Randy comes and helps me down from the buggy and I hug my arms around his neck as he leads me away. Jason O’Malley does not get out of the buggy. He knows it will make everyone uncomfortable. He tells me he will return for me and then he turns the buggy away and I hear the clopping of the horse’s hooves fade in the distance. I am glad he has left. I keep hoping he will forget to come back and get me.
“I’ve never seen you looking so lovely before,” Randy murmurs, as his eyes take me in. “I hardly recognized you, when you came. I thought you were some grand lady come to find out what was going on. Only you do look very pale.” He places his arm over my shoulder, as we walk towards the group gathered there. “You know I will always be here for you, Rose. Don’t forget me, when you are sitting up in the big house, dressed in your finery. I will always be your friend.”
I nod. It is not my choosing to be dressed in finery, I think, but the very clothes seem to set me apart from all the others gathered there and they look at me in the same way I have always looked at Jason O’Malley.
Everyone is singing and drinking home made potato whisky, giving their last wishes to Ferrell and Da. Randy is supporting me and stays by my side the whole time. I won’t go look in the caskets. I want to remember Ferrell alive, not dead. I try to conjure up the memory of his smile and his cheerful laugh. I recall the way he would sing to me, as we sat out on the porch on a warm night. Now he is stiff and cold. He will never sing again. I touch the earrings he made me. I couldn’t wait to put them back on and even though Shannon offered me others to put in my ears, I refused them.
I thank Randy for his support. He merely looks at me with sad eyes. He doesn’t seem to know what to say to me. I think my change in status somehow puts him off. Later a wagon comes and they load the caskets up on it and Jason O’Malley comes to bring me to the grave plot in his buggy. Everyone follows the wagon and the buggy up to the manor, where the bodies will be put to rest for good. Jason O’Malley reaches over and takes my hand in his, giving it a squeeze, but he doesn’t say anything. I see his eyes linger on the earrings I am wearing for one brief moment. We continue until we get to the burial plot behind the manor, where the graves are already dug.
After words, I go into the house. Jason does not follow me. He is taking care of the ordering of the markers. The rest of the group, along with Randy, are heading back to their farms. This time I know my way to my room and I go and sit by the window, watching the group walking back down to the farms to pick up their lives where they left off. I will never be able to pick up my life, though, I think. Ferrell will never be in it again, nor will Da. Jason O’Malley wants me to be a lady. I don’t think I can make a very good lady but I would make a good fighter for the cause, I think, as I finger my earrings, vowing never to remove them again.
Thoughts of hopelessness and revenge fill my head. There is nothing to live for except to get revenge for Ferrell’s and my Da’s death. Randy said they were just getting started and would have help from American Irish. I will have to find out from Randy where the meetings are held and what needs to be done to bring the English down, I resolve. If Ferrell can die for the cause, then so can I, I tell myself bravely. As soon as I get over the main ache of my heart, I will discover how I can do my part.
There is a tap at the door and Jason O’Malley comes into the room. “I just wanted to check on you to make sure you are holding up all right,” he whispers, as he comes over and stands by my chair, where I am looking out the window, but the group has already gone and dispersed. “I want things to be informal between us, so I wish you to call me Jason. Think of me as your big brother.”
“I have never had a brother,” I tell him.
“Well, you do now. Tomorrow I will take you out to the stables and show you your horse. You are welcome to ride it where ever you please. If you want to take the buggy out, I will have a groom drive you. You are free to come and go, as long as you let someone know where you are going. At the first of the week, Loraine Lawrence, an old friend of mine has agreed to come stay and school you in etiquette and flirting. A dance instructor will come in once a week and teach you to dance. After three months, we will introduce you to society, starting a little at a time. At first dinners and small soirees or musical events.” He reaches out and touches one of my earrings. “I’m afraid these will not do, Rose. Jewelry will be furnished for you, you know. You will lack for nothing, while you are here.”
I glare up at him. “My husband made these for me, and I will wear no others,” I almost hiss.
