By the time Jo reached the hallway leading to Mrs. Anderson's and her room, she had convinced herself that Mrs. Anderson was going to throw her out onto the streets and that she would have to return home to live her life in her brother’s shadow. Perhaps Mrs. Anderson would want her to leave immediately, or make her leave before dawn—
Jo just wanted to see Mrs. Anderson again, maybe touch her beautiful hair one more time. She didn’t want to be separated from her forever.
Eventually, Jo reached the door. The walk felt like it had been miles long, but at the same time, it also felt like it went by too quickly. She took a deep breath and leaned against the doorframe for two long minutes before knocking. She waited for a response, but none was forthcoming. Jo couldn’t say she was surprised, exactly, but it still hurt to be ignored. Normally when Mrs. Anderson was angry or in a bad mood, she would have something snappy to say to Jo, or if she was in a good mood, she would tell Jo to come on in and sit with her. But silent? That, she never was. Jo must have messed up badly.
Jo knocked again before asking, “Mrs. Anderson? Can I come in?”
Once again, there was no response. Jo reached down and tried to open the door, but it was locked.
Jo's brows furrowed. No matter how angry Mrs. Anderson was or how isolated she wanted to be, she never locked her assistants out in case something happened to her. As far as Jo knew, Dessie was the only one who had a key, and even she kept the golden item hidden away under the cloak of it not being a necessity. It troubled Jo deeply. “Mrs. Anderson? Is there something wrong?”
The only answer Jo got was silence. She shook the knob again and tried to push against the door with her shoulder, in case the door was just stuck, but it didn’t move one bit. Jo furrowed her brows and pressed her ear against the door, where she could hear the tell-tale sound of someone crying.
Jo let go of the doorknob and turned her head so that her forehead was pressed against the wood. She positioned her fingertips on either side of her and pushed again, wishing that she could force the door open by sheer will. She balanced Mrs. Anderson's dinner on the outside of her hip, being careful not to let it spill. “Mrs. Anderson, I'm sorry. Please. Let me in.”
“Go away.”
Jo startled at getting a response. She pulled back from the door for a moment before leaning in again. “You need to eat; I have your supper—”
“Joanna, go away!”
“You need to take your medicine; you will fall ill if you don't—”
“God be damned, Joanna, I said go! I neither want nor need you here! I do not give a damn about my supper or my medication, do you not understand that? I said go!”
Something heavy crashed against the door, making Jo jump and her hand to fly up to her mouth. Mrs. Anderson's crying grew louder. After a minute, though, she began to speak again. This time, rather than the sharp, raspy tone she had been yelling at Jo with, her voice was weak and so quiet that Jo had to strain her ears to hear. “Joanna, just leave me alone. I obviously misunderstood the situation; your intentions have been made perfectly clear.” She hiccupped before throwing something softer, possibly a pillow, back at the door. “Leave my supper outside the door, if you must, but I do not wish to see you. I promise I will eat everything if you just leave me alone.” She paused before adding, “Go spend the evening with that pretty blonde. She will be much better company than I would be.”
Ah, so the locked door was directly linked to the kiss. Jo bit her lip and closed her eyes. “Mrs. Anderson, what you saw between Hattie and I . . . it was a mistake. We are strictly friends; it meant nothing. It’s true that I think she is beautiful, but compared to you, Mrs. Anderson—”
“Joanna, I do not wish to hear about your little trysts with the village wenches. Talk all you like, but I can promise you that whatever you say will fall upon deaf ears. Leave my supper; you can have the evening off. Tell Dessie and Susanna that I just want to be left alone.”
Jo tensed at the interruption, her body growing more and more rigid the harsher Mrs. Anderson's words were. She moved her jaw, her teeth catching on the chapped skin of her lip. She listened to what the woman had to say, choosing not to say another word until Mrs. Anderson was finished speaking. When it was obvious that she had nothing left to say, Jo began to feel even worse. Her heart had sunk down to her stomach and her lungs had begun to feel like balls of jelly, but she forced herself to breathe through it and calm herself down. “Okay, Mrs. Anderson, I will do as you ask, but if you need anything, please call for Susanna or me. I know that you are angry, and you have every right to be, but please, Mrs. Anderson. I care about you so much more than you know.”
