For Whom the Roses Grow

by Rebekah Blackmore

  Tip-toeing over yet another pile of broken glass, Jo couldn’t help but wonder what exactly she had gotten herself into. Was Mrs. Anderson much more dangerous than Susanna or Dessie had alluded to? It didn’t seem likely that the light bulbs had been broken by any natural occurrence, so it had to be Mrs. Anderson that was doing the damage.

  Before Jo had time to question her cousin, however, Susanna had opened the door to a bedroom at the end of the hall before pointing a finger to her lips and pointing to what looked to be a closet located directly next to the room.

  Jo gave the girl a curious look before walking over and laying her hand on the still-closed wood. Susanna shook her head, reaching out and pulling Jo’s hand back before dragging her into the bedroom. “That’s Mrs. Anderson’s studio,” she whispered, pulling Jo over to the bed in the center of the room and sitting down. She smoothed out her long skirt before turning and gripping Jo’s hand tightly, rubbing small circles into the back of it with her thumb. “It’s been locked ever since she got sick. She could still paint, at first, even with her poor vision, but when the tremor in her hand became unbearable she locked and it hid the key. She still refuses to tell Dessie nor me where she hid it.” She shook her head. “She was a wonderful painter. It’s truly a shame that she had to quit.”

  Jo nodded uncomfortably. She didn’t know how she was supposed to respond. Sure, she could express sympathy for the woman, but without having ever seen her work, how could she possibly even pretend to be sincere?

  Fortunately, Jo didn’t have to think too much, for as soon as she had pulled her hand away from Susanna, a door down the hall came flying open and slammed into the wall. The resident didn’t say anything, or even make an attempt to tell Susanna and the new nurse what she needed. She just slammed the door.

  By the fourth slam, Jo had grown irritated, and her left eye was twitching as she struggled not to yell at Mrs. Anderson, especially when Susanna got up from the bed and went to check on her mistress.

  “How is your leg feeling, Mrs. Anderson?” Susanna asked, her light, airy voice twinkling down the hall.

  “It’s fine, dear, thank you for asking.”

  Jo’s brows furrowed at the gentle and kind tone that colored the woman’s voice. How could someone who’s voice was so sweet scare workers off and destroy the hallways in her attempt to alert Dessie and Susanna of her waking? Where was the sneering, insulting tone that Jo had heard so much about? Why, if this was all she had to fear, she could take the slamming doors any day of the week.

  “I’m glad to hear it. And your head, has it stopped throbbing?”

  “Yes, it has.”

  “Would you like me to have Dessie bring you more tea?”

  “No. I daresay that I will have to invest in a pair of waterproof drawers if I am served tea for much longer,” she joked, letting out a breathy cough as her laughter got the better of her.

  Jo pushed herself off her bed and glanced out of the room, curious to see just what exactly this Mrs. Anderson looked like, although it appeared that she would have to wait to find out, as Susanna had taken the woman back into her bedroom to, most likely, relieve herself. Jo hadn’t seen a single water closet during her journey around the house, but she figured that a woman as wealthy as Mrs. Anderson was likely able to have one leading directly from her bedroom.

  With that thought in mind, Jo walked down the hallway, careful to keep her dark-brown skirt from getting caught in the frayed edges of the carpet. She ran the fingertips of her right hand along the wall, making mental notes about the layout. Even in the daylight, it was hard for Jo to see where she was walking. Sure, the drawn-curtains were affective for keeping the house dark during the day, but Jo imaged that it made navigating the home much more difficult during the night than it would have been if the moonlight was streaming through onto the carpet.

  Once Jo reached the end of the hall, she pressed her back against the wall next to the door and leaned forward to peak into the room.

  When she saw Mrs. Anderson, she was shocked. She knew that the woman was only in her early thirties, but based off what Dessie and Susanna had said about her being ill and overall crabby, Jo had imaged that the woman would look older, and much more plain. She had pictured gray-blonde hair in a tight bun atop her head, not the soft, wavy strawberry strands that drifted over her breasts and fell midway down her bodice. She had pictured a skeletal frame, and sunken-in features that made Mrs. Anderson look more alive than dead, not the beautiful, delicate bone structure that she had been graced with.

