Lily Rose

by Deborah Robinson

  Carrie Ellen had ironed halfway through the basket of laundry. The snow had stopped and a sliver of sunlight peeked over the mountaintops. Having awoken, the baby began to gurgle in her crib.

  Picking her up, Carrie Ellen said tenderly, “Good morning, my Lily Rose.”

  Lily Rose felt her mama’s face in her hands and smelled her sweet, flowery scent. They held each other close, deep in love.

  * * *

  Lily Rose had grown up listening to the story of her adoption many times. She loved hearing about the telephone call from social services, the hand-me-down clothes she was wearing—which Carrie Ellen still kept in a dresser drawer—and meeting her parents. She liked knowing the origin of her name, that “Lily” was the name on her birth certificate while “Rose” was the name of Carrie Ellen’s mother. When she was three, her parents had told her she was adopted, which she took to mean that they had paid money for her. “How much did your parents pay for you?” she liked to ask other children.

  Lily never wondered about her life before that, or where she had come from, even though now, at age seven, she was old enough to know what being adopted really meant. All she knew was that Carrie Ellen and Alexander were her parents, and that she loved them more than anything in the world, along with Rebel, her German Shepherd.

  Sitting in class at the end of the day, Lily thought about how Rebel would be waiting for her by the schoolhouse door as he always did. At 2:30, when she emerged, he ran to her and jumped up, pushing his warm muzzle as close to her as he possibly could without knocking her down. She threw her arms around him, kissing him and cooing, “Rebel, my good boy. Thank you for waiting for me.”

  Then they walked up the street two blocks to her daddy’s veterinary office right off Main Street, where an assortment of dogs, cats, and even a bird waited with their owners. Lily was known as the vice president in charge of “Pet Soothing.” She put Rebel behind the counter in his bed for a nap, then went around the waiting room, playing with the animals who seemed especially nervous and talking to their owners.

  “Now what seems to be the problem here?” she asked a man whose cat was cowering in the back of its carrier.

  “I’m sure he’ll be fine,” she assured a woman as she stroked the head of her dog, who had an injured leg.

  Although she was only in the second grade, she had learned from her father the valuable lesson of treating both people and their animals with respect and kindness.

  “Lily,” Alexander said, coming out of his office. “Don’t forget that your mama wants you home soon.”

  “Yes, Daddy,” Lily replied obediently.

  She was only allowed to spend an hour at her father’s office on the weekdays and a half day on Saturdays because Carrie Ellen was afraid she would become too attached to the animals. Occasionally an owner would leave a dog or cat behind, and it would inevitably make its way into the Long family. Now they had six dogs. Since Lily was an only child, her parents let her have as many pets as she wanted, but there had to be some limits.

  Lily and Rebel continued on their way home, and soon they arrived at the Long family homestead at the top of the hill on Weeping Willow Lane, so called because of the two giant weeping willow trees in the front of the yard. A stone path lined with orange African tiger lilies led up to the house, a 1920s white colonial with a mahogany front door and shutters. The wraparound porch, which had been added in the 1950s, looked inviting with pots of blue hydrangeas, white rocking chairs, and a front porch swing that many generations of the family had at one time or another quietly swung in on a lazy Sunday afternoon. Behind the house, a back lawn led deep into the hills filled with pine trees that Lily’s great-grandfather had planted years ago. To the east was the majestic Black Mountain that looked toward Virginia, and beyond that the rugged Blue Ridge Mountains, surrounding the Longs with the most scenic views imaginable.

  Entering the front door, Lily hollered, “Mama, we’re home!”

  “Well, I can see that, Lily. I was just fixing you an afternoon snack.” After giving her a hug, Carrie Ellen placed a plate of chocolate chip pecan cookies and a glass of sweet iced tea on the oak kitchen table. “How was school today?”

  “Josie Collins stepped on the back of my shoe when we were in line going to the playground.” Lily stuck out her white tennis shoe, which indeed had a black mark on the heel. “The teacher had to stop the line so I could put my shoe back on, and Josie laughed at me.”

  “Did you say anything to Josie?”