Jo lightly kissed the door before backing away and making her way back to her room. She sat down on her bed, closing her eyes and counting her breathing until she felt a little calmer. She waited until she couldn’t feel her heartbeat in her throat anymore before leaning back and grabbing her book off the nightstand. She had not had time to read over the last few days, but hopefully getting pulled back in to the story would be enough to distract her from the hollow ache that had taken up residence in her stomach.
As Jo read, she tried to look for the silver lining in her awful storm cloud of a day. Dinner might be late, Dessie might be gone, and Mrs. Anderson might hate her, but at least now she had time to read her book.
What a perfect world Jo lived in.
15
When Jo awoke the next morning, she was feeling surprisingly well-rested and wide-awake. She got out of bed with a spring in her step and a smile on her face. She went to her armoire and pulled out a clean corset, corset cover, and pantalets, deciding to forgo her crinoline in favor of a few extra petticoats. She planned on getting some work done in the garden, and that was a lot easier to do when she didn’t have a metal cage around her to crouch down in.
She finished getting dressed and quickly made her bed. She even fluffed the pillows before leaving her room, humming to herself as she made her way to the staircase and down to the first floor. The house was completely silent, which she found odd at first, but after she opened some of the curtains on the main level she realized just how early in the morning it was, the sky outside the window still dark and dotted with twinkling white stars. It was unusual for her to be up at such an odd hour, but Jo couldn’t say that she minded. It would give her time to do a little cleaning on her own in the kitchen before she truly set off to work for the day. Normally, Dessie and Susanna kept the kitchen organized, but with the women switching who cooked every night, things were starting to disappear. Jo, in particular, was missing a rolling pin and a couple of jars of orange marmalade.
She went into the kitchen and set off to work, pulling out drawers and rifling through them. Most of the drawers and cabinets were still made up of one specific group of items, such as spices, or utensils, but there were a few drawers that were jammed full of miscellaneous things. She scoured through those drawers, being careful not to accidently cut her hand or her wrist on anything sharp.
It took almost a full half-hour, but eventually Jo did find her rolling pin, as well as a few paint brushes, a hair brush, part of a snail shell, and a button. She shook her head and discarded the shell and button before taking her rolling pin over to the sink to rinse it off.
When Jo got to the sink, she was shocked to see that there were dishes piled beneath the spout, and that the bar of lavender soap Susanna had made was nowhere to be found. Dessie never left the dishes undone. She was always quick to get them washed and put away so that the kitchen would be tidy. Why would she—
Oh. Jo had forgotten. Dessie was gone.
In an instant, the easy-going, happy attitude Jo had had since she woke up disappeared as everything came back to her. Dessie’s letter. Hattie’s kiss. Mrs. Anderson’s anger.
Jo turned around so that her back was pressed against the counter before dropping to the ground, her legs splayed out in front of her. Her stomach was quickly tying itself into knots, and she was mighty happy that she had
not tried to eat anything yet as she pitched forward, bile spilling out of her mouth and onto the scuffed wood.
Jo heaved a few times before forcing herself to calm down. She used her hands to push herself back into a seated position, and then stood up fully. Her legs felt weak and shaky, and when she tried to walk, she nearly crashed back down to the ground. The weight of all that happened felt like too much for her to bear as she dragged herself down the hallways and up the two flights of stairs leading to Mrs. Anderson’s room.
By the time Jo made it up to the third floor, she was feeling an overwhelming feeling of dread and regret. She was shivering, although whether that was from the chill in the house or her mind was anyone’s guess. She slowly made her way to the door and looked around, trying to gauge if Mrs. Anderson had moved from her lair or not.
Jo felt a wave of relief as she saw the silver serving platter sitting empty, which meant that Mrs. Anderson had at least taken her evening meal into her room. None of the dishes had been returned, so Jo couldn’t tell what had been eaten, but it was a start.
