For Whom the Roses Grow

by Rebekah Blackmore

  Dessie and Susanna pulled chairs up alongside Jo and sat down, holding their hands out to the fire, as well. Susanna jutted her lower lip out like a child and stared at Jo with a sad look in her eyes. “Oh, Jo, I don’t know what we would have done if something horrible had happened to you out there. I thought you were going to freeze to death, or that you’d fall and get buried until early spring―”

  “I did fall,” Jo interrupted, toeing her boots off and lifting her legs to get the bottom of her feet warm. “I just happened to be lucky enough to faint within the confines of Will and Theresa’s property. If they hadn’t found me and brought me into their home, I surely would have passed from this world. Theresa dressed me in some of her larger clothes while mine were drying and she made me a big bowl of stew to warm me up even before Will offered to take me home.” She put her feet back down on the floor and held her hands out in front of the fire. She rubbed her hands together before holding them back out, alternating between the movements as she struggled to get warm in the drafty mansion. She looked back over at the other girls, remembering what Will said before he left. “So Mrs. Anderson did something to help Theresa and Will? I can’t say that I can picture her being very pleasant towards other people.”

  Dessie and Susanna exchanged a look. Dessie coughed and pushed herself up out of the chair. “I believe I am going to go upstairs and see if Mrs. Anderson needs anything before we start preparing her evening meal. Susanna, will you be all right down here?”

  “Yes, sweetheart. Take your time.” She angled her cheek up in Dessie’s direction. Dessie rolled her eyes before leaning down to give her beloved a swift peck on the cheek. Susanna smiled up at her and wrapped a hand around her neck to pull her into a real kiss before settling back down in her seat. Dessie left the room with a skip in her step, a spot of color high on her cheekbones.

  Susanna waited until Dessie’s footsteps stopped echoing throughout the house before leaning back towards her cousin. She put a hand on Jo’s knee and looked at her through her lashes before beginning her tale.

  “It was a little over a year ago, when Theresa was still pregnant with Millie. Theresa’s other two pregnancies went fine, but with Millie . . . something was different. Theresa fell ill a lot more often, and became so dehydrated and malnourished that she caught the vapors near daily. Things like that . . . Jo, I know you have experience with town physicians, but here, with how fragile Theresa was . . . it cost more than Will and Theresa could ever hope to afford. Will thought that Theresa was going to die. He asked her one night if she needed anything, something to make her comfortable, and she said it was her final wish to see her dear friend again. Will wanted to give her that. He came over one day, on a day that Mrs. Anderson was in a surprisingly cheery mood, and asked her if she would please come back to his home with him and see Theresa one final time.”

  “Clearly Theresa is still alive, but . . . did Mrs. Anderson go?”

  Susanna shook her head. “No. She had already been homebound for two years, and she ‘was not going to break that streak just to visit a dying friend.’ Her words, not mine. Can you guess what she did instead?”

  “I can’t, actually.”

  “She had money left over from Jacob’s death, so sent a telegraph to the town physician, telling him that she would cover all of Theresa’s expenses. After Millie was born, she gave the Martins thrice that amount to support their children, and still pays them a yearly stipend for any extra expenses. When Will and Theresa got married, he was rather wealthy, hut after his father died . . . he lost everything. Mrs. Anderson has been the only thing that has kept them going.”

  Jo’s eyes widened. How could someone as bitter and cruel as Mrs. Anderson do something as generous as gifting those funds? It just didn’t make sense. The staying home, though . . . that fit Mrs. Anderson perfectly.

  Susanna continued with her tale. “Mrs. Anderson was on edge for days after Will's visit. She will never admit it, but I think that she felt guilty that she couldn't find it within herself to go and make peace with her friend.”

  Jo was about to ask Susanna why she thought that, but she was interrupted by Dessie coming back into the kitchen, a large stain spiraling across the bodice of her dress. She was pale and shaky, and had a faraway look in her eyes. Susanna jumped to see what was wrong, grabbing Dessie and pulling her against her chest as Dessie's legs gave out beneath her.

  “Oh, Dessie, what is it?” she asked, giving the girl a quick squeeze before holding her out at arm's length.