  It was a bit challenging to see Mrs. Anderson in her entirety through the gentle glow of the candle that burned on the night table, but there was enough light for Jo to see that Mrs. Anderson had chiseled cheekbones and full lips, and that her pert breasts were firm and lifted beneath her white-lace nightgown. The hallway seemed plenty warm to Jo (although whether that was from the temperature of from the stab of arousal that shot between her legs the longer that she stared, or the temperature of the house, she wasn't sure), but the goosebumps lining Mrs. Anderson's arms and the way that her nipples poked out through the lace made her question the temperature.

  When Susanna began to help Mrs. Anderson undress and change into the proper attire for welcoming a guest, Jo had to hurriedly turn away and scurry back to her room to remind herself that she was here to provide for herself financially, not romantically. Sure, Mrs. Anderson was by the far the most stunning woman Jo had ever been fortunate enough to lay her eyes on, but Jo would just have to look past that and remind herself that Mrs. Anderson was her patient, not her potential lover. She had seen plenty of women back home that were out of her league, and Mrs. Anderson was no exception.

  Hopefully Mrs. Anderson’s potential personality would make her less easy on the eye.

  3

  Sure enough, when hungry, Mrs. Anderson was an absolute witch.

  Night had befallen Mangrove House before Jo had the misfortune of dealing with Mrs. Cordelia Anderson. She spent most of the afternoon helping Dessie polish the silver, a task that was much more of a challenge than she imagined it to be. She had thought that she was doing a good job, but Dessie seemed to think otherwise.

  “No, no, it's clockwise and then counterclockwise,” she scolded, taking the spoon and cheesecloth out of Jo's hand to show her for the dozenth time what to do. “If you only do counterclockwise, the cloth will leave scuff marks and they won't shine. See?” She tipped the newly-shined spoon in Jo's direction, but Jo couldn't honestly say that she saw any difference between how it was before and how it looked now.

  “DESSIE!”

  The shrill sound of Mrs. Anderson's yell echoed through the house. No longer was it the sweet, girlish tone that Jo had heard when Susanna was giving her the pain medicine for her legs. This was much darker, and sent a tremor of anxiety through Jo's body. She remembered what Susanna had said about how Mrs. Anderson treated her hired help, and she couldn’t help but feel afraid.

  Dessie let out a sigh and placed the silverware down on the table in front of her. She laid the cheesecloth over her apron and folded it gingerly before placing it beside the spoon. “We have been summoned,” she said, moving the rest of the silverware into the center of the table.

  Jo tried to act less worried than she felt. “Technically, she only requested you,” Jo corrected her with a quivering voice, giving a theatrical wink and smoothing out her own skirt before standing. She stepped towards the stairwell, straightening her back and interlacing her fingers behind her rear.

  Dessie made a face at her before standing as well. She studied Jo for a moment before waving her hand in the direction of Jo's face. “You will want to fix your hair before we go upstairs. Mrs. Anderson's eyesight may be poor at times, but I daresay she can sense an imperfection a mile away.”

  Jo's hand darted up to her hair. It felt fine to the touch, but it would be best for her not to rely on touch alone. She grabbed the shiniest spoon and held it in front of her face, her shoulders drooping when she s
aw that Dessie was right. Her bun had begun to escape from the ribbon securing it, and the fire that Dessie had lit to keep them warm had heated the room enough for the shortest of Jo's curls to stand on end. She looked like the poodle that Edna, Jo's brother's wife, insisted on getting shortly after Matthew’s and her nuptials. It was a hideous little beast, although it could easily pass as Jo's twin with her hair like this.

  Jo pursed her lips in thought before licking the tips of the fingers on her right hand and using the saliva to make the curls a bit more manageable. It made the uppermost curls lie flat, but the under layers sprung right back up. Jo still looked nowhere near presentable.

  Unfortunately, there wasn't any more time for Jo to stress over her hair before Mrs. Anderson's cries echoed throughout the house again. “Dessie! Where are you? Dessie!”

  “Coming, Mrs. Anderson!” Dessie yelled back, sticking her head through the doorframe in- between the dining room and the front hallway and bellowing up the stairs. She turned and gave Jo an exasperated look. “We need to get her supper from Susanna. Hopefully it is finished, or we are in for a rough night. Mrs. Anderson is much harder to work with when she has an empty stomach.”