Jo picked up the tray and slid it under her arm before leaning against the door, pressing her ear to the wood so she could hear what was going on, on the other side. She had to strain her ears, but she could hear Mrs. Anderson’s heavy breathing and gentle snoring. It made Jo smile to know that Mrs. Anderson had stopped crying, at least.
When she reached down to touch the doorknob, however, the smile fell. It was still locked, which meant she couldn’t go in to see how her beloved mistress was faring. She let out a long breath through her nose and took her hand off the knob. She let her forehead fall against the wood with a soft thud before sliding down to the floor. She closed her eyes and focused on Mrs. Anderson’s snores, timing her breath with the sounds until she, too, had nearly fallen asleep.
She felt tranquility, listening to Mrs. Anderson. Her mind wandered and drifted. She thought about all the days Mrs. Anderson had been kind to her, and all the gentle words she had used as they had grown closer. She thought about how soft Mrs. Anderson’s hair was under her fingers, and how lovely the skin on her hands were on the rare occasion she let Jo hold them.
When Mrs. Anderson let out a louder snore, however, Jo startled back into awareness. She pressed her ear against the door again to see if Mrs. Anderson had woken, but when the snores returned to their normal volume, she assumed that Mrs. Anderson was still fast asleep.
Jo sighed and waited a moment more before pushing herself up off the floor and standing. She contemplated going back to her room and going back to bed, or reading by the light of her lantern, but she wasn’t sure that she wanted to be alone right now.
She stood shivering for a moment before going back over to the stairs and going down to the second level of the house. She wasn’t sure if Dessie had returned during the night, but even if she had, Jo was sure that Susanna would let her share their bed until the first morning light. Jo could see through the small, circular window that was above the stairs that it was still dark out, although it had begun to get slightly more blue than black. Besides, if Mrs. Anderson woke up and decided that she was interested in eating, she would cause enough of a ruckus that Jo and Susanna would have to wake up.
Susanna and Dessie’s door was open, but Jo peeked her head in cautiously anyway, in case the women were indecent. It looked like Dessie still hadn’t come back, though, as her side of the bed was still made, so Jo went on in. She tiptoed over to where Susanna was sleeping on her side with her back away from the door, and crouched down next to her. She gently prodded Susanna with her fingertip until the blonde began to stir.
“Dessie? Is that you?” she asked groggily, rolling over and squinting into the darkness as she tried to make out Jo’s shape. She slowly lifted her head and leaned forward.
Jo coughed and alerted Susanna of her presence before they collided into one another. “It’s me, Sussie. I cannot sleep. Mrs. Anderson’s door is still locked.”
Susanna nodded and scooted into Dessie’s spot, holding the blanket up so Jo could crawl in beside her. Jo got onto the bed and under the quilt, lying on her side so she was facing Susanna. Even in the darkness, she could see how swollen and bloodshot Susanna’s eyes were. It hurt Jo’s heart to see her cousin in such a state. The poor dear had probably cried herself to sleep.
Jo reached a hand out and stroked Susanna’s hair in comfort before moving to wrap her arms around the girl. Susanna tensed, but she didn’t push Jo away. “How are you holding up?” Jo asked, pulling Susanna closer to her.
Susanna sighed and shook her head. “I still do not understand where everything went so wrong. I know having to keep our love a secret from the rest of the world could be hard at times, but here, in the house? Neither you nor Mrs. Anderson cared. We could share our lives to the fullest without opposition.” She tensed more for a moment before letting her body relax in Jo’s arms, the soft droplets of new tears rolling down the side of Susanna’s face and onto Jo’s arm. “I just wish she would have told me that she wanted something more. I would have let her go. It would have broken my heart, but I would have done it if it ensured her happiness.”
“You aren’t happy now, either.”
“I do not think that her leaving has really hit me yet. I am upset, but I keep telling myself that this is only temporary, and that she will be back before I know it. I do not know what to think.” She hugged Jo back before moving away, unwrapping Jo’s arms from around her and keeping a modest space in-between them. “I know you only mean to help, Jo, but I believe that I need to be alone right now.” She gave Jo a sad smile before rolling over and facing the other wall.
