by Grace Walton
“God, do you see what I'm doing? I'm making one of those sodding rose pearls. But it’s not for her. Do you understand? It's not for her.” He gathered the battered petals in one fist. He raised them to the ceiling. “This is not intended to be some kind of memorial for her.”
He crushed the bruised flower pulp and began rolling it between his fingers. A tiny rough ball began to take shape. A raw rose scent played up to his nose.
“When she wakes up, she'll find this rose pearl in her hand. And if you let her live, maybe sometimes she'll remember the man who made it for her. And if she does think of me, I hope it’s not too often.”
He swallowed hard. He gently tucked the rough little bead into her hand. He closed her limp fingers around it.
“Because she needs to forget me and marry, God. She needs to marry and be happy. I want her to be happy. She needs to have a little girl with eyes like wet pansies and hair like wildfire. She needs to be loved.”
His long-fingered hand, picked up the gun. “And Lord, I'm asking that this be the last of them, the last rose pearl. Her whole life has been filled with death and loss. So let my death be the last. I know I don’t believe in You the way she does. And I know my soul is worthless compared to hers, but please honor this trade I'm making. Let her live. Please God, let her live.” Dylan bent forward and placed a soft lingering kiss on her forehead.
He stood. He backed away from the bed, so she would not be touched by the carnage that was to follow. He put the barrel of the gun in his mouth. He tasted its cold metallic sting. His dark eyes locked open and focused on Rory. Her face would be the last thing he saw. The hammer of the pistol clicked as he pulled it back.
A low moan from the bed froze his finger on the trigger. Easing the hammer back in place, he moved swiftly to her side. The painful moaning started again. Her head thrashed from side to side. He tenderly anchored her face between his hands as he sat on the edge of the bed.
“Hush love, hush now.”
A tear slipped from beneath the thick lashes lying on her alabaster cheek. He rubbed it away with his thumb. He knew then. He knew God loved them both. And not because of some stupid kind of soul barter he’d thought to make with the Almighty. God loved them because it was His nature to love, to save. God loved them like no other ever would. He loved them more than they would ever be able to love each other. And in a completely different and entirely satisfying realm.
“Don't cry love. I'm here. Don't cry. You know I can't stand it when you cry.”
Her lips moved. He leaned closer. He could faintly make out what she was whispering. What he heard sent his rich slow laughter rolling through the room.
“I know love. I know,” he assured her as his own eyes blurred and filled.
Against all odds and with the help of the Almighty, Rory would live. They would have a life together. A much sweeter one than he’d ever imagined. And much more complicated. He was filled with adoration. He was overflowing with peace. He was humbled more than he’d thought possible. He was saved.
He smiled and whispered against her lips, “I know sweetheart. I am an idiot and Windsor women never cry.”
Chapter Nineteen
“I still think you should have worn white.” Tirzah jerked up Rory’s scandalous bodice. The black woman didn’t care what the latest style was, or how much the Duke had paid for the amazing iridescent fabric. The dress was cut too low. And it was red. Who wore a red dress to their wedding? She was afraid Rory looked more like one of the gals who worked at the Lavender Rose than a serious god-fearing woman. Rory had argued and told her friend the deep crimson was symbolic of Jesus’s cleansing blood. Tirzah didn’t care about symbols. In her mind, it was plain old red and it was a sporting lady’s color.
“I think it looks wonderful,” said Connor. “You look magnificent Rory. Are you certain you don’t want to run away with me? I’d make you a much more amusing husband than my brother.” He leaned back in the wing chair and propped his feet up on the little table in front of him.
Tirzah frowned and pointed a finger at his big boots. He sighed and plopped them back down onto the carpet. Then she turned to the other man in the room and smiled. “Sander, would you please go and tell the preacher we’ll be down there directly?”
The long suffering man rolled his eyes. “Connor?” he barked.
“What?”
“It’s time for us to leave.”
