“Think of us, then, Brad! Do not do this for her!” Madge railed, pointing at Veronica.
“Madge…” Veronica’s calm and troubled voice was interrupted by Brad’s sudden shout:
“I am doing this for me.”
Amy sat on the sofa, defeated. She glanced at Veronica, to find her sniffling. What a mess. “What of Madge and me? If you don’t…what are we to do if Bentley manages to…?”
“Brad has arranged for your departure whether or not he survives,” Veronica whispered.
“I must say, Ronnie, that you are handlin’ the idea of Jack dyin’ very easily,” Bella sighed, catching the gaze of everyone in the room.
“What did you call me?” Brad asked, staring at Veronica’s shock.
Bella laughed, waving away the room’s shock. “Do you really believe I didn’t know you were Jack? What sort of mother would I be, not to know a child as he grows older?” she motioned for the door to be shut, smiling at Madge when she rose to do so.
“Why did you not tell me you knew?” Veronica demanded.
“You never asked me if I did, dear. And would it have changed your mind if I had admitted my knowledge to you?” Veronica’s hesitation made Bella shake her head. “Ronnie, what am I goin’ to do with you? Ever since you were a child, I’ve had problems curbin’ your temper and spirits. My consumption prevented me from bein’ the mother you wanted, no doubt, but your resentment should end now, as I have long since given up makin’ your decisions.”
Veronica’s brow furrowed in an attempt not to all-out bawl. “I think I would have chosen to wed Brad, had you told me,” she whispered, fishing for her handkerchief. “I believe I must be goin’, as we have finished dinner and my husband will certainly be expectin’ me home soon.” Rising from her seat, Veronica gathered her bonnet and gloves and led the small party to the main doors. “Thank you for dinner, Momma,” she said, tightly hugging her mother.
“Your accent always gets thicker when you are upset, Ronnie,” Bella whispered. “I am sorry, if what you say is true. I had not known my preference had a factor in your decision. I suppose if you had married Brad you would have left, and Matthew would have struck your name from the family Bible.”
“Yes,” Veronica managed.
“And I suppose you thought I could not have stood havin’ your name struck.” Bella stared at Veronica, finally shaking her head with a sigh. “You still don’t understand, Ronnie, that your happiness was always in my mind—whether it be in the front or back. Keep that in mind when next you must make a decision.”
Veronica left Schönheitstal thinking heavily of the night’s outcome.
When the week rolled by, and she awoke to the sounds of Bentley storming from the house, it took a moment to understand why he left for church without her. He had refused to speak since she dared defy his command not to visit her mother: as if it was some sort of punishment. “Nan!” Veronica screamed, as Bentley’s horse bolted from the residence. She jumped from her bed, slamming open the door to receive Nan as she bolted into the room.
“You think he’s gonna kill Mister Brad?” Nan demanded, shoving Veronica into her corset, ignoring the gasps of pain.
“If he does, I’ll kill him,” Veronica replied, whipping around to slip into her green riding habit. “Don’t look at me like that, Nan. You know I mean it—Bentley has had it in for Brad since we were children. Today it’s either him or me. I’m not livin’ under this roof anymore and neither are you.”
Nan stepped aside as Veronica jerked on her riding boots, managing to pull Veronica’s braids into a decent bun at her crown. “Ronnie, you better be careful out there.”
Veronica spun from the door, her manner all surprise. “You’re not comin’ with?” Watching her slave shake her head, she demanded, “Why not? You care about Brad just as much as I do—we three were like family when young!”
“I can’t. If anyone sees me leave, they’ll know you left. And if they know you left, they know somethin’s wrong and we’ll have trouble.”
“They…they whom?”
“The gossips.”
“Hang the gossips! Bentley cares about the gossips, not me. And you certainly should not. I order you to come with me. No? You will not come with me, though your potential freedom hangs on this moment?” Veronica shook her head in amazement. “I don’t understand you at all, Nan. You stand there so silently and take everythin’ so calmly, though the world is goin’ to pieces around you. What about the war? I have hardly heard a word of it from you, though we daily get news of it.”