  Jo got up and went to check on her as well, reaching out and pushing a sweaty strand of hair out of Dessie's face. When her hand brushed Dessie's forehead, however, she gasped. “Why, Dessie, you're burning up!”

  Susanna felt Dessie's forehead, too, her brows furrowing and her lips settling into a deep pout. She moved to wrap her arm around Dessie's waist to support her before looking at Jo. “I am going to take Dessie up to bed. Do you think you can work on dinner while I get her settled?”

  “Take your time. I will make sure that supper is ready shortly.”

  Susanna smiled gratefully. “Thank you, Jo. I promised Mrs. Anderson something flavorful tonight, but if you can make anything that will mask the taste of her medication, I daresay that she will love you the rest of her days for it.” She adjusted her grip on Dessie and began to lead her upstairs.

  Jo watched them leave before turning back to the stove. Making something flavorful that Mrs. Anderson would eat? That was no easy task, even if Jo had any idea about what kinds of foods Mrs. Anderson enjoyed eating. Jo knew that she could cook, but under this amount of pressure? She'd be lucky if she managed to finish everything without burning the house to the ground.

  ***

  Forty-five minutes later Jo was finished cooking, and Mrs. Anderson had started to make a bit of a ruckus. Jo loaded the Shepherd's pie onto a tray before mixing the powdered medicine into the meat-and-gravy mixture. It was a dish that she had received many a compliment about when she was back home, which she sincerely hoped would be enough to keep Mrs. Anderson's anger and disgust at bay. However, if it didn't, Jo knew that the recipe made the dish thick enough that it would slide easily out of her hair if Mrs. Anderson decide to throw it at her like she had done with the egg.

  Jo added an extra tumbler of the gravy onto the tray before making her way out of the kitchen and up to Mrs. Anderson's room. On her way, she passed Dessie's room to see that Susanna and she were fast asleep, their arms wrapped around each other and the lantern light bathing them in a soft yellow glow. Jo made sure not to disturb them as she walked down the hall and to the next staircase.

  She went up the steps slowly, her heart beginning to race even faster than it had that morning. How much had she angered Mrs. Anderson, reacting to her cruelty wish harshness and leaving her to her own devices the rest of the day? She was likely glad to have Dessie and Susanna waiting on her, but did she blame Jo for Dessie falling ill? With how large the stain was on Dessie's dress, it was highly unlikely that Mrs. Anderson didn't at least hear Dessie getting sick, nonetheless not to have seen it.

  Sure enough, when Jo reached the top of the staircase the putrid scent of vomit wrapped itself around her and filled her nasal cavity, making her own stomach churn and rise to the base of her throat. She let her mouth fall open just enough to breathe, but not so much that she could taste the vile stench in the air. She continued to walk, her eyes darting around the floor in search of anything that she might slip on.

  Fortunately, Jo made it to Mrs. Anderson's door without making any errors. She wrapped the wood softly with her knuckles before pushing the door open, moving the tray so that it was balanced against the front of her bodice, She swallowed thickly to push down her nerves.

  Mrs. Anderson was still sitting at the window, her eyes locked on something that only she could see. At first, Jo thought that her entrance to the room had gone unnoticed, but then Mrs. Anderson began to speak, her words directed at the glass. “Dessie, I told you to go and get
some rest, Susanna is more than capable of—oh. It's you.” Mrs. Anderson had turned around, her pretty, wide cerulean eyes narrowing into slits as she regarded Jo. “I thought that you had left.”

  Jo shook her head and took a few steps forward, her arms suddenly feeling heavy with more than just the weight of the chrome tray. She sat it down on the table and made a move to turn Mrs. Anderson, but the other woman was too fast and wheeled herself as far away from Jo as she could.

  “Mrs. Anderson, please come eat your supper. I made it myself,” Jo pleaded, reaching a hand out and taking slow steps as though she was walking towards a great beast. Mrs. Anderson seemed to think the same thing, as she responded to Jo's movements by baring her teeth and letting out a growl-like sound.

  “Stay away from me,” Mrs. Anderson ground out, the blue in her eyes barely visible in-between the slits. “I would rather sleep hungry tonight than eat any of that fecal matter you are trying to pass off as food. I will not eat it.”

