A White Rose

by Bekah Ferguson

  “That's just it—” he said, “how can scientists agree that 'spontaneous generation' has been disproved, yet still claim that the earth evolved by chance—that something appeared out of nothing? It's a huge contradiction.”

  Rose picked up the hollyhock stem again and touched the delicate petals. She gave Jason a rueful smile. “I guess the truth is, I didn't want to believe that life couldn't come out of nowhere. That is, without something—or someone—orchestrating it all into motion. I felt like, because my life was meaningless, I might as well do whatever I want.” She paused. “It was a justification.”

  He nodded. “Well, I'll say this: You don't have to compromise your intelligence to believe in God, any more than you have to compromise your intelligence to believe in science.” He grinned, raising an eyebrow; and she laughed, shaking her head.

  Jason reached across the table for the flower and lifted it up for examination. “Flowers… ” he drawled, meeting her gaze with a lazy look. “Described by Charles Darwin as 'an abominable mystery.'… ” He chuckled, rotating the stem between his fingers.

  Rose looked away, gazing at a cluster of white and lavender columbine to the left of the arbor entranceway; absently twisting the cap back on her water bottle and setting it aside. A bumble bee buzzed and hummed as it hovered to and fro amongst the flower petals. She shot a sideways glance at Jason and let out a long, surrendering exhale. He watched her with interest.

  An abominable mystery indeed.…

  A surge of excitement filled her breast at the thought and she exhaled again; this time peacefully. “Pollination,” she said with a shrug of the shoulder, “now why didn't I think of it before?”

  Jason grinned, unspoken comprehension in his eyes.

  “Wind, water, birds,” she went on, counting them off with her fingers, “insects, butterflies, animals… Without the ecosystem, there would be no pollination.”

  He nodded.

  “I mean, I've always known this, it goes without saying—but—! It all must have been in place from the get-go or nothing would have survived on its own. It would be, as you say… impossible… ” She shut her eyes as though weary and flopped back in her chair, shivering despite the heat. “Why didn't I see it before?” she said, opening her eyes, laughing. She turned to face him head on. “Without pollination, there would be no flowers or trees. Without flowers—no insects, without trees—no oxygen, without crops—no food… the list goes go on and on.”

  Jason was watching her keenly.

  “Yes, reproduction,” he said. “How's that for a road block?”

  She laughed again, shaking her head. “My gosh, Jay… ”

  He raised an eyebrow. “But seriously, though. How did lifeforms evolve for millions of years before they had reproductive systems?”

  She shook her head and looked away, pulling her teeth over her bottom lip. Straightening in her seat, she turned toward him again and met his eyes. “I believe now,” she breathed, blinking twice as though to clear her vision. “I really do.”

  Before he could react, the echoing sound of the flower shop's back door whacking against its frame caught their attention; and in unison, they glanced toward the arbor. Through the opening, Jaelynn could be seen gripping her crutch as she made her way across the yard toward them.

  Jason stood up and gave his sister a little wave.

  Rose stood as well and retrieved her straw hat, water bottle and bag of fudge. She followed Jason out of the garden where they met Jaelynn midway across the yard.

  “Hey guys,” Jaelynn said, smiling, squinting in the sunlight. “Rose, I've just finished locking up the shop—and you've got some visitors. They're waiting out front.” She hooked a thumb over her shoulder.

  Rose scrunched her brow and put a hand on her hip, hesitating. She wasn't expecting anyone. “Who are they, customers?”

  “No, they say they're friends of yours. Two ladies and a man.”

  She nodded. “All right then, I'll go see who it is.”

  When she came around the side of the shop to the front parking lot, it was to find a silver Audi first, which she didn't recognize, followed by the elegant backs of Tiffany and Chantel who were standing next to the car; chatting with a touch of fanfare. A buff African-American in a pastel pink button-down shirt and trendy shades sat in the car behind the steering wheel. He was bobbing his head ever-so-slightly to the low beat of trance music; his forearm draped over the rim of the open window. A gold ring and bracelet adorned his dark hand, fingernails manicured.