“And you won’t hear anythin’ until it’s over, and I know whether I can speak about it or not,” Nan murmured, handing Veronica her riding crop and hat. “Be safe, and come back to tell me what happened?” She hugged her mistress tightly, nodding once before sending Veronica out the door. Leaning out the window, Nan watched Veronica grab a horse and follow Bentley’s dust trail to the plantation.
* * * * *
Veronica reached the clearing in time to watch Amy tremulously count down from ten, as Brad and Bentley walked the traditional paces. Breathless and almost driven mad by her obsession to reach the plantation clearing in time to stop the duel, she almost fainted in relief. That is, until she realized what good that would do Brad. Veronica regained her sense and waited for an opening to prevent a tragedy.
Spying Veronica’s presence, Amy paused. Surely Veronica didn’t think she could stop them! Stepping forward, Amy glanced at Bentley and Brad before staring at Veronica. They had not noticed her yet.
“Count, Amy, count,” Veronica murmured, hushing her horse as she hobbled it to a nearby tree. Creeping around the clearing, she motioned Amy to continue. If Amy didn’t resume from the three she had stopped at, Veronica was sure Bentley would turn any second in a fit of impatience and shoot Brad to death.
She waved more urgently, sighing in relief as Amy shouted, “Two!”
Veronica held her breath as she stood three yards from Bentley, hidden in the brush. It was fortunate that her green habit was so complimentary to the surrounding scenery. She stared at her husband, wishing she could have somehow convinced him that a platonic relationship existed between Brad and her. Bentley’s light hair was highlighted by the suddenly bright rays of the sun, and Veronica caught the glint of excitement in his green eyes as he heard Amy shout, “One!”
Oh, if only Amy would count faster.
“Turn!”
Jumping from her perch, Veronica screamed, throwing herself against Bentley’s arm. Though she managed to throw off his aim, Bentley still shot, and Veronica turned to find Brad gasp in pain and clutch his leg. She whipped to face her husband, about to demand what he thought he was doing. His hand made such severe contact with her face that she fell to the ground.
“What do you think you are doin’ here, Ronnie?”
Veronica sluggishly blinked, desperate to rid the nauseating wave of red from her sight. Coughing, she leaned on her arms and stared at Bentley in calm silence. “I came to stop you from doin’ somethin’ idiotic. If you kill that man, how will his sister and cousin return home?”
“Do you think I really care?”
Veronica blushed as her gaze strayed to Amy, who stared at Brad’s bleeding leg. “No, I suppose not,” she murmured, as Madge flew forward to her brother from behind the Vernon carriage. Veronica watched Amy hold her cousin back, quickly speaking as though to calm her.
“What are you doin’? Why do you watch them?” Bentley demanded. He cocked his gun. Veronica’s eyes were not locked on him, though his gun was aimed at her heart; though he struck her to the ground. Of all the persons she could have turned to, Veronica’s gaze was locked on Brad. The thought alone made Bentley’s blood percolate. “Renounce your love.”
“What?” she asked, bewildered and insulted as her gaze flickered to Bentley.
“Not you, him.” Bentley motioned to Brad, watching for Veronica’s reaction.
“He doesn’t love me. There is nothin’ for him to
renounce.” Veronica bit her lip as tears threatened to flow. She ached to help Brad, as he stood there, his leg apathetically bleeding. Why would he not leave? Or sit? His entire posture was lacking, and she could almost feel his strength and resolve ebb as the pain overcame him. He sweated from the effort not to collapse, though she could sense he was determined not leave her with Bentley. “Bentley, he is wounded! His pant is soaked with blood.”
“Ronnie!” Veronica flinched as Bentley screamed this, but all she could think of was how could Brad love her? It was not her beauty, she knew. If it were her beauty, he would not have taken pains to understand her. It was her beauty that made Bentley obsessive.
“If I were ugly, would you love me, Bentley?”
He didn’t know how to reply, though he managed a stiff, “Yes, of course.”
“And if I were poor, Bentley? Would you marry me though I was poor?” His confusion and doubt were plain. “You demand I look at you. Do you want me to see the man you think I have married?”