  “Mrs. Anderson, if you would just please let me move you—” she took another step forward, and then another, until she could nearly touch the chair with her outstretched hand, “—then I will be out of your hair soon enough. If you could just—”

  She lurched forward and grabbed the arms of the chair before Mrs. Anderson had time to move again. She smirked and stood up straight, keeping a hand on the chair as she moved around to the other side to tilt it back like she had done that morning. Mrs. Anderson kicked out her feet and arched her back so she could slide out of the chair, but Jo was quicker, wrapping an arm around Mrs. Anderson’s chest so that she stayed in place. “Now, now, ma'am, we do not want you to get hurt falling from your chair, do we? You need to sit still so you can eat.”

  Mrs. Anderson ground her teeth back and forth for a moment before she leaned to the side and spat in Jo's face. Jo was momentarily stunned, but she regained her composure quickly and acted like she hadn't noticed the insulting behavior. She wheeled the chair over to the table and set it down, her arm still around the top of Mrs. Anderson's breasts—

  Jo jolted at the thought. She looked down at her arm, her heartbeat, which had calmed after entering the room, skyrocketing so quickly that Jo was sure her heart was going to fly out of her chest and land in the bowl of Shepherd’s pie in front of her. Dessie must have been feeling too poorly too dress Mrs. Anderson, as all she had on was a sheer lace nightdress over her petticoats. Jo could see where the floor had ruined the lace, the frayed edges stained gray from the dust, but this wasn't where her attention remained focused. When she leaned forward just the slightest bit to scoop out a spoonful of the meal, she could see exactly how the chilly air was affected her mistress, her dusty-pink nipples dark and pebbled below the lace.

  Jo swallowed thickly and shook her head, trying to turn the thoughts from her mind. It was impure for her to think of her employer like this.

  Jo cleared her throat and tried to think about anything other than the other woman’s beauty. She flushed a dark-red and tried to hold the spoon up to Mrs. Anderson's mouth, but her hand was shaking so badly that she ended up getting more of the potatoes on her shoulder than in Mrs. Anderson’s mouth. She closed her eyes and let out a deep breath through her nose before trying again.

  This time, when Mrs. Anderson turned up her nose and made a noise of disgust, Jo was ready for her. She reached out and pinched Mrs. Anderson's nose shut so that she had to open her mouth. Mrs. Anderson struggled, effectively providing a distraction from Jo's attraction. It also forced Mrs. Anderson to open her mouth to breathe, giving Jo the perfect opportunity to shove the spoon past her lips.

  Mrs. Anderson started to spit out the meal, but once she had the bite fully in her mouth she stopped and swallowed before taking the spoon from Jo's hand and feeding herself. At first, Jo was surprised, but then Mrs. Anderson began to make small noises in the back of her throat, and it was clear to Jo what was happening.

  Mrs. Anderson enjoyed Jo’s cooking, after all.

  8

  In the weeks that followed, Mrs. Anderson didn’t protest once about her meals, as long as it was Jo doing the cooking. Her opinions on Jo, however . . . well, those had become a bit more colorful.

  “I see that you got dressed in the dark again this morning, Joanna. What, did your mother never teach you to brush your hair before you visit with someone worth so much more than you could ever hope to be?”

  Jo rolled her eyes and ignored her. Mrs. Anderson was still in bed, her own hair a frizzed, knotted mess. The gorgeous scarlet waves were standing out on all sides, and she had lines on her cheeks from where her face had been smashed against her sheets. There were small sleep crusts in the corners of her eyes, and there was a line of dried drool slipping from the corner of her mouth to her chin.

  Jo still thought that she looked beautiful.

  She put the tray of breakfast down on the table before walking over and pulling Mrs. Anderson's blankets down to her knees. She lifted her out of the bed and into the chair in a matter of seconds, something she had become incredibly good at over the last short month.

  Once Mrs. Anderson was seated comfortably and had a blanket tucked around her thighs, Jo said, “All right, Mrs. Anderson, Susanna is getting ready to go to town and Dessie is working on making bread for your supper tonight, so either you wait to dress yourself or you let me help you. It's your choice.”

