin’ a fool of yourself.”

  Brad humbly sat on the gazebo seat.

  “I remember those three and four winters before you left,” she murmured.

  “Indeed? I am amazed—”

  Veronica placed her hand over his mouth. “Before you ruin the solemnity of my observation, please, do not interrupt again.”

  Brad nodded once, almost blushing as he realized it was their first contact since her marriage. Would it be their last? Most certainly so.

  “You left for a winter vacation, with your parents of whom I had never met, three summers before my father died. I was only twelve. You went up North—to Richmond, you claimed. All the better, I thought, for it meant I was to hear news from the thick of society.” Veronica paced the room.

  “I remember,” he murmured, as she spun on her heel to face him.

  “It was the first year my father deemed you an unworthy playmate. The year after that, you stayed in Richmond most of the winter season. By the time you came back, two foals had given birth and I remember thinkin’ it a pity you had to miss them. That was the one time my daddy and me ever got along,” Veronica sighed, turning to lean against the gazebo ledge with a mixture of boredom and nostalgia.

  “That was the winter Amy’s father died. I’d seen her once before, as a baby. She opted to stay with our grandparents, to get accustomed to living up North.” Brad waited for Veronica to tearfully turn and demand why he left.

  Veronica watched a slight breeze tickle the grass. She closed her eyes, awaiting the breeze’s caress on her feverish cheeks. How nice it would be to just stay here. “The next winter, you left, and never came back. That following summer—at the dawn of it, mind you—my daddy announced my betrothal to Bentley. I once heard news of your return, and had seen carriages o
f trunks stroll by that followin’ month. But you never came. I didn’t cry. I was too hurt to cry. Then Daddy died.”

  “I did visit, didn’t Maum Sukie tell you? It was the day of the funeral. I have always had abominable timing, and I rode like a madman to reach you. But you looked so altered. Very reserved and constrained and I didn't know…”

  “My life loomed that day.”

  “I’m sorry,” Brad stood to touch her hand, but she jerked away.

  “No matter. I would not have known you. Ever since that first winter away, you steadily changed: your clothin’ became meticulous, your manner of speakin’ precise and sharp and harsh. You combed your hair—somethin’ you swore you’d never do. And you wouldn’t dream of racin’ me, though your legs were certainly long enough to out stride me by simply walkin’.” Veronica hugged herself as though the memory chilled in the humid, stagnant air.

  “I suppose we were growing apart,” Brad said, sitting on the gazebo floor. He smiled as her skirt slid into the seat behind him, and practically stopped breathing in the anticipation that she would absently pet his head as her mother tended to do.

  “You were my only hope,” Veronica whispered, leaning forward to bury her head on his shoulder. He turned, surprised she showed her affection though she belonged to Bentley. “Would that I had that summer and your friendship back,” she said, smoothing his hair as she regained composure.

  “You always have, and will have, my friendship,” Brad said, catching her trailing hand and squeezing it with a smile. “I have not changed so considerably as to not delight in your company.”

  The silence was comfortable, as they gazed on the empty lawn. Though she did not want to disturb their peace, Veronica couldn’t help but muse, “You didn’t recognize me in D.C. How curious.” She watched his thumb absently caress her hand. How comfortable this all felt.