by Lisa Greer
“I’m so sorry.” Perhaps it was her own recent loss, Sophie was sure, but tears gathered in a knot in her throat.
“Don’t be sorry for me. I have all of this, and now I have you,” he said, giving her an intense gaze. “Nothing else worked out for me in the relationship department that I thought might.” He paused as if he wanted to say more about that, but he didn’t. “That’s over now, though, and I know things are going to be good for us both.” But his unsmiling face made her question whether he believed it or not.
He was either often sad or moody. Sophie hadn’t decided yet. If he was sad, perhaps she could make him happy again or at least try to.
* * * *
She went to the nursery after John said goodnight, in hopes of feeding the baby. Carla was rocking her, and Maya cooed in her arms.
“She’s doing very well,” Carla said softly. “I think she likes it here.”
“Good. She seems happy. Has she eaten lately?”
“It’s been a while.”
“I’ll give her her next feeding. I’m used to being woken up, so I’ll just come in when she cries later.” Sophie took the baby from Carla and sat in the other white rocking chair.
“She is a lovely baby.” Carla straightened up the room as they spoke.
“Thank you.”
“It must be wonderful to be a mother,” Carla said with a wistful look.
“I like it, mostly. It is hard work, though. And you are so young. You have time yet.” Sophie rocked Maya.
“I’m 23. I guess I do have time. I didn’t want to marry so soon, definitely.” She gave Sophie a sly glance.
An alarm went off in Sophie’s head. “Oh, I can understand that. I married too young—at 18. I don’t recommend it.”
“I turned someone’s proposal down a few months ago whom I was dating and broke the relationship off, too,” Carla said, a small smile on her lips.
Sophie already had her suspicions about the man Carla was talking about, just by the way the other woman was acting, but she didn’t want to ask. She wouldn’t. Humiliation burned inside of her.
“It was John,” Carla said. “I thought you should know now. I didn’t want there to be any awkwardness between us.” She fixed the sheets in the baby’s crib, turning her back on Sophie for a moment.
Any awkwardness? Sophie thought. “Of course not. Thank you for telling me.”
“On a lighter note, I’m working on my college degree when I can—taking one class per semester. I try to do weekend classes so that I can be here as needed.”
“Have you had this job long?” Sophie asked.
“Oh no. I applied just before you came.” Carla twisted her hair absentmindedly, her dark eyes glinting.
“I see.” This was all very strange. She and John had ended their relationship, yet Carla had still wanted to be in this house, to work near him. Nothing added up. Most women would have stayed as far away as they could after the end of a relationship, but perhaps the pay was so good, Carla had wanted the position.
“John hired me since he knew me and was confident that I had experience with children due to my brothers and sisters. There are seven of us.” Carla laughed softly.
“Seven! My goodness.” Sophie shook her head. “That is really something.”
“My parents are Catholic as am I.” Carla shrugged. “It leads to large families.”
“Of course. I’ve met a few myself.”
“Well, I think I’ll be getting to bed now. I’ll be up bright and early to tend to Maya since you don’t need me for the feeding later.” Carla stretched, showing off her perfect figure in the sweater set and slacks she was wearing.
“Thank you. I’ll see you tomorrow. Sleep well,” Sophie said.
When the door closed behind Carla, she blew a breath out. At least she hadn’t shown how embarrassed she was by the whole sordid thing. John should have told her. Now, Sophie felt and looked like a fool. What had she gotten herself into? What other secrets did the people in this house have?
Chapter Five
The baby’s cries woke Sophie up at 2:33 a.m. She yawned and pushed herself out of bed. She didn’t want the rest of the household to wake up. Slipping on her robe, Sophie hurried to the adjoining nursery. As soon as she pushed the door open, cold air hit her. She hugged herself, rubbing her arms for a moment.
“That’s strange,” Sophie whispered. Her room had been warm, and the heat was running. She could hear it, but this room was as frigid as a tomb.