Jason shrugs and then continues as though I have not said anything. “Within six months you can start attending balls. By that time your grieving should be under more control and by the end of the year, if we have found a suitable mate for you, it would be acceptable for you to be married again.”
“What makes you think you can just order my life?” I ask. “Would you like someone to take control of your life and tell you that you should get married and this is just the way we are going to go about making that happen?”
“My situation is not like yours. First of all you are a woman and a woman needs a man to take care of her. A man can quite take care of himself without the help of a woman. It is a man’s world, Rose, and therefore you are just going to have to accept the fact. I am offering you a new chance at life to grasp something more than you have hand up until now. In spite of the fact that I need to keep a close eye on you, you should consider yourself lucky.”
“By your estimation,” I say quietly, turning my head back and gazing out the window again. I can barely see my old farm house from this vantage point.
“If you hate it so much, perhaps you would rather marry that young man you were hugging at your husband’s wake?” he suggests.
I turn back and glare at him. “You don’t understand. I don’t want to marry anyone. I will never get over my love for Ferrell,” I say firmly.
“I don’t expect you to. I merely believe you should go on with your life, after a reasonable time of mourning. You should be grateful it will not be the kind of life you had to share with Ferrell. Regardless of how much you loved your husband, that life is an empty life for someone like you.”
“Someone like me?” I question. “I am a mere farmer’s wife, yet all the farmers that work your fields have the same kind of empty life, so why should I be any different?” I accuse.
“They would be happy for you to be able to get out of it of that kind of life, don’t you think?” he offers.
“Not if I have to rub shoulders with the English, they wouldn’t,” I frown. Already I believe my friends, including Randy, are starting to mistrust me, thinking maybe I had something to do with the death of my own husband and father, in order to go live in the big house.
“But I am Irish, Rose. You keep forgetting that. I am sorry I speak with an English accent, but that is not my fault. I was raised in England. However, my father gave me enough Irish pride to make up for it. I want things to go better for you and others like you. I am not going to foist you off on an Englishman, but a suitable Irishman would be in order,” he says. I don’t believe him. He is just trying to sooth me.
“I want to be alone, if you don’t mind,” I say quietly.
“Last night you did not want me to leave you alone,” he smiles.
“That was last night,” I say.
His face falls. Then it stiffens. “Then I will leave you,” he tells me and turns abruptly from the room.
My dinner is brought up to me and I eat it alone in my room. When I am through eating, I ring for Shannon and she helps me get ready for bed. I can see why wealthy women need a maid. Their clothes are impossible to put on all by themselves.
After the soft nightgown is placed over my head, I curl up in a chair by the window, wrapped in a quilt, looking out at the stars, wondering if Ferrell is out there looking down on me, wishing he could put his arms around me, like he had before. I shiver, even though I am wrapped up tight in the quilt. I dread getting in the bed all by
myself, so I stay in the chair. I am not sure when I fall asleep, but I am woken up by screaming and when my eyes flash open, I realize it is me who is screaming. My dream, I had been having, flashed back into my mind.
I dreamed I had gone to Ferrell’s hanging. The bang of the trap door, seemed to reverberate in my head, it seemed so real to me. I had screamed when they let the trap door fall out from under his feet so he would hang.
A door bursts open and it is not the door from the hall, but a door that apparently connects my room with Jason’s room, because I can see Jason is standing there in his night shirt in the dim light that falls through the open door. He rushes to my bed, and realizes I am not in it. Then he turns and sees me by the window, with the moonlight streaming in on me.
“Rose, what ever is the mater?” he asks, as he comes over to me. “I heard you screaming.”
“It was a dream,” I say. “Only a bad dream.”
He kneels and takes one of my hands in his. “You are cold. Why are you sitting here?”
“I don’t want to sleep in the bed without Ferrell,” I whisper.
“You can’t sleep in the chair,” he tells me, as he lifts me up in his arms, and takes me to my bed. “I will stay with you again, until you fall asleep,” he offers.