  Lily furrowed her brow. “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “I didn’t want her to get mad. Josie is popular and has lots of friends. I want to be her friend, too,” Lily admitted in a small voice.

  Carrie Ellen put her arm around Lily’s shoulder. “Don’t fret so much about it, I’m sure Josie was just joking. Now, let’s go pick some flowers for dinner.”

  Lily followed her mother to the garden, but her stomach continued to churn over what had happened at school that day. Why hadn’t she said anything to Josie? Why hadn’t she told the teacher? Instead, she’d let Josie laugh at her, as her face grew hot and flustered. As was her habit when she was worried, she chewed the insides of her cheeks. Sometimes she bit down so hard that her mouth bled and sores formed. Carrie Ellen repeatedly asked her why she did this to herself, but Lily could only shake her head and run away. She didn’t know why she was compelled to hurt herself, and her mother didn’t know how to make it stop, so they just didn’t talk about it.

  After gathering a bouquet of old-fashioned pink tea roses, light green hydrangeas, and multicolored delphiniums from the garden, Lily and Carrie Ellen arranged them in a Tiffany vase that Aunt Martha had given Carrie Ellen for Christmas. Lily always looked forward to visiting Aunt Martha and Uncle Grant at their horse farm near Lexington. With its white fences and large barn, it was just about the prettiest place she had ever seen. She couldn’t wait until she was old enough to spend summers there—Uncle Grant had promised he would teach her to ride—when she could walk out in the morning and see that the grass really was blue.

  While Lily knew her mother looked forward to when Lily could get to know her only relatives better, she also dreaded it because she would miss her daughter dearly. Carrie Ellen and Lily were as close as a mother and daughter could be. There was nothing more Lily liked than to be by her mother’s side, helping her make clothes, cook meals, or tend to the garden. Everything Carrie Ellen touched was a declaration of love for her family, for her house. As she arranged the flowers, she positioned the blooms loose and lovely, brimming with life. Lily thought they couldn’t have looked better than if they had been painted in a picture.

  “How do you know what colors go together?” she asked.

  Carrie Ellen gestured out the open window to the panorama of the mountains in the distance. “Look at nature, and God will tell you,” she said.

  Although she squinted until her eyes crossed, Lily wasn’t sure if she was getting God’s message.

  “Now,” Carrie Ellen said, “help me set the table before your daddy gets home from work. Unless he has an emergency, you know he likes to eat right on time.”

  Lily got the dishes from the old pie safe and started setting the table. “When Daddy gets home, can I ask him about taking piano lessons?”

  “Haven’t I always told you to never ask your daddy, or any man for that matter, anything until after he eats? Then, see what kind of mood he’s in. After Daddy’s done eating, and if he seems to be in a good mood, then you can ask.”

  Lily nodded without really understanding, but she squirrelled this piece of advice away for the day when she imagined that she would have a husband of her own.

  When Alexander walked through the door, he was greeted with the pleasant sight of family life. Carrie Ellen, wearing a blue floral housedress underneath a hand-embroidered apron, dusted off her hands and pushed her brown curls from her glowing face. Kissing him on the cheek, she asked, “Alex, honey, did you take good care of all those
dogs and cats today?”

  Lily came skipping up behind her and hugged him around the waist. “Daddy, I’m so glad you’re home. I taught the dogs how to howl all at once. Want to hear?”

  Alexander sat down at the kitchen table while Lily lined up the six dogs with their tails wagging. As she proceeded to sing off key, they began to bark in a variety of tones, culminating in a full-throated howl. Laughing, Alexander could only give them a standing ovation, smiling broadly but privately hoping that the performance would end soon.

  After they sat down for supper, Lily Rose reached for her parents’ hands to say grace, as they always did before each meal. She did the honors on this night. “Dear God, Thank you for our food, for Mommy and Daddy, Aunt Martha and Uncle Grant, and our entire family, including Rebel and all my other pets. Please keep us all safe. Amen.”

  “Amen,” Carrie Ellen and Alexander echoed.

  Carrie Ellen started to pass around the chicken and dumplings, green beans, and creamed corn. For dessert, there was a pineapple cream pie waiting in the kitchen that she had baked earlier in the afternoon.