Bentley’s face was ashen. He had never heard Veronica speak in such a way. And to make it worse, her gaze resumed its position on that Yankee’s wilting frame. “You are renouncin’ your love for me,” he choked, his hand quivering.
“I never said I—didn’t my uncle tell you he blackmailed me into marryin’ you?”
“You harlot,” Bentley spit, his gun stabilized.
Brad hobbled forward, flinching as his leg dragged uselessly. Leaves rustled beneath his feet, but he hardly cared for subtlety. He had to reach Veronica. The way the situation progressed, she would lose her life for a man who never admitted loving her. Each step ushered more blood from his body. He knew Bentley spoke, but could hear nothing above the roaring in his ears. Breathing became almost painful. He clutched his knee in an attempt to stop the bleeding.
Amy rushed forward to fasten a ripped length of her petticoat above the wound. “Be swift, aim pure,” she whispered, kissing his cheek and running behind the carriage.
Brad squinted in the sunlight, closing his eyes against a wave of nausea.
Veronica struggled against rising bile as Brad’s bandage absorbed his blood. She heard Bentley cock his gun. Closing her eyes, she thought a quick apology to Brad, hearing his gun also cock. With a mounting panic, she stared at Brad, who’s trigger hesitated as Veronica shook her head at him.
Veronica glanced at her husband. Surprisingly, she welcomed the peace that would come after the pain. Everything would resolve itself: the war would someday end, her mother would recover, and her uncle would suffer in damnation for forcing her into marriage…
A shot.
The roar echoed through the trees. An eerie silence overcame the land as the bullet found its target and happily lodged itself in the target’s chest. Bentley paused, angered no more. Brad grimaced, his limbs screaming for rest. Amy and Madge cowered, unsure whether or not to run forward.
Veronica clutched her breast in shock. Her eyes, momentarily glazed over, blinked away their opaqueness and for the first time, she clearly saw her surroundings. Amy and Madge held each other’s hands so tightly Veronica could see their pale knuckles.
Her eyes flitted to Brad. She vaguely remembered watching Bentley shoot him. Just as vaguely, she pictured Amy jumping forward to bind the wound so quickly it had made her head spin. That was why his leg was wrapped in a white cloth.
It was a struggle to breathe—oh, how she hurt!
Veronica glanced down, ready to see blood streaming between the fabric that her fingers vainly clutched. The pain in her chest made it a struggle to breathe. She had not expected such aching. Was this what it felt like to be shot? Veronica had figured it to be…a sharper pain. And it was her heart that ached, not her chest, as she first believed. Dying was entirely a different matter than Veronica originally thought. The pain subsided, and Veronica found herself able to normally breathe…but there was no following peace. The darkness did not claim her, as she had been led to believe. She opened her hand.
There was no blood.
Bentley—where was Bentley? Veronica swiveled to find him standing in utter disbelief. His arm limply hung out, no longer intent on shooting his wife. His other plaintively reached for his throat. Shuffling forward, his blood mixed with the dirt and leaves he stumbled through. He opened his mouth, presumably to call Veronica’s name. A strange noise gurgled from within as his mouth filled with blood.
Veronica screamed, and seemed not able to stop.
Bentley fell. He fell solidly and clumsily, without control or aim. He fell on his wife, fully expecting her to be able to tend his wound and help him home. He was ready to go home, now. Forget whatever arguments and disagreements he previously harbored against Veronica. Forget that Yankee man who steadily walked forward, his eye clear and satisfied. Why did he look so satisfied? Bentley knew he had lost his aim when Veronica burst through the brush, but even so, he shot the Yankee’s leg. Turning to tell the Yankee to leave, Bentley found he could only make an odd sloshing sound. He looked down to find he spilled blood.
Veronica’s screams mixed with sobs as he turned to smile at her. His mouth formed her name, but that same horrible sound emitted. Surprised to find droplets fall, she looked up to find there was no rain. Veronica touched her face, staring at the thick, red, opaque liquid that graced her fingers.
Her face was spotted with blood. His blood. Her husband’s blood. The blood was warm—eerily and disgustingly warm in the humid morning. Oh, how fast it cooled! His blood seeped through his waistcoat onto Veronica’s bodice.