  At the sound of her light footfall on the gravel, the women turned in her direction and lowered their shades to take a good, scrutinizing look. For a moment, Rose forgot they hadn't seen her since she'd dyed her hair amber, and wondered why they were frowning. Then, realizing, she removed her straw hat with a grin; wanting to shock them with a full view.

  She then did a little girlish twirl.

  “Yes, it's me,” she said laughing, setting her things down on a porch step and waltzing up to them. She finished with a saucy hand on her jutting hip; tossing her hair over her shoulder like a showgirl. “Whatcha think, m'ladies?”

  Tiffany spoke first, replacing her sunglasses and doing her own hip jut. “Dakota, honey, what have you done.”

  Rose laughed but didn't bother to mention her name-change. It would take too much to explain. “It's my natural color,” she said simply. “I was tired of having to dye it blond month after month after month after month… ”

  Chantel's disapproval was mildly evident but she didn't comment. They were friends by association only.

  Jason and Jaelynn rounded the back of the shop then and headed for Jason's sedan, which was parked about ten meters away from them beneath the shade of an oak tree. Rose turned toward them, holding back a frown, and waved as Jaelynn ducked into the front passenger seat. She didn't want Jason to leave yet but there was nothing she could do. He slid his sister's crutch into the back seat and came around the front of the vehicle into full view of the women.

  Chantel stiffened momentarily, like a she-lion catching sight of prey, and then eased into a sultry pose; her long bare legs untanned and white as powder in her bejeweled sandals. She was a tall, delicate figure; fringe dress framing naked collarbones; bobbed, chocolate hair and doey brown eyes beneath transparent shades; just like a model straight from the pages of Vogue.

  Rose held her breath and watched Chantel, swallowing down a lump of contempt. Don't you dare, girl…

  Jason approached them with several long-legged strides, splaying his fingers on his hips when he reached them. He nodded a greeting; glancing at Rose as though expecting her to make introductions. She did so reluctantly, practically tasting Chantel's hungry, up and down appraisal of Jason. A fierce sense of protection and jealousy welled within her, and with child-like instinct, she fought the urge to jump in front of him and shield him from view with out-stretched arms.

  The lewd, come-hither look in Chantel's eyes was unmistakable.

  Jason shook their hands, stepped back and cast another glance at Rose. She sensed his awkwardness and was more than willing to grant his silent request for dismissal.

  “Thanks for the maple fudge,” she said softly, smiling. “Say bye to Jaelynn for me.”

  He grinned. “Will do.” With another polite nod at the ladies, he pivoted and strode back to his car.

  By now the young man in the Audi was showing interest and he nodded a high-browed greeting to Rose as he caught her gaze. The slow side grin spoke volumes and with a mild sense of nausea, she was quick to turn back to Tiffany; watching Jason's sedan in her peripheral vision as he drove away.

  “No wonder you dropped off the face of the earth,” Tiffany was saying. “You've been hiding him from us, haven't you!”

  “What? No—listen—” She was going to say, Why are you here? when Chantel cut in:

  “Details, love. I must know everything about him.”

  “There's nothing to tell.” She tried to speak evenly but a note of hostilit
y broke through.

  “Oh, come on—” Chantel said playfully, swatting Rose's upper arm. “Don't be so greedy.”

  With a sharp pang of irony, she recalled several years of clubbing with Tiffany and the likes of Chantel: They'd always been willing to share their men with one another in much the same way one lends out a cocktail dress or pair of shoes.

  No more.

  If Jason belonged to her he would be treasured and beloved. A person, not a possession.

  “He's just a friend,” she said coldly.

  Chantel grinned, looking all the more delighted. “Is he attached to anyone else?—Wife, girlfriend?”

  “No.”