  Jo nodded. Most people were. “All right.”

  She followed Dessie down the extensive hallways from the dining room to the kitchen, which was in another wing and half a flight of stairs down. The smells wafting down the hall alerted Jo that Mrs. Anderson’s supper must be finished, or at least almost done. The aroma wasn't anything out of the ordinary from what Jo’s cooking smelled like back home, but it was enough to make her realize that she had not eaten all day. Her stomach growled at the thought.

  Dessie must have heard her stomach's complaint, as she looked over and chuckled. “After Mrs. Anderson sups, you will help me get her ready for bed and then we will have supper, ourselves.”

  Jo nodded, but she didn't say anything in response. The growing in her stomach, however, which had grown louder at Dessie’s words, had plenty to say as Dessie and she reached the kitchen.

  Susanna was placing the finishing touches on Mrs. Anderson's plate when the girls stepped into the aromatic room, the heat of the fire amplifying the smell of the food and wrapping all three girls in its warm scent. Jo couldn't be certain until she looked closer, but it smelled like Susanna had made some sort of a chicken dish with boiled potatoes. There was also a thick, soft-looking piece of sourdough bread on the plate, slathered with butter and letting out airy wisps of steam. Jo watched as Susanna grabbed a small pot that was hanging above the fire and used a ladle to scoop out a healthy portion of gravy.

  The real icing on the cake was the gray powder that Susanna took from the pantry and sprinkled over the food, some of it getting stuck together and falling from Susanna’s fingers in globs. Jo made a face at the clumps. “What's that?” she asked, grimacing as Susanna mixed the powder with the gravy, making it go from a smooth, lovely-looking light brown to an ashy, chalky mess.

  Susanna glanced at the container of powder before handing it to Dessie. “Sweetheart, you'll put this away for me, won't you?”

  “Of course I will.” Dessie pecked her beloved on the cheek before doing as she was asked.

  Susanna watched her go before setting her sights back on Jo. “As for what that powder is, I do not entirely know, but Doctor Lenaldi instructed Dessie and me to sprinkle a bit of it on Mrs. Anderson's supper every evening. It is supposed to help with the pain so she can rest undisturbed.”

  “Does it taste like anything? It looks so . . . ” She made a face, trying to figure out the right words to go with the muddy consistency the powder gave everything.

  Susanna giggled, saving Jo from her thoughts. “I have never tried it, but when I first started using it, Mrs. Anderson threatened to burn my kitchen down if I did not take cooking lessons from some of the other maidens in town, so I daresay that it is not very pleasing to the tongue.”

  Jo shuddered. She had never been the biggest fan of medicine in any form, so she could agree with Mrs. Anderson’s sentiments. Jo had fallen ill a lot as a child, and thus had potions and antidotes both medicinal and mythical forced upon her and mixed with all sorts of foods. It always made the taste go from pleasant to awful, “Is she appreciative of the taste now?”

  “Not necessarily, but on her last birthday, Dessie and I decided to leave the powder out of her supper so that the food was more pleasing to her pallet, and I daresay that she didn't get a wink of sleep that night, what with how uncomfortable she was. She hasn't complained about the taste since.”

  Dessie chuckled and walked back over to the other women. She ran her hand down the length of the back side of Susanna's frock and smiled. She opened her mouth to speak, only to shut it again as another shrill cry echoed throughout the house. She sighed and began to load all the dishes onto the same silver tray she had been using when Jo had arrived earlier in the day. “We best get upstairs before Mrs. Anderson has a fit. She gets in such a tizzy if her meals aren't delivered on time.” She led the way out of the kitchen.

  “Mrs. Anderson sounds like she's more trouble than she's worth,” Jo commented, picking up her skirts and hurrying her pace to match Dessie's. She lifted the layers up to the middle of her calf as she struggled to climb the steep steps, her stomach leaping up to her throat as she missed a step and nearly fell face-first into the bustle of Dessie's gown.

  Dessie glanced over her shoulder before climbing the last of the stairs. “Come quickly.”

  “I am trying.”