His arms convulsed, as though wishing to embrace her.
Veronica was horrified. She couldn’t bear to look at him, but she found she could not tear her eyes away. Her husband was choking on his own blood. She whimpered. He vainly tried to cough it from his lungs. The blood spattered on her shoulder. Veronica’s sobs shuddered to a stop as she watched him struggle against his body.
The world was turning red. Bentley could see his wife’s face. He cherished how the sunlight reflected off her blonde head, which shook in a confusing horror. Why was she so afraid? Why was it so hard to breathe? A bitter liquid in his throat bubbled.
Veronica caught her breath as her husband touched her cheek, blood spurting from his mouth. His eyes rolled into his head. Trying to pull away as he heaved one last gurgling breath, Veronica began to scream as she found his grip too strong to break. “Please, please,” she begged, ineffectively swatting at Bentley’s hands as he cloaked his widow’s body.
Brad fell to his knees in relief. He grabbed Bentley’s fair locks, struggling to pull Veronica’s husband from her shocked frame. He stared into Veronica’s face. She seemed not able to see him. “Veronica?” He touched her cheek. She shuddered and pulled away, her head shaking back and forth. “Nettle,” he said, forcing Veronica to look at him.
Her face crumpled as she whispered, “My uncle.” Veronica rocked to and fro, hugging her arms. “I never should have come.” She stared at her husband’s body. Wiping her tears with the back of her hand, she found it streaked with tear-diluted blood. “My God,” she cried, her eyes wide with sudden realization. “What have I done? What will I do?”
“We will leave,” Brad said, touching her shoulder.
“My mother…”
“…Will be glad you are finally rid of Bentley,” Brad wearily said, watching in wild amazement as she threw her arms around him. He could hardly support her in his weakened state, and they fell to ground.
* * * * *
April, 1862
Veronica blindly followed Brad to the carriage, conscious only of his warm hand as he guided her. She avoided Amy and Madge’s concerned gazes. Her shoulders slumped beneath an invisible weight. She only remembered her legs existed once Brad inconspicuously slid his hand around her waist and squeezed.
The trip was tedious. Veronica’s nerves had finally rendered her unconscious, and she slept fitfully against Brad’s shoulder. Hours later, she found herself alone in her awakened state. Am
y and Madge looked quite peaceful as they supported each other in sleep. She quite envied the peace their expressions portrayed. Nan was comfortable in the corner, her bonnet off as she leaned against the carriage’s jouncing side.
Veronica turned to see Brad slouching beside her. She sensed a slight wheeze. He did not look at all well, she realized, and wondered how long she had been in a daze not to notice.
Tentatively, she touched his hand, only to snatch hers away with a gasp. She briefly contemplated lifting his trouser and inspecting Amy’s dressing.
“Amy…have you changed Brad’s bandage frequently?”
Blinking away her sleep and surprise, Amy yawned and shook her head. “He wouldn’t let me come near yesterday. Why do you ask?”
“He has a fever.”
Amy’s expression flickered between disbelief, shock, anger and fear. “I must admit I worried he wasn’t forthcomin’. But we were all so worried about you, I forgot to pursue him.”
“About me…?” Veronica laughingly said, her confusion making her blush as Amy haltingly explained, “It seems as though you carry Bentley’s death on your shoulders, though he threatened your life and forced Brad to shoot him. It’s been a week since his death, Ronnie, and you’ve been in a daze since.”
“Brad is infected, and unless we stop in Richmond I am quite sure he will also die.”
“Mine Uncle and Aunt expect me to come with Brad and Madge,” Amy objected.
“You will never return with Brad unless we get off in Richmond!”
“I cannot…you must stay with him, Ronnie. I am duty bound to return Madge.”
“I do not know how!” Veronica hissed, sensing Brad’s restlessness as a slight whimper escaped his lips. Wincing at the sound, she met Amy’s similarly concerned gaze with a frown.
“You know more about healin’ than I do and you know it. Sukie and the other slaves at Schönheitstal told me of the many times you brought life from death. You have more skill than any would think, Ronnie.”
Catching the Rose Page 27