“Tirzah didn’t say anything about me needing to leave,” he said grinning. His plan was to stay up here with his sister-in-law as long as he could. He knew it would vex his brother Dylan. It was only fair, after all. The man had been driving them all crazy for the past two months.
The new Duke of MacAllister had hovered so over his wife, she’d threatened to shoot him. And since Rory was an excellent shot, Dylan had done his best to bite his tongue. He really had. Of course, he’d demanded the King’s physician be imported from London to attend her. With both Tirzah’s and Sander’s medical skills, Rory was fully healed. And the poor doctor had yet to arrive at Windsor’s Island.
Then there was the argument Dylan and Rory had fought over her equestrian activities. The Riding War, as it was known hereabouts, started two weeks after she’d been shot. Rory was more than ready to take a slow, easy expedition around the island on Spot. Dylan, of course, had a different idea entirely. He’d begun talking about coaches, padded coaches. His view was that she would be safer and more comfortable in a carriage. She was amenable to this plan, at first. But then she realized he meant for her to forever be conveyed in a wagon of some kind. At that juncture, the war commenced. It lasted three days. Much crockery was broken. And many loud conversations took place. In the end, Rory was triumphant. Of course, she did have to make a few concessions.
She had to vow not to ride once she was with child. She had to agree not to collect any more orphans from the Lavender Rose without Dylan being in attendance. She would not wear her nephew Stuart’s clothing in public any longer. Though she and Dylan did negotiate about her wearing those snug britches, once they were married, in the privacy of their bedchamber. Dylan was strongly in favor of this decision. In the end, Rory was glad to oblige him. All this had transpired in the last eight weeks.
Today was her wedding day. Her real wedding day. Rory had turned up her dainty nose at the notion that the proxy wedding between she and Dylan was legal. In her mind, she hadn’t been there to make any vows. She hadn’t promised to love, honor, or obey anyone. Therefore, the contract her wretched brother had signed in her name was certainly immoral as well as surely invalid.
As soon as she’d been healthy, she’d set out to have the wedding of her dreams. Not that she’d ever had a dream about a wedding. She’d been sure God meant for her to be a spinster lady her whole life. Since that clearly hadn’t been His intention, she’d developed a few very radical ideas about matrimony and marriage ceremonies. Ideas she planned to put into practice today.
“Mister Connor, you get on out of here,” Tirzah ordered.
He rose from his seat and stretched. He strolled over to Rory. He bent down and kissed her cheek. “It’s still not too late,” he teased with a wink. “You know you don’t want to be a Duchess.”
“Scat, you scoundrel,” Tirzah said as she shooed him out the door.
“Tirzah, are the children ready?” Rory asked from underneath the gossamer veil. Yes, she was wearing a red dress. But that didn’t preclude her from also wearing a stunning lace veil. It was dyed to match the deep crimson of the gown, of course. And she was carrying her Bible instead of a bouquet.
“They’re ready,” huffed Tirzah. “But I still don’t see why you had to pick every orphan child to be in this wedding. Me and Reba’s been sewing them little red dresses and suits ever since you been feeling good enough to sit up in that big old bed of yours and give orders.”
“It’s important to me to have them in my wedding.”
“You shouldn’t have invited Mr. Bram. The Duke don’t like it. He do
n’t like it one little bit.”
“I know.” Rory sighed. “But Bram has been my friend for a long time. And it wasn’t his fault Rebekah committed treason.”
“I’m shore glad that woman ran away to England.”
Rory nodded. “I am too.”
“How come you didn’t invite any of them High and Mighties from Savannah to the wedding?”
“I wanted the folks I love here to help Dylan and I celebrate.”
“It gonna be a fine time for sure. After the wedding, everybody’s looking forward to the pig roast and the baptism.”
Rory smiled. Dylan had been flustered when she’d first suggested he be baptized in the ocean on their wedding day. But he’d quickly warmed to the idea. His walk with the Lord was authentic. And he wanted everyone to know it.
