Cavanaugh

by Jody Kaye

  She’d anxiously avoided the delivery altogether, watching through the curtains as the transport company she hired settled the mare into its new home. As soon as the men left, she ran to the stable to admire Lavender. Overwhelmed by the massive responsibility standing before her, Rose felt sorry for taking the beast from her family and tried to settle the horse’s nerves. They found a calm in one another. Other than Lavender, Rose hadn’t spoken to a soul for the better part of a week.

  Becoming invisible was an easy feat when everyone else was living their own lives. She hadn’t been back to the mansion and had no imminent plans to as she’d absconded with groceries to fill the small fridge and half of Eric’s liquor cabinet to keep her warm. No one acknowledged her faked illness let alone Rose’s absence. Although, it wasn’t like Rose would know if Benita or Eric did.

  Ross scoffed, “It’s difficult to talk to you through a crack.”

  She shrugged her shoulders, not caring that the motion was blocked by the door.

  “We need to talk, Rose.”

  “Are you apologizing?” she bit out.

  Ross shook his head. This woman! Why did this woman always need to be right?

  “I didn’t think so.”

  She attempted to shut the door, but Ross pushed against it. Startled, Rose let go of the knob and stepped away, raising her hands up to her chest.

  “If we don’t talk about it how are we ever going to…” His jaw dropped. “What happened to you?”

  Rose’s eyes were sunk in and hollow. She looked as if she hadn’t slept in a week. The left side of her face was yellowing, the way a bruise drains, and up over her cheekbone by her ear was a brown scab that crackled at the edges like a rug burn.

  “Nothing. Just go.”

  “I’m not going anywhere until you… Rose, did you have an accident?” He hadn’t seen her car lately. Ross closed the distance between them, reaching for her arms.

  “Ow!” She sobbed as his palms touched the fabric of her sweatshirt. She’d crouched back.

  Ross moved one hand up to her cheek; she looked away from him as he touched a tender spot. It was then that he saw what looked like a pink slice at her neck surrounded by more streaks of yellow.

  His temper flared. Heat rushed to his ears, but Ross kept his head. Rose was scared. Taking his anger out on her did no good.

  Without permission, he unzipped the front of Rose’s sweatshirt, gently pulling the sides apart and down her arms. There were more bruises on her biceps and a wicked bruise on her wrist.

  Nothing left to lose, Rose swallowed, lifting her shirt to show him the drainage on her stomach.

  “I didn’t think I was going to get away.” Her voice was empty and Rose didn’t cry. She’d used today’s allotment of tears confiding in Lavender while tending to the horse after Ross’s truck pulled out of the stable yard. It was the one and only time she’d garner the courage to speak of that terrible night.

  Lavender’s judgment either way was silent. If the horse pitied her, Rose wasn’t the wiser. Having a mute confidant allowed the question of how Rose got herself into this situation to remain unspoken. Rose placed enough blame on herself for every time she’d let anyone believe that she was easy to get under Eric’s skin.

  Ross righted her shirt, pulled the sweatshirt sleeves back up over her arms, and zipped the front closed all the way up to Rose’s neck. His hands shook.

  “Who did this?” He asked with an eerie calm before his voice pitched. “Was it your father?” he demanded.

  If Eric was responsible then Ross was going to take his boot to Kingsbrier’s front door. What filth hurt their own daughter?

  Rose stood like a mannequin. “No,” she said, watching Ross relax only the tiniest amount. His touches had been tender, while his facial expressions screamed that he’d like to throttle someone, anyone, including shaking sense into her.

  Rose now saw why. Eric’s parenting may have contributed to her current predicament, but Rose was responsible. Perhaps she had led Lathan on. What he’d gleaned from rumors certainly allowed him leeway.

  “He asked me to entertain someone.”

  “Did you tell your father? Does Eric know this man tried to hurt you?”

  She stood stock still, staring at her cold bare feet. She didn’t want Eric to find out. He’d throw it in her face, using the attack as a reason to force her off on someone else even quicker. Midget had friends. So did Lathan. Rose didn’t put it past any of them to do this to her.