She shivered at the comparison. The scent of roses filled the small space. It was strange. There were no roses here, but in her room, and she had barely noticed their fragrance this evening.
Her teeth chattering, Sophie made her way to the crib. The baby was wrapped up tightly. As least Maya wasn’t cold.
She took the baby from the crib, made up her formula, and warmed it with the bottle warmer in the nursery. John had seen to all the conveniences, and for that, Sophie was grateful.
The baby ate with eyes closed, and Sophie smiled down at her. The cold in the room eased off after a few moments. It was strange that the temperature differed so much for seemingly no reason from one room to the next.
The baby dozed off, milk trickling from her mouth when the bottle was nearly finished. Sophie tucked her carefully back into the crib, making sure she had an extra blanket in case the temperature blocked again. She was about the leave the room when she heard whispers in the hallway.
One of the voices was clearly Carla’s—low and feminine. The other, she couldn’t make out—John, Evan, or someone else talking? The two conversed for a few minutes. Carla laughed teasingly. Then footsteps went in different directions. Why on earth was anyone up at this hour who didn’t have to be?
Sophie stood still, torn. She wanted to look out the door to see who was walking away, but she feared being seen.
“Please, John. Please don’t let it have been you,” she whispered, sighing heavily as she opened the adjoining door that led to her own bedroom. Did it really matter if it was John or what he was up to with Carla? Theirs would be a marriage of convenience anyway, and Carla had rejected him—or so she said.
* * * *
Carla was with the baby the next morning, and John had either left the house early or not come down for breakfast. Sophie decided to take a walk around the grounds to clear her head. She’d noticed little about the estate on the drive in, other than the house itself, but there was quite a bit of land up on the hill it was situated on, from what she understood.
She donned her brown wool coat and walked out the front door and around to the left side of the house. A dormant garden lay near the backside of the house, and she noticed the greenhouse as well. The thought of flowers kept warm and flourishing despite the cold winters cheered her, and Sophie wondered if the roses in her room came from there. She found the door to the greenhouse easily. It wasn’t locked, so she went inside. It was humid here, and all kinds of flowers bloomed in a wild riot of lavender, hot pink, orange, yellow, white, and red—dahlias, tulips, orchids, and many others she couldn’t name. And roses, too, of the kinds she had in her bedroom. So, they had come from here.
“Hello? Are you a lover of flowers?” A voice made her jump.
“Evan?”
“Yes, it’s me. Why are you here?” He appeared near her from behind a fern, wearing gloves. He had a clipping of some type of green plant in his hands, and he was as handsome as he had been the night before. Perhaps he was more so with the evidence of life around him that he had grown by his own sweat.
“Just looking around the grounds. I got restless inside.” Sophie tried to sound nonchalant. “Is this your greenhouse, then?” She asked, feeling like an intruder.
“I guess so, or it might as well be. It was built by my grandfather, but I spend the most time in here. No one else cares much for growing things in this house.” He laughed harshly.
“I see. You have beautiful flowers here.” Sophie pretended to admire the roses she was alr
eady so familiar with. “I suppose you had a hand in having these put in my bedroom?”
He frowned, putting the plant clipping down on the workbench in front of him. “What?”
“The roses. There are dozens in my bedroom. I’m not sure who had them put there, but they’re lovely.”
Evan’s face blanched. “Roses? These roses?”
“Yes, I suppose so. They’re of the same varieties, I think.” Sophie watched him. He seemed very upset for some reason.
“These are my mother’s roses. No one usually touches them. John didn’t tell you that?” Evan asked, looking angry.
“No, perhaps he didn’t realize it.”
“The bastard. He probably had them put in your room. He knew it would upset me!” Evan brought his fist down on the workbench and winced.
“Why would he do that? He already told me he didn’t anyway. I don’t think he would lie about something so silly.” Sophie’s head was spinning, and she regretted ever coming out here to explore.