  Carefully watching every bite her father took, Lily waited until he set down his fork, patting his belly with satisfaction, before she spoke up. “Daddy, can I please take piano lessons? I’ll practice and work real hard.”

  Placing his napkin on the table, Alexander pretended to think about it. “I’ll tell you what, Lily,” he said. “You can learn how to play the piano if you make me one promise.”

  Lily nodded vigorously, her eyes wide. “Of course, Daddy. What is it?”

  “That you teach your pets” —he indicated the dogs lying around their feet under the table and winked at her—“how to properly sing.”

  “Yes!” Lily exclaimed. “Thank you so much, Daddy!

  Alexander’s eyes met Carrie Ellen’s over the table, and both of them smiled at their daughter’s enthusiasm and their good fortune. They truly felt blessed now that their family was complete.

  The Long family chattered happily as they finished their meal, and the sun slowly set behind the towering mountains.

  Chapter 8

  LILY ROSE SMILED AS SHE looked out the window of the study at Red Rose Farm, at how the bluegrass she loved so much in summer was just as magical in winter. The late afternoon sunshine cast long shadows over the pristine white landscape and made the snow glisten on the bare branches of the oak trees. In the countryside just beyond the side yard, a ranch hand was walking a majestic black stallion that was acting a bit frisky because of the cold. Tossing his thick, silky mane, he picked up his feet gingerly, sending tiny puffs of snow in the air with each step. Clearly, he was enjoying the outdoors as much as the farm dogs that chased him alongside the white fence. Lily giggled when she saw her dog Rebel keeping up with the others, racing and tumbling through the snow until his normally black-brown coat turned pure white.

  Red Rose Farm was like a second home to her. Every year, her parents and Aunt Martha and Uncle Grant switched off where they spent Christmas, and each place made the holiday special in its own way. The previous year, when Aunt Martha and Uncle Grant arrived in Cumberland Falls with their car laden with presents, the Longs’ house was decked out with homemade decorations. The air was permeated with the lingering scents of vanilla and chocolate, due to Carrie Ellen baking all week long. As was the old southern tradition, on a round, lace-covered sweets table lay dark chocolate fudge, a chocolate Bundt cake, hand-pulled taffy, and many other delicious baked goods for guests who dropped by. Also in the living room was the Christmas tree, cut down from the family’s own proud stand of pines that Lily’s great-grandfather had planted. Beside it, Lily played carols on the piano with a few missed notes here and there, accompanied by the howling of the family’s menagerie.

  Christmas at Red Rose Farm was a more elegant affair, although every bit as festive. The facade of the white-brick mansion twinkled with white lights, while the old wooden front door was adorned with wreathed branches of fresh Douglas fir and dogwood berries that surrounded a burnished horseshoe in the center. The polished wooden horse stalls were each decorated with the same wreaths, as well as red ribbons and holly.

  Of course, Lily knew Red Rose best when the oak trees were dense with foliage and the bluegrass was lush. For the past three years, since she had turned ten, Carrie Ellen had allowed her to spend summers with Aunt Martha and Uncle Grant. Accompanied by Rebel, Lily would walk the fields with Uncle Grant, hearing about the inner workings of a Thoroughbred horse farm. She learned how to ride from the longtime farm manager, Ray, and she came to adore the short, taciturn man whose preferred facial expression was dour for nearly everyone but her.

  Lily Rose also enjoyed spending time with Aunt Martha, Carrie Ellen’s older sister. Aunt Martha had been in a wheelchair ever since a childhood bout of polio, but she moved with more grace than anyone Lily knew. She had Carrie Ellen’s deep blue eyes and glossy dark brown hair, and she was always elegantly dressed in black, with jewels winking at her throat and wrists. Lily could just imagine how beautiful she must have been as a young woman when Uncle Grant came to court her.