  “Try harder.” Dessie grimaced as Mrs. Anderson began to thump something against the floor in irritation. “Coming, madam!”

  She began to take the steps two at a time, moving so quickly that it was almost impossible for Jo to keep up. She tried her best, but by the time that she reached the top of the staircase, Dessie was already halfway down the hall. Jo, once again, lifted her skirts and ran until she was finally back in-step with her superior. Dessie glanced over at her with a worried look as they reached the closed door that led to Mrs. Anderson's room.

  Dessie knocked gently against the door and waited for Mrs. Anderson to respond before going in. Once again, Jo was left in awe by the gentle tone and sweet words that Mrs. Anderson was using to Dessie, and by how young she looked. The short glance that Jo had seen earlier in the day had been enough for her to figure out that the woman was lovely, but now, standing in the doorway and looking in on the kind smile that she gave Dessie as she took her dinner tray from the maid's hand, she found that she couldn't pull her eyes away.

  Up close, Mrs. Anderson was stunning. She must have done up her own hair, as the long strawberry braid was uneven and was falling out from the loose knot that she had tied her hair ribbon in. Her hands were shaking as she settled the tray onto her lap. “Thank you, Dessie,” she murmured, picking up the bread and taking a bite, her tongue darting out to lick a dab of butter off the edge of her mouth.

  Jo followed the movement before locking her eyes with Mrs. Anderson's. The older woman's foggy, ice-blue orbs widened in shock before narrowing, her lower lip jutting out and her teeth grinding together, all traces of the sweet, gentle woman disappearing in an instant. “Dessie, whom is this girl you have decided to disgrace my bedchamber with? I daresay that I have not instructed Susanna nor you to bring another servant into my home.”

  “This is Joanna, Mrs. Anderson. She's Susanna's cousin, the one I told you about.” Dessie wrapped her hands around the handles of Mrs. Anderson's wooden wheeled chair and moved her over to an oak table in the corner of the room. She took the tray off Mrs. Anderson's lap and set it down before taking a scoop of the potatoes and holding it out for the woman to eat.

  Mrs. Anderson wrinkled her nose at the potatoes and pushed Dessie's hand away. She turned her head back in Jo's direction, one of her eyes falling lazily to the right as she took all of Jo's features and clothing in. Her eyes settled on a loose thread hanging perpendicular to the top of Jo's skirt, her lips drawing inwards and forming a tight line
as she sneered. “Not well-off enough to afford decent gowns, I see,” she said, wrinkling her nose and lifting a hand to shove the spoon out of Dessie's hand.

  Jo bit her tongue, trying to keep her anger at bay. “It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Anderson. I look forward to working with you.”

  “I am sure that you appreciate being in a house as resplendent as my own. Where was your previous home? Beneath a draw bridge? In the basement of a haggard wench?” Her eyes flashed dangerously. Dessie tried to give her another bite of her food, of the chicken this time, but Mrs. Anderson wasn't having any of it. This time, instead of a gentle shove, she smacked Dessie's hand hard enough to knock the silver spoon to the floor.

  Jo ground her teeth and swallowed as hard as she could. Dessie looked at her over Mrs. Anderson's shoulder, shaking her head gently and making eye contact before looking at the floor. Jo took a deep breath and took another few seconds to formulate her response. “You have a beautiful home, ma'am. Most definitely better than anywhere I have ever been fortunate enough to live.”

  “I should expect so.” She turned her head sharply as Dessie managed to force a bite of chicken into her mouth. She spat it out onto the floor, her gaze hardening. “For the love of all things holy, Odessa Maria Alcock, stop forcing that bloody waste of ingredients into my mouth, or I swear I will ensure that you never live to see another job once you leave here for the rest of your days.”

  Dessie rolled her eyes. “All right, Mrs. Anderson, if you insist. Now eat this 'bloody waste' before I have Doctor Lenaldi supply Susanna and I with a fresh supply of needles to administer your medication. I believe your left thigh will be as good of a place as any, would you not agree?”

  Mrs. Anderson looked furious, but she did not argue any further. She reached out and took the spoon from Dessie, her judgmental eyes never leaving Jo's face. Jo stood strong and met the eye contact with a hard look of her own, determined not to crack under the bitter woman's gaze.