“Because he’s twisted. He plays games, and it’s not silly.” Evan frowned fiercely at her.
Sophie threw up her hands and shook her head. “I don’t want to get involved in this. Forget I asked about the roses. They are lovely, and I appreciate the gesture from whoever made it,” Sophie said, backing away toward the door.
“I’m sorry. I’m being rude,” Evan said, flashing her a smile that was all sweetness.
“A bit, perhaps.” Her tone was sarcastic.
He guffawed. “I like an honest woman. Perhaps that’s what my brother sees in you. That and someone who said yes to a quickie engagement and marriage to a man she didn’t know at all. I guess the money didn’t hurt.” His voice was hard again now.
Sophie bit her lip, fighting tears. He was needlessly cruel. She turned on her heel without a word and left Evan standing there.
* * * *
She worried that Evan would follow her, but he didn’t, much to her relief. She wouldn’t set foot in the greenhouse again. Why did he hate his brother so? Was John as horrible as he said? Sophie had seen no real evidence of that. Evan was definitely cruel, or at least, he wanted to hurt her with harsh words.
Sarah often said that the hurt are the ones who damage others. Sophie wondered if there was some truth to her friend’s saying. Perhaps that was true of Evan. She didn’t know, and Sophie didn’t care to try to understand him. He wasn’t her problem, but his brother was. He was the man she was marrying, after all.
* * * *
“There you are,” John said when she came down to lunch later. He looked well rested in a navy blue sweater and brown cords.
She had debated having a tray sent up to her room. Sophie didn’t want to run into Evan—at least not by herself. His words stung more than she wanted to admit.
“Here I am.” She smiled, happy to see him.
He stood and pulled a chair out for her at the dining room table. “I thought you might want to have the seamstress come in later today and fit you for your wedding dress. Is that alright?”
“Of course, but I don’t know if I would feel right wearing white and doing the whole first wedding thing,” she said, feeling embarrassed. “I know it’s your first wedding, but—” It seemed unfair in so many ways that he was marrying divorcee with a child.
He broke in. “I would like you to wear white. I want you to. Would you do it for me?” John asked, a note of tenderness in his tone.
It nearly undid her after the harsh words his brother had spoken earlier that morning. “Of course I will!”
He laughed. “Then that settles it. I’ll have Ms. Bechdol come out later to fit you. In the meantime, would you go with me to the family chapel? That’s where we’ll be getting married, and I’d like you to see it so you can make any plans for the décor you want.”
Sophie flushed with pleasure. “That sounds wonderful.” She felt stirrings of excitement for the first time about the wedding. It felt like more than just an arrangement. Perhaps John was only humoring her, but she got the impression he wanted it to be a special day for both of them.
“Good. Let’s go. The chapel is just behind the house. You might not have noticed it when we came in yesterday. My great grandfather had it built, too. He was adamant that the family would have a personal place for worship and sacraments.” John opened the front door for her.
“I see. That must have been lovely,” Sophie said, following him into the brisk day.
“It is when we’ve used it. We don’t keep a clergyman on duty, but some generations in the house did.”
They walked a few minutes in silence, the sun bright, but the wind whipping in their faces. The small chapel came into view—stone and compact but lovely. Sunlight glinted off of the gold steeple on top.
“How charming!” Sophie clapped her hands.
To the left of the chapel, a small graveyard was enclosed by a black, iron fence. “Is all of your family buried on the estate, then?” She asked, pointing toward the churchyard. There appeared to be about twenty graves there, perhaps more. Many of the stones listed like rotten, broken teeth in the earth.
“Most of them who lived here, yes.” John’s voice was tight.
“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to intrude,” Sophie said, feeling wrong footed.
“You aren’t. I just get emotional when I think about it. My memories in that little churchyard aren’t happy ones.” He grimaced. “Let’s have a look inside. You can see where my mother is buried and others are, too.” He opened the small gate and led her into the graveyard. They walked toward the back. “Here’s her headstone and my father’s.” He stopped in front of two newer stones that were less worn with age than most of the others.