A knock sounded on the door. Tirzah opened it. Gray stood there beaming. He looked very handsome. His hair had been trimmed, and so had his beard. Tears were already shining in his eyes. He gathered Rory in his arms.
“I wish Rozelle could be here to see how beautiful you are today,” he whispered.
“I wish she were here too,” Rory said, her voice thick with tears. She walked over to her vanity and drew something from a box on top. Coming back to her brother, she placed the rose bead necklace in his hand. “I think you should have these now.”
He nodded and tucked the string of beads in his pocket. He agreed with his little sister. Today was a time for happiness, not for bittersweet memories. “I’ll give them to Stuart. He’ll like having something of his mother’s.”
Rory turned to give Tirzah, one last hug. “I love you,” she whispered. “Thank you.”
Tirzah dabbed at her eyes with the rich skirt of her satin gown. “I love you too, Honey Child.”
Rory nodded and linked her arm with her brother. They stepped out of the bedchamber. From the landing at the top of the stairs, Rory heard the soft strains of children singing a hymn. The wedding was being held in the parlor of the Windsor’s home on the island. Rory had planned it as a simple affair. There would be lots of good food. And there would be a memorable ceremony. Dylan’s baptism would make the day complete. Most importantly, everyone on Windsor’s Island - black, white, and every shade in between, would be welcomed. Taking a deep breath, she let Bram lead her down the steps.
Dylan, the American Duke of MacAllister stood next to his brother Connor by a bank of roses in the parlor. Dressed in a black, he watched the door to the parlor with a predator’s restless intensity. He never thought he’d see this day. He’d never thought to marry. He’d never believed himself capable of loving someone. He’d never imagined the joy and peace of having a Savior. He was overwhelmed by his blessings. And he wanted the whole wedding to be flawless for Rory. She deserved no less. She’d refused to let him spend an obscene amount of money on some cold grand theatrical ceremony in Savannah. No, Rory knew what she wanted. And it wasn’t ducal splendor. But he still worried that it wasn’t enough. That he wasn’t enough. In his mind, she was perfect. He was redeemed, but still horribly damaged. He knew he’d never be good enough for the woman he was about to marry, for the second time.
Then he had no more time to castigate himself for being a worthless, witless fool. For she stepped, like a wondrous vision from a child’s fairy tale, into the crowded chamber. Dressed in a deep crimson gown that flattered her amazing hair and figure, Rory was the most unconventional and beautiful woman he’d ever seen.
The children from the orphanage, all dressed in bright red, lined up to form an aisle. They began singing. Their high childish voices sounded like a choir of heavenly angels. Their song was a new hymn, one fresh from England. The lyrics meant much to Dylan because he felt they told his own story of redemption. The ballad had been written by John Newton, a repentant sinner.
Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound,
That saved a wretch like me....
I once was lost but now am found,
Was blind, but now, I see.
T'was Grace that taught...
my heart to fear.
And Grace, my fears relieved.
How precious did that Grace appear...
the hour I first believed.
Through many dangers, toils and snares...
we have already come.
T'was Grace that brought us safe thus far...
and Grace will lead us home.
The Lord has promised good to me...
His word my hope secures.
He will my shield and portion be...
as long as life endures.
When we've been here ten thousand years...
bright shining as the sun..
We've no less days to sing God's praise...
then when we've first begun.
Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound,
That saved a wretch like me....
I once was lost but now am found,
Was blind, but now, I see.
Rory, beaming at him, came down the aisle on Gray’s arm. She stopped several times to hug friends as she made her journey. And before she reached Dylan, she stopped and embraced Bram. They whispered to each other a few seconds. It was a sweet time of healing. One they both needed.
And then she turned to her bridegroom. With no reservations, she left her brother and walked to stand by Dylan. No one was giving her away. Before God, she was giving herself to the man she loved more than life.
He clasped her hand in his. Standing together they were one. His life, her life, their lives together, would be a powerful testimony of God’s love and grace.
They made heartfelt pledges to one another. Dylan promised to love, honor, and protect Rory his whole life long. Rory vowed she would do the same for him. And then it was time to seal their bond with a ring.