  “Then you must bring him along tonight!” she said, fairly squealing; eyes bright with excitement. “That's why we're here, by the way. An intervention, you could say—”

  “Yes—!” Tiffany cut in, “because you up and disappeared several months ago and haven't been returning my calls. I'd almost given up on you, girl! But here you are and you look fine to me. I was almost afraid you'd come down with some kind of freaky illness.” She made a face. “Anyway—listen to this: There's a shindig tonight at Reggie's lakefront—” she flicked a glance over her shoulder, indicating that the driver of the flashy car was Reggie. “—and I thought, hey—let's swing by Dakota's shop, see what she's been up to lately—give her one last chance!” A trilly laugh. “So this is it, babe. Will you come?”

  Rose dallied, swatting at a mosquito and scuffing a stone with the tip of her sandal. She was aware of Chantel's condescending look, but did not give her the satisfaction of acknowledging it. “Where's his place and what time's it at?” She met Tiffany's gaze.

  Tiffany gave her directions, proudly announcing that her new man friend owned one of the gated estates on Shanty Bay Road.

  Rose dallied again, pulse picking up a notch. Last summer, she would have leaped at the chance without a moment's hesitation. Now the prospect seemed somehow futile and frivolous without the goal of a potential man hunt. But… for interest sake… maybe. Such parties had always been enjoyable before in their own right, had they not? It was a social event after all; a fun event. Nothing wrong with socializing was there? And what was her alternative this night? A quiet, air-conditioned house; perhaps a television program or a novel. But nothing else.

  Her throat tightened with physical pain.

  Loneliness.

  How often had unacknowledged loneliness fueled her libido in the past?

  “All right,” she found herself saying, pulse pounding. “I'll come.”

  “Excellent!” Tiffany pivoted away from her gracefully, striding toward the Audi's front passenger seat; iron-straight ponytail swishing from side to side as she went. “And if you can, honey, be sure to bring along that lovely piece of—”

  “If you mean Jason,” she snapped, interrupting, “he won't be coming with me. He's not the kind of guy who—”

  “What kind of guy is he then?” Chantel cut in, a note of disdain in her voice. She was practically scowling.

  Rose met the woman's eyes with careful control and shoulders back, but chose to say nothing in response.

  “I could show him a good time,” Chantel said, “if you're not willing to.” She lowered her shades a notch, eying the “Chocolate Factory” bag on the porch. “Or maybe you're just lying because you don't want to share.” Her voice lowered to an undertone, eyes narrowing: “Well, keep him then,” she said and stepped to the Audi, opening the backseat door. “There's plenty more where that came from!” She slid onto the seat without another word.

  With a wave, Reggie revved the engine, reversed the car in the empty parking lot, and sped out to the roadway; dust rising beneath his tires.

  ***

  After much deliberation as to what to wear, she decided on an aqua-paisley, chiffon dress that swished just below her knees and finished with corded spaghetti strap shoulders. It was one of the only dresses in her closet she felt comfortable wearing to church or around Jason; or any of her new friends, for that matter. It was lovely, feminine and sexy, but without the plunging v-neck or naked midriff so prevalent amongst her hordes of halter-top outfits.

  She arranged her amber hair in loose waves and applied champagne eye shadow, brown mascara and pale pink lipstick. She fastened her chakra necklace around her neck, as usual, and slipped into her beaded sandals at the front door.

  Some ten minutes later, Rose passed through the open, black-iron gates of Reggie's estate, and drove down the winding, tree-guarded driveway leading to a huge cream stucco beach house. She parked behind a long row of glossy cars, cut the engine and stepped out onto the tar driveway. A freshwater breeze bathed her neck and shoulders as she glanced up at the blue sky peeking through gaps in the leaves high above her. Light rock music sounded in the distance from what was most certainly an elaborate, outdoor sound-system, and a sudden rush of musical laughter lifted on the wind.

  Around the left side of the estate and through the encompassing trees, stone-cut stairs weaved downward through sloping flower gardens to a large stained deck spreading out over the water. To the left a long expanse of smooth sand lead to a volleyball net in the distance. The deck was evenly spread with well-dressed, good-looking people holding cocktail glasses, and several more mingled on the man-made beach; gazing out at the lake or watching the sun-kissed game of volleyball taking place. The air was redolent of charcoal and meat. There would be, of course, martinis and margaritas, wine and champagne, beer served in long neck glasses, gin and rye and scotch… Likely dancing too once the sun descended into the lake. And perhaps some lamp-lit boating as well. From there, couples would retreat to private settings for the rest of the night.