Jo nodded, even though she knew her cousin could not see her. “That is fine. I understand.” She pulled the blanket off and sat up, rotating her hips around and placing her feet on the floor. She stood up and quietly left the room, shutting the door behind her and pretending that she didn’t hear Susanna’s sniffling.
Jo went back up to her own bedroom with a heavy heart and an even heavier stomach. She didn’t know how to help Susanna deal with such a great loss, and she didn’t know how to help Mrs. Anderson from outside the bedroom. All she could do was cross her fingers and pray that everything would work out for the best.
16
Three days later
Things didn’t immediately get better, no matter how much Jo wished them to. She spent the next two nights fighting the temptation to force her way into Mrs. Anderson’s room, the agonizing hole in her chest gaping more and more open with each silent hour. The only place she was finding solace was in her dreams, and even those was imperfect, especially when Jo’s mind wandered too deeply into her fantasies.
The rain splashed on the leaves of Jo's beautiful garden as she looked out from Mrs. Anderson's windowsill, her beloved and she safe and warm beneath the thick downy quilt that Susanna had made for Mrs. Anderson's birthday. Jo had her arm securely around Mrs. Anderson's waist, and was nuzzling her cheek into the older woman's hair as they watched the storm.
“Isn't the rain beautiful?” Jo asked, turning her head to drop a kiss on top of Mrs. Anderson's head before looking back down at the plants. The roses had begun to bloom in days past, the buds exploding in shades of pink, red, and white, the colors glowing beneath the shimmery film of the water droplets.
Mrs. Anderson nodded and looked up at Jo. “The rain is not as beautiful as you, my heart. Joanna, I lo—”
Jo was wretched from her sleep by a sharp, loud sound coming from Mrs. Anderson's room. At first, she thought that she was just imagining things, but when she rubbed her eyes blearily and tried to wake up, she heard it again, and again, and again, for nearly four beats. Jo tilted her head to the sound and listened, trying to figure out what it was that she was hearing. It almost sounded like an owl or some other kind of wild animal, but it wasn’t likely that an animal had gotten into the house. Susanna might be doing something that made noise, but the third floor was isolated enough from the rest of the house that noises
didn’t normally travel to its walls. What could it be?
By the fifth time the noise had sounded, Jo had woken up enough to realize that what she was hearing was the sound of Mrs. Anderson coughing and wheezing, a combination that was very unusual for her. Each cough sounded painful to Jo’s ears, especially when combined with the loud, gasping breaths that Mrs. Anderson was taking.
Immediately concerned, Jo pushed her blankets aside and got out of bed. She likely wouldn’t be able to physically check on the woman, unless Mrs. Anderson had decided by some stroke of luck to unlock her door, but she knew she had to do something, even if it was something as simple as sliding a sprig of lavender beneath the door or waving a sage brush around the house.
When Jo got out of bed, however, she was immediately overwhelmed with the feeling that something was not right. She could still hear Mrs. Anderson coughing, but the noise seemed to be getting weaker and breathier. Mrs. Anderson let out a groan and coughed again before whimpering, “Joanna, help.”
Jo's heart stopped and her stomach filled with dread. She slid her feet into the slippers next to her bed and ran down the hall, sliding to a stop in front of the door and jiggling the doorknob. Mrs. Anderson may have called for her, but if she was as weak as her voice sounded, then it was highly unlikely that Mrs. Anderson could get out of bed on her own.
Regardless, Jo needed to get into that room. The coughing and gasping had gone silent, and she didn’t hear Mrs. Anderson moving around anymore. It scared Jo greatly. She tried to ram the door with her shoulder a few times like her brother used to do, but her lithe body did little to move the solid wood of the door. “Mrs. Anderson? Are you all right?” There wasn’t a response. Jo waited for a moment before trying to hit the door again. “Mrs. Anderson?”
For Whom the Roses Grow Page 13