He lays down in the bed beside me, as he did the night before, but now I am afraid to touch him. I am afraid of what he may think. He doesn’t wait for me to touch him. Instead he puts his arms around me and hugs me against him.
“You will get through it eventually,” he tries to sooth, but I know I will never get through it. Not until I have revenge for Ferrell’s death, I tell myself. Only I do feel snug and safe with Jason holding me against him and eventually I fall asleep again. If I dream, I don’t remember it. Once again, in the morning, Jason is no longer in my bed.
I am brought breakfast in bed again but this time Jason brings it. “I am sitting right here until you finish your meal,” he tells me. “Shannon tells me that you hardly touched your breakfast or dinner last night. You can’t stop eating, so even if I have to feed you myself, you shall do justice to the cook’s effort of making you a meal.”
I resent the fact that he is trying to force me to do what he wants. At first I merely glare at him, but when he lifts the spoon to feed me, I relent and make an effort to finish my food, just so he will go away and stop looking at me with his angry green eyes.
When I am finished, he tells me to have Shannon dress me in a riding habit. “You do know how to ride, don’t you?” he asks.
“Not side saddle,” I tell him.
“Well you are going to have to get used to it,” he responds. “We will be riding out over my property. I think you need some fresh air.
“I hope I don’t have to wear a corset with my riding habit,” I plea.
“Tell Shannon to dispense with it then,” he smiles. “I will meet you out at the stables.” Then he takes the tray and leaves the room.
The riding habit is a deep purple color. Almost black. I am glad I am not all trussed up in the corset. So what if my breasts are not held in place, I think, flippantly to myself. They are right where they are supposed to be. I have never had to hold them in place before!
When I get to the stables, Jason is waiting for me with his black hunter. He helps me up on a cream colored horse and he gently takes my leg and places it over the knee hold, then puts my foot in the stirrup and hands me the reins.
“Are you comfortable?” he asks.
“Since discarding that horrible corset, I feel much better,” I tell him.
“I mean are you comfortably seated?” he laughs.
“And that too,” I smile back.
Jason swings up on his hunter and gives it a tap with his whip. It sprints off over the moorland and I follow close behind.
Shannon has braided my hair, so it does not fly around my face, and I am wearing a stylish hat to shade my eyes from the glare of the sun. The hat has a long scarf that drapes behind it and the wind flaps it about as we run. Eventually, Jason reins in his horse and we walk side by side, while he points out his property lines and tells me things about the land that I already know, since I have lived on his land all of my life. I realize, though, that he has not been here like I have, even though the land belongs to him now. I believe I am closer to the land than he could ever be. I am closer to Ireland than he could ever be either, in spite of the fact that he claims he is Irish.
After about an hour, he heads back towards the manor. “Could I stop and visit with my friends before I come up to the house?” I ask.
He nods, and we separate, as he goes back to the manor and I head towards the farms. I find Randy out in the field, picking rocks and piling them onto the rock wall that separates the different fields. “That’s a fancy looking horse you are riding,” Randy says, when he sees me ride up. “And your clothes look expensive. Has the master made you his mistress all of a sudden now that your husband is dead? I thought you were going to be a maid in the big house.”
“Hush up, Randy,” I say, “and help me down from here.”
He stops what he is doing and helps me dismount. “Why are you up at the manor anyway?” he asks.
“Jason O’Malley wants to keep an eye on me. He thinks I will go join the rebellion, which is just what I am going to do in spite of him guarding me,” I say with determination in my voice.
“Oh no you won’t, Rose,” Randy states. “A rebellion is no place for a woman. If they catch you, they torture you before they turn you in. Can you imagine what they would do to a woman to torture her?”
“Ferrell was willing to take the risk,” I say stubbornly. “I should do no less!”
“Well, I am not going to let you,” he says poking his chin out, and squinting his eyes at me.