  Regular, good ol' debauchery.

  Rose paused on the first stone-cut step, dizzy with unbidden, invasive memories:

  Awkward sex in the sand on the edge of the water under a moonlit sky with some jock whose name she'd long ago forgotten… or sprawling feverishly, half drunk on a cushioned yacht bench with a tanned insurance broker who'd taken great pains to keep his whereabouts hush hush…

  Despite the cooling breeze, her cheeks grew prickly hot and a painful knot formed in her stomach. She raised clammy fingertips to her temple and closed her eyes tight against the memories. Funny how what had previously summoned a swell of pride could now invoke such intense feelings of revulsion. She wanted to throw up.

  A moment later, she opened her eyes and looked out over the distant throng again, pursing her lips.

  She stiffened.

  Alexandre Belmont stood on the far edge of the deck, towering over a classy brunette who gazed up at him with adoring eyes and a blithe smile.

  Even from here, some fifty feet above where he stood, she could clearly see the look of passion in his engrossed eyes and charming grin. She blinked and glanced at the looming beach house to her right with its symmetrical windows and standing seam, red roof. The image brought to mind the contrast of Jason's red tin roof on his weathered log home. Though his yard was neatly mowed, it was outlined by overgrown dandelions, purple thistle and wild daisies. Pristine and idyllic in its natural beauty.

  She was aware then of the chakra necklace weighing on the back of her neck like a milestone, pulling her downward.

  Had it always been this heavy?

  She closed her fist around the cool, impersonal metal of the talisman and squared her shoulders. Beside her was a black urn filled with sword-shaped yucca and a plethora of blue, red and yellow pansies. With a sharp swallow of determination, she unclasped the talisman and dropped it into the abyss of the urn, out of sight.

  Then, turning on her heel, she went back to her SUV.

  She was done with the empty, bogus lifestyle that had so insidiously defined her all these years; sick of being chewed up and spit out by saccharine mouths of gleaming white teeth. She was done with using men and done with degrading her body in the so-called name of freedom. Freedom? She'd never been free.

  But no more.

&nbs
p; She was done with it.

  Chapter 38

  August

  Rose Reilly stood on the packed wet sand of a small Shanty Bay beach, in a short line of people who were waiting to be baptised.

  Pastor Dan Nelan—of Clarice's church—stood in waist deep, sparkling water; speaking to the crowd of fifty observers gathered on the beach. Sunlight illuminated his graying brown hair and reflected off the water like golden shards.

  “Thanks be to God,” he said, baritone voice rising above the breeze, “who always leads us in triumphal procession in Christ and through us spreads everywhere the fragrance of the knowledge of him! For we are to God the aroma of Christ among those who are being saved, and those who are perishing. To the one we are the smell of death—to the other, the fragrance of life.”

  Rose smoothed the folds of the navy robe she wore over shorts and a T-shirt and stepped into the cool water that lapped the shoreline. With ginger steps, she made her way across the pebbled lake floor toward the minister as the water saturated her garment; heart beating in her chest with a mixture of nerves and excitement. Pastor Dan smiled at her when she reached him. Facing the crowd again, he spoke of the Almighty God; Creator of the universe and the giver of life; and spoke on the meaning of baptism—identifying one's self with Jesus in his crucifixion and resurrection.

  “In the words of the Apostle Paul, 'I have been crucified with Christ; it is no longer I who live, but Christ lives in me; and the life which I now live in the flesh, I live by faith in the Son of God—who loved me and gave Himself for me.' ”

  The Pastor turned to face Rose again and smiled once more, crows' feet crinkling about his grandfatherly eyes. “Rose, have you dedicated your life to Jesus Christ as your personal Lord and Savior?”

  She nodded, holding back the joyous smile that twitched at her lips. “I have,” she said, voice confident and lifting.

  He put one arm around her shoulder. “Then I now baptise you in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.”