Sophie admired the expensive granite and fine lettering that spelled out the names and epitaph for his mother. “Mona Lynn Granger. Dearly loved wife and mother and friend to all. She was only 44. How sad!” She had died in 1954.
“Yes, it is. She was far too young.” John shoved his hands into his coat pockets, looking at the ground.
“What happened to her?” Sophie asked softly.
“It was a terrible accident. She fell down the stairs in the house and broke her neck.” He bit his lip, gazing into the distance. “My brother and I were outside playing when it happened. My father was in the library.” His words were terse.
“How tragic. I’m so sorry.” Sophie touched his jacket sleeve with her her hand, wishing she could comfort him.
“Yes, I am, too. Nothing was ever the same after that. My parents’ marriage was unhappy, but my father was a changed man after her death. It was like all of his demons came to the fore. He drank too much, and he was harsh with us. It was hell, yet here we are still—living at Haven House. He has that kind of control over people.” John laughed harshly.
“John...” Sophie trailed off, not sure what to say. She touched his hand and squeezed it.
“I know. It’s ancient history now.” He gave her a forced, sad smile.
“But she’s your mother. It’s normal never to get over such a sudden, painful loss.” Sophie held his hand, reveling in its warmth and his nearness.
He squeezed her hand and let it go.
“Perhaps you’re right. Let’s think about happier things now.” He led her out of the graveyard and inside the little church.
About twenty pews made up the entirety of the chapel. They were glossy and wooden with maroon cushions in two sections. An aisle with gold carpet ran down the middle. “This will be perfect,” Sophie said. Stained glass windows diffused the sunlight onto the carpet in bright patches.
“I’m glad you think so. Any idea about what kinds of flowers you want? We could have some in the windows and up front, and you must choose your bouquet, of course.” John sauntered toward the front of the church and stood under a large cross that hung in front of a baptismal.
“Roses, maybe?” Sophie said, studying him. She didn’t want roses at all, but she wanted to know what he would say in response to the suggest
ion.
“Are you sure?” He asked, frowning slightly.
“Why not?” She asked, sitting in a pew near the front.
“I think they might be upsetting for some.” John cleared his throat, avoiding her gaze as he stared at the large cross in the front of the church.
“I don’t understand.” She felt a bit low for deceiving him, but she wanted to know why flowers were so upsetting to everyone.
“They were my mother’s favorite flowers. She wore them in corsages all the time, in her hair, and had them all over the house year round. When you smelled roses, my mom was usually near, or she had put a fresh batch in the house.”
Sophie started at the comment but said nothing.
John closed his eyes and sighed. “We don’t really remember the day she died, but Evan has never gotten over it. He is always reminded of her with roses, and they grow the best of any of his flowers in the greenhouse—for good or bad.”
“Oh, it would seem they would be a comfort to him.” Sophie rested her arms on the pew in front of her. This place was relaxing—peaceful, not dark like the house.
“They aren’t comforting to him as far as I can tell. I think they’re just too painful, but he won’t destroy the remnants from her once lively collection.” John shook his head. “I’m glad of that.”
“I see. So, it’s even stranger that someone used so many of them as decor in my bedroom.”
John gazed at her for a long moment. “I suppose it is. I’ll ask Mrs. Garson. It could have been an honest error. She’s not a spring chicken anymore, and I’m not sure she knows about how upset Evan is by seeing roses around the house. She wasn’t on staff back then.”
“Right.” Sophie stood. “Well, then, no roses. Perhaps orchids would be nicer. I’ve been to the greenhouse and seen that there are a variety.”
John gazed at her sharply. “You have?”
“Yes, just this morning. I took a walk after breakfast. I needed the fresh air.” She moved to the nearest stained glass window and studied the image of St. John the Baptist’s head on a platter. The image made her shiver—so real it seemed.