  The story that Aunt Martha told Lily about how she’d met Uncle Grant sounded like a fairy tale. Her parents had despaired of her ever getting married; while she’d met a number of eligible young men, none of them had been willing to see past her physical limitations. But one night at dinner, her father brought home a young man he’d met through a friend. Just out of the Air Force, Grant Jenkins was dashing in his uniform, his easy smile charming the entire table. Everyone else was already seated when he took the chair next to Aunt Martha, and for the next hour he was captivated by her. He didn’t realize she was in a wheelchair until after dinner, when he stood up and offered her his arm to escort her into the sitting room. In the silence that followed, Aunt Martha stared down at the table, her ears burning with mortification at the trick her well-meaning father had played on this poor, unsuspecting young man. But when she glanced up, she saw in Uncle Grant’s eyes genuine respect and admiration. In that moment she fell in love, and within the year she and Uncle Grant were married.

  Lily listened to this story with her eyes wide. Aunt Martha really was Cinderella. She’d gone from being the underappreciated sister to a princess, not of a castle but one of Kentucky’s largest bloodstock horse farms, which in Lily’s view was even better. Although Aunt Martha couldn’t have children, she lived a rich life, and in Uncle Grant she’d found a man who loved her as much as she deserved. Lily wondered what it would be like to fall in love one day, like Aunt Martha and Uncle Grant, or her own parents. She was old enough now to notice the tender way in which Carrie Ellen and Alexander spoke to each other, the unseen affection of a hand gently placed on a shoulder or a shared smile before they parted. If she could only have one tenth of what her mother and father had, Lily thought she would be lucky.

  At thirteen, Lily was not without her own feelings toward boys. But that was all it was so far—feelings, whether it was noticing how Mitch Adams pitched a baseball for the school team, or Duncan Rice walking past her every day to math class. She also was aware of how boys were starting to look at her, at the bob of her flaxen ponytail and the way she held her books to her chest. But she wasn’t in a hurry to grow up. She was content to wear the clothes that Carrie Ellen made for her, which were as stylish and well made as anything in her friends’ closets. And while she didn’t spend as much time at Alexander’s office anymore, her pets remained the joys of her young life, and she couldn’t imagine being apart from Rebel.

  Turning from the view of Rebel and the farm dogs playing in the yard, Lily tried to focus on the book in front of her, The House of Mirth by Edith Wharton. She’d discovered the gilt-edged, leather-bound tome on one of the shelves in the study, and after opening it and discovering that the main character’s name was the same as her own, decided to try and read it. But the archaic language was too difficult, and all she could tell was that it was set in a long-ago New York, before she close
d it in favor of dreaming about the present-day New York, which she knew not through ancient books but from glitzy magazines and movies and television shows. Everyone looked glamorous in this New York, as if they lived on another planet of high fashion and fine culture, impeccably styled. Lily didn’t know what one did to get there, especially from the backwoods of Kentucky, but it must be possible.

  “Lily!” Carrie Ellen called from the doorway. “Dinner’s almost ready.”

  “I’ll be right there,” Lily replied, slipping the book back onto its shelf.

  Sitting down to Christmas dinner in Red Rose Farm’s old oak dining room was always a treat. Candlelight flickered on the images of famous racehorses parading across the walls, forever frozen in their moments of glory. The massive table was spread with turkey, cornbread stuffing, gravy, sweet potato casserole, scalloped potatoes, cranberry sauce, and honey buttermilk dinner rolls—all concocted by Aunt Martha and Uncle Grant’s superb chef. For dessert, there were Carrie Ellen’s specialties of chocolate cream and pineapple cream pies. Everyone ate until they were bursting, and then Uncle Grant and Alexander broke out the whiskey and their stories. Alexander described one of his more unique cases, a parrot who had swallowed the pearls off a necklace, and Uncle Grant talked about a recent sale to a wealthy businessman from Connecticut.

  “Half a million dollars for a horse?” Carrie Ellen asked in disbelief.

  “Flew down in his private jet for the afternoon to take a look,” Uncle Grant replied. “Pretty much just checked its teeth and said he would sign the check.”

  Carrie Ellen wrinkled her nose. “Those people must think they can buy their way into anything.”

  “Now what I would like to buy,” Uncle Grant said, “is a farm in Argentina. That’s where those people’s polo ponies are coming from these days. And they may end up being more profitable in the long run.”

  “Why, how have sales been?” Alexander asked with concern.