  Mrs. Anderson crossed her arms and shifted in her chair. “I would not have you dress me if you were the last handmaiden on the planet. I can take care of myself just fine.” She shoved Jo's hands off the arm of the chair and used her feet to propel herself towards the stone basin and glass pitcher. She reached out and took the handle of the pitcher, her hand quivering as she struggled to pour the water into the basin.

  Jo contemplated going over to help her, but instead, she set up the breakfast dishes on the table. She spread out the orange slices, English muffins, and freshly-churned butter (complete with the medical powder sprinkled over the top) before going over to see what she could do to help Mrs. Anderson.

  The woman in question had managed to wash her eyes and her chin, but she was struggling to use the horse-hair brush that had been in a drawer below the basin. It got stuck in one of the tangles and dangled limply from the strands.

  Mrs. Anderson grit her teeth and yanked on the brush, wincing as it pulled on her scalp. She tried again, but her arms began to shake from the effort, and she could only give the brush a few more weak tugs before her hands dropped to her lap in defeat. Her lower lip jutted out and she took a few deep breaths before raising her hands and trying again.

  Jo let Mrs. Anderson have her fun, but she had to admit that it was pathetic to watch. “Would you like help?” she asked after Mrs. Anderson’s arms gave out again. She wiped her palms off on her hands off on her skirt before moving to grab the brush. Mrs. Anderson let out a low growl and smacked Jo’s hands away.

  “Keep your hands off me! My hair is a struggle enough as it is without you getting your filth on it!” She let out another growl and began to flail about, moving her body and her hands to keep Jo away. Jo used her elbow to hold Mrs. Anderson’s shoulders down so that it was only her lower body that was moving, which allowed Jo to get a good grip on her scarlet locks. Mrs. Anderson’s anger burned hotter. “Unhand me, wench!”

  Jo ignored Mrs. Anderson’s demands and untangled the brush. She smoothed Mrs. Anderson's hair back and gathered it all in her fist, brushing from the bottom to the top until all the tangles were gone. Mrs. Anderson jerked her head forward, but Jo tightened her grip so that Mrs. Anderson had no choice but to let Jo put it up.

  “Stupid girl, thinks she so much better than me,” Mrs. Anderson muttered under her breath, crossing her arms and slouching down. “Idiotic wench. Not worth anything more than the dust bunnies beneath my bed.”

  “You know, Mrs. Anderson, if you're so appalled by my presence, I can always just leave you in your nightdress. I heard rumors of a final winter storm today, but I daresay
that that flimsy lace will do wonders to keep you warm, wouldn't you agree?” She pulled on Mrs. Anderson's hair harder so that she was forced to sit straight. She quickly braided it, twisting the plait up and pinning it to the top of her head before removing her elbow from Mrs. Anderson’s shoulder.

  Mrs. Anderson crossed her arms and grumbled under her breath as she readjusted her position. She allowed Jo wheel her to the armoire and get her undressed, but she kept a glare on her face the entire time so that Jo knew that she was not happy. Jo resisted the urge to roll her eyes as she pulled out the proper clothing for her mistress.

  When Jo turned back around, her mouth went dry as she realized the position Mrs. Anderson was sitting in did nothing to hide her lovely curves, especially when she was just in her pantalets and her chemise. Jo averted her eyes and dressed Mrs. Anderson in a double layer of petticoats. Once the petticoats were settled around Mrs. Anderson’s waist, Jo grabbed the thickest, softest woolen dress that she could find and eased it on, using her hands to smooth the fabric over her stays. Once again, her cheeks burned red as she felt the gentle sweeping of Mrs. Anderson’s waist.

  Before Jo could get too distracted, she noticed that Mrs. Anderson was acting strange. Her cheeks, too, were dark, and she trembled when Jo brushed her hands over her ribs. It worried Jo. “Are you all right? You're awfully flushed,” she said with concern, her eyes narrowing and her brow furrowing as she tried to figure out where this odd behavior was coming from. She pressed the back of her hand to Mrs. Anderson's forehead to see if she felt warm, in case she had developed the same sudden sickness that had afflicted Dessie the night before. Her forehead was cool, though, as were the tops of her cheeks when Jo began to move her fingers down.