Turning to Connor, Dylan reached out. The big blonde man fished around in his pocket. He handed something to his brother. Rory watched, smiling.
“My mother would have loved seeing you wear this,” Dylan murmured as he slipped the ring upon her finger.
It was the old wedding band he cherished. Once she’d been jealous and afraid of the mysterious woman who’d owned it. Now, smiling through her tears, she understood why it was his most precious possession.
He raised her hand. He pressed the dull gold of her wedding ring to his lips. Then Dylan lifted her veil. He traced the curve of her cheek with one careful finger. He smiled when that alabaster flesh began to flush under his steady regard. He bowed his head and captured her mouth in a sacred binding kiss. It was replete with honest passion and total commitment. Long seconds later, when the kiss came to an end, he cupped his wife’s lovely face in his trembling hands and made one final perfect vow to her.
“Caritas Mea Non Recedet, Rory MacAllister. My love for you has no end.”
Epilogue- Seven Years Later
“Miss Rory,” Tirzah said as she sat down an impressive silver tea service on the spotless white tablecloth. Thin sweet biscuits were arranged artfully on a fine porcelain plate. The teapot steamed from its spout. A delicate floral cup and saucer sat at an exact angle to its right. Pale lemon slices lay across a tiny plate in a bright yellow fan. A silver bowl was filled with creamy white cubes of sugar. The signature aroma of spiced tea wafted through the lovely little private parlor.
The elegant woman sitting at the dainty table saw none of this. Rory St. John was too busy watching the street through the big deep window in front of her. The years had been good to her. She still had her girlish figure and lush Titian hair, even though she was now the mother of three. In fact, she had her worried eyes pinned to her youngest as she sat enjoying the quiet of Tirzah’s Tea Rooms. She watched as Sander grabbed him. Gabriel Connor, her youngest son and a rambunctious toddler, tried to dart into the busy thoroughfare in front of a carriage. Rory shuddered.
At least, the twins were safe. They’d stayed at home this week. They attended the orphanage school there. Both boys benefited from the strict instruction of an abolitionist
spinster. Miss Hollowell moved south to teach the orphans of Windsor’s Island. The woman was glad to add the rowdy St. John twins to her roster of scholars.
Rory took a sip of the bracing tea Tirzah had poured her. She looked around the tiny chamber. She smiled. It was a study in refined and understated sophistication. Of all the private rooms, this was her favorite.
This house’s life as a scandalous bordello had ended several years past. The Lavender Rose was no longer a place of debauchery. It was now the most famous café and ladies’ tea room in Savannah. And in an irony not lost on Rory, it had become the spot where all the ton of Savannah came to see and be seen.
She knew the raffish air of its former tenants accounted for part of its forbidden allure. More than once she’d caught ladies who were supposedly looking for the tiring room, wandering the narrow halls upstairs. They were insatiably curious. And that, along with the superb cuisine, made Tirzah’s Tea Rooms a great success.
Of course, the waitresses were a common source of interest too. Dylan and Sander bought all the slave women who’d worked in the former Lavender Rose. They’d freed the ladies with the understanding that they were to find more wholesome employment. Most of them worked here still, as waitresses, maids, and cooks.
“Miss Rory,” Tirzah said with a hint of impatience. “Looking out that window ain’t gonna make Mr. Dylan get here no faster. And you know Sander ain’t gonna let nothing happen to your boy. They’s just patting the horses tied up by the docks.”
Rory sighed and pushed her riotous hair away from her face. Some things never changed. “I know. It’s just that it’s been six weeks, Tirzah. Six weeks. We’ve never been apart this long.”
Tirzah rolled her eyes. She hefted her considerable bulk into the dainty chair across the pristine table from the red-haired woman. “Rory child,” she said with a hint of motherly concern. “It take a while to get up to Virginia. And then he had a whole lot to do. Especially if he convinced that wild sister of his to come back with him.”