“I could dress as a boy,” I suggest. “Ferrell’s clothes are still at the farm house. I could wear some of his things, and they would not know I am a woman,” I insist, still clinging to my resolve.
“If they ever capture you, they will discover soon enough that you are really a woman, so I still won’t let you, Rose,” he states.
“How can you stop me?” I ask, sticking my chin out, back at him.
“You don’t even know where the meetings are being held. It is always a different place, and it is kept secret until the night before.”
“When’s the next meeting?” I ask.
“Not for another week at least, and I don’t even know when it will be. I’ll fight for the cause in Ferrell’s place,” he offers. “You don’t have to risk your life doing it.”
“But you were already fighting for the cause. Someone else has to take Ferrell’s place, and it might as well be me.”
“I won’t let it be you,” Randy insists. “I lost my best friend, Rose. I don’t want to lose you too.” After he says that, Randy comes over and looks into my eyes, and then he places his lips over mine, and kisses me.
I jerk away. “What did you do that for Randy O’Neil?” I shriek.
“To show you, you are a woman, not a man, Rose. You don’t belong in a man’s fight. I love you as much as Ferrell ever did, only you married him, not me. I never tried for you, because I knew you loved Ferrell. But if you died fighting in the cause, to me, it would be just like you losing Ferrell. It would be like you were my wife dying and I won’t stand by and let it happen.”
“But I’m not your wife, Randy, and never will be. I won’t be anyone’s wife but Ferrell’s, so it doesn’t matter if I die or not. If I die I will be with Ferrell again.”
“Think what you want, Rose. You are never going to find out about those meetings, so just put it out of your head and go back up to that fancy house you are living in.”
“You haven’t heard the last of this,” I say sullenly. “Give me a leg up, and don’t you ever try kissing me again, Randy, if you know what’s good for you!”
“Then I’m glad I got to kiss you at least once,” he mumbles and he helps me up on my horse. “I don’t suspect y
ou are working as the master’s maid, after all,” he says, as he looks me over.
“He is going to try and make a lady of me, and marry me off to some squire or something. He’s daft if he thinks he can turn me into anything that I’m not already. Besides, I don’t ever plan to get married again.”
“He probably wants to marry you himself,” Randy states. “You would make a fine lady, if you gave it a chance,” he tells me.
“If he wanted to marry me himself, he would have just said it,” I respond. “He just wants to feel good for helping a lowly tenant, while he keeps me out of trouble,” I laugh. “I’m going to be more trouble than he ever counted on,” I smirk. “As for you, Randy, don’t go thinking you have discouraged me about joining the cause.”
“Don’t do something you will be sorry for, Rose,” Randy warns. “Ferrell always told me you were his wild Irish Rose, and it was all he could do to keep you from going off half cocked, when something got your dander up.”
“And now he is not here to stop me,” I say. Then I turn and gallop away.
On the way back, I stop at my farmhouse and go inside and get a pair of trousers and a shirt, belonging to Ferrell. I pull out an old pair of my boots, and tuck them under one arm. I smother my face in his clothes and breath in his smell. I almost can’t stand it. Then I climb back up on my horse with no trouble at all, I smirk to myself. So much for being a helpless lady, I laugh. Then I canter up to the manor. When I get down off the horse, I see Jason coming up to the stable. “What have you got there?” he asks, nodding at the clothes I have rolled up over my lap.
“They smell like Ferrell,” is all I say. “I need the smell of him at night.” I walk past him and go into the house. I was telling the truth, but that is not the only reason I want Ferrell’s clothes.
When Shannon dresses me for dinner, I refuse to wear the corset. My waist is small enough, I tell her, and my breasts don’t need to be held in place. She looks a little shocked, but she doesn’t argue. After all, she is only a maid and has to do what she is asked. I wear the black dress again. I only owned about three dresses so wearing the same dress over again is nothing new to me. I decide it will be the only dress I will ever wear, since it is the only black dress among the ones I have been given.
Wild Irish Rose Page 3