  “It doesn’t make a difference. It’s going to happen again and I’m stuck finding a way of living with it. Or not,” she remarked in a flat way that worried him.

  Dismissing Ross, his anger, contempt, and moreover his compassion, Rose walked over and sat down on a love seat that had seen better days. She tucked her legs up and covered herself with afghans, hiding her body. She rested her head on the sofa’s arm. The way she did it was natural—as if this was the way she’d been living—and Ross got the impression she was telling him to leave.

  Although, Ross hadn’t smelled liquor on her there were several empty whiskey bottles on a coffee table. He bit down on his lip and stared at the door. Ross and Rose were on the outs, but she needed someone. Lily Anne was too far away and it didn’t make much more sense to call Rodger than it did for Ross himself to step up for Rose. This, though, what he was trying not to imagine happened to Rose was bigger than task he’d ever had to step up to for a friend. How was he supposed to deal with this? Ross wasn’t even sure he was supposed to ask for details. How did one say that word without making it worse? He wouldn’t think less of Rose if she was raped. He couldn’t. No matter what it hadn’t been her fault. But trying to convince her of that was going to be a tough sell considering her current state.

  Knowing Rose she also hadn’t bothered seeing a doctor, keeping whatever injuries she had a secret. He worried for a split second that she may be pregnant, not as much about a baby as what that might do to her psyche. She was already distraught.

  Rose had no one but him and Ross’s protective instincts overrode his desire to take his fist to Eric Kingsbrier, bloodying and bruising the uncaring man in a similar way to what he’d allowed to happen to his daughter.

  Ross squatted down to eye level.

  She frowned.

  “You don’t have to stay. I’ve been alone this whole time… My whole life it seems.”

  He settled, onto the floor crossing his legs and lacing his fingers into her thin ones that dangled, peeking out from under the blankets.

  “I’m not going anywhere. It’s time to talk about it, Rose.” He began compassionately.

  “This is my life.” She winced, unwilling to give a detailed account of the night Lathan hurt her. “I need to either find a buyer for Lavender and leave Kingsbrier on my own or accept my fate. Eric doesn’t want me here. His life woulda been better with my momma and a son. Nothing’s going to change. It’s only going to get worse. I have no control over who he wants running his company.”

  “Can’t he hire a CEO?”

  Ross searched for a plausible explanation to help.

  “And risk giving someone the power to cut himself from his life’s work? This has been all about his legacy. Something that’ll stand long after he’s gone.”

  “But your kids won’t have his last name.”

  “I’m not sure that even occurs to him. It’s that they’d have his blood. They’d stand up at the helm, touting that their granddaddy did this or that. They’d be Kingsbriers. They’d live at Kingsbrier someday, running a company with the same name. He’d be the one who made them wealthy and for that, he’d have their perpetual gratitude.”

  “Most common folks are grateful for the things they’ve worked the hardest for. The things they’ve earned themselves and not been given.”

  “He doesn’t see it that way. His goal was to amass a fortune to pass on. People take his wealth seriously. They want it for themselves… Any way they can get it.”

  Not for the fi
rst time, Ross felt like the way Rose was raised was wrong. He’d never want to be part of that kind of upbringing or push it on the next generation.

  “If you don’t get married, have children, then that stops. So are you going to leave?” he asked, concerned that Rose was at her breaking point and might evaporate into thin air.

  “I’ve never wanted to be anywhere but Kingsbrier. I hate to admit that because it’s living in the past. I wasn’t so young when my mother died that I don’t remember what this place was when it was full of life.” She blew out a sharp breath. “Maybe if I go I can bring the horse. I like taking care of her.”

  “If you do leave, I’ll watch over her.” Ross offered.

  “You think I should go?” she asked, seeking clarity.

  It had hit Ross the instant Rose peeled up her shirt that he could’ve stopped this before it ever happened. All he had to do was see her point. Take Rose’s earlier explanation at face value and agree to her insane offer. She would have been at his side that night instead. Ross didn’t need the money and he’d never considered another man might take advantage of Rose. Weren’t the higher echelons of society supposedly above that? Ross failed her and a tumultuous ripple of guilt racked him. He’d left her unprotected while protecting his own heart from the girl who’d been stealing it for months.

  “I don’t want to see you go, Rose.” Ross pressed his temple against the couch and rubbed her fingers. “This can’t happen to you again, though.”

  “My options are fairly limited.”

  “I know,” he said. “So I guess the best thing to do until we can figure out a better option is for us to get married.”

  “Nervous?” Ross inquired.

  They were driving three odd hours to cross the Louisiana border. It was Ross’s decision. Marriages being a matter of public record, this aligned with her original plan. Rose didn’t seem to have it in her to agree or disagree with Ross that it kept their marriage a secret. She was numb, listless. And Ross was willing to do anything to see Rose happy again. He considered channeling his younger self—who’d been caught red-handed being sneaky like Rose was—as well as their road trip part of that endeavor.

  “I’m tired,” she replied, much too long after he’d asked the question. Her voice and body language showing latent exasperation that she was forced to come up with an answer when he disturbed her.

  Ross was used to Rose sitting to his right in the truck, chatting up a storm about whatever came to mind. Today he was driving her car. The top was up and the windows closed, making it stuffier, but she kept rubbing her arms and he wanted to ensure she stayed warm.

  Rose cradled her head in her palm. Her face wore a vacant expression. Occasionally, her lids drifted closed for a few moments. The yellowing bruise on her face had drained, very little of it showing before she’d put make-up on this morning. She looked pretty in a starched white blouse with French cuffs and tailored tan trousers. Her hair was loose around her neck. It was elegant, although, she didn’t look much like a bride. Ross hadn’t told her that for fear that it would scare her off from going through with it.

  She’d clutched her birth certificate in her left hand until the sweat from her palm began wearing the paper fibers away. Rose watched Ross take the paper from her and place it on the seat between them.

  Her loginess was so unusual and it heightened his sense of wanting to do what was best for Rose. For the second week in a row, she’d stayed in her apartment like it was a blanket fort able to protect her from the realities of the outside world, only leaving to tend to Lavender.

  Concerned for her welfare, Ross had lingered outside the barn. He’d heard her speak, narrating what she was doing as she fed and brushed Lavender, shoveled out the stall, and tended to the other chores. But she’d said nothing to Lavender about marrying him. That concerned Ross.

  Rose wasn’t treating their bargain as a fête, nor was it with the dread of a root canal. She was complacent about it. As complacent as she’d been when remarking that she’d go along with Mr. Kingsbrier’s wishes or leave. Ross wasn’t sure which idea she leaned toward because neither seemed to hold her interest. Nor did the sporadic conversations he’d tried to engage her in when making plans to cross the state line.

  Rose wasn’t the type to gloat, but Ross had expected she’d perk up a bit as the week went by. Although, he wasn’t the knight in shining armor that she’d been promised to at birth, was he?

  As if Grandy’s calendar shared Ross’s worries, he tore off pages marked dysania: the state of finding it hard to get out of bed in the morning, and rhinotillexomania; the overwhelming wish to be loved. Selcouth marked today’s date. It was aprospos. Everything did feel different and strange. Ross wanted the Rose he’d come to know back. The carefree girl who prattled on and acted as if there was nothing better to do in life than eat lotus blossoms.

  Since Ross agreed to marry her, Rose spent an increasing amount of time in her own head, keeping her thoughts to herself. At first, Ross joked with Rose to get her to come out the shell she’d burrowed into. When that didn’t work, he’d slung his arm over her shoulder, tucking her carefully to his side. The first time he’d done it a stiff silence ensued. Ross felt tiny droplets wet his shirt. He smoothed back Rose’s fair hair and let her let go of the pain the only way she seemed able to.

  Each night after that, Ross ate his meal sitting on her small sofa, glancing over as Rose picked at hers. When he pushed the empty plate away, Rose curled up on his lap and cried, letting go of all the emotion she kept bottled up inside.

  Ross wanted to know what happened and feared hearing what she’d been through. How could he bring the Rose back that filled his days with laughter and made the nights alone in his bed seem lonelier than ever? How did any man, for that matter, hold onto the relationship with a woman he knew and loved after they’d been through something similar? Ross was at a disadvantage. Rose hadn’t been his wife, let alone his girlfriend before the incident. He was useless other than to offer this bond to Rose by becoming her husband, hoping it provided a fragment of the protection that she needed to regain her true self.

  When they reached the courthouse, Ross straightened his black pants and dark tie before opening the car door to guide Rose out. She was like a colt wobbling in her high-heels.

  “It’s not too late. I won’t be crushed if you rescind your offer.”

  “Is that what you’re waiting on me to do, Rose?”

  “Nothing surprises me anymore.”

  “Do you want to get married today?”

  “If you do.”

  “That’s not a ‘yes’, sugar.”

  “Not ‘no’ either.” Her voice cracked with a sudden twang.

  “What would happen if we drove back to Kingsbrier right now?”

  “I’d leave.” Rose hadn’t even stopped to think about her answer.

  His heart felt like it was about to shatter into a million pieces.

  “Then I’d like to keep our agreement so that you’re not off somewhere God-only-knows by yourself.” Her gaze fell and Ross lifted her chin to see into her sad eyes. “I’m not forcing you. This is your choice, Rose. All I want is for you to be happy.”

  With me, he added silently. If he’d foreseen the turn of events, Ross would’ve agreed to this beforehand. He’d been a fool not to. In name only still kept Rose safe.

  When his fingertips left her face Rose looked left then right and left again as if she were lost. Ross intertwined his fingers in hers, nudging her along with him.

  Ross filled out the application with Rose looking over his shoulder.

  “This says we have to wait. We can’t wait!” she flustered. “We can’t come back.”

  “Rose,” Ross grabbed her wayward hands. “Let me fill out the waiver that’s here and see if we can get it stamped. We can come back if we have to.”

  The pen made a final scratch across the paper. Ross tucked three bills in between the two sheets when he finished. Stunned, Rose stayed put as he began to
walk away without her.

  “Whatever we need to do.” He assured her.

  In his chambers, the judge caught the cash falling from between the forms. “I take it you need this to happen right away.” His thin lips formed a line when he looked from Ross’s face to Rose’s waist.

  Ross tucked Rose’s long white-blonde hair behind her ear, letting it flow down her back and then caressed the yellow that remained somewhat hidden by her necklace and collar. He didn’t want to embarrass Rose, but what was worse—this judge comprehending Ross was looking out for her best interest, or him thinking her reputation was less than sterling?

  “We’d like it to.” Ross set a firm hand on her back before turning his attention back to the older man.

  The judge’s eyes squinted. “Are you doing this of your own free will?”

  “Yes, sir.” She leaned forward. Her voice soft, but firm.

  “Very well then.”

  The officiant signed and stamped the documents. He handed several slips and pieces of paper back to Ross and tucked the money into the pocket of his robes as he stood. The book he held opened to a well-worn page. Without needing to refer to it, the judge recited lines that seemed rather simplistic and insignificant to Rose when she considered the grandiose wedding that Lily-Anne was planning.

  The ceremony took less than three minutes and they were married. Aside from the fact that they didn’t have rings to exchange, the only thing that stuck out in Rose’s mind was the genuine the expression on Ross’s face when the corners of his lips curled up as she said, “I do.” That alone was weighty and momentous and made her feel like what they’d done had substance behind it.

  The way Ross kissed her was more chaste than he’d done in his truck. It got under Rose’s skin like an itch she couldn’t scratch. For the first time in over a week, Rose felt an emotion other than apathy, disdain for herself, and sorrow. She was, in all truthfulness, angry that her life had led her to this sacrificial alter.