by Caroline Lee
So Jack scowled, and told the truth—“No”—and slammed the door in her face.
Don’t worry! Jack eventually lets Meri in out of the cold…but you don’t have to take my word for it! You can read all about his surprise mail-order-bride in
The Stepmother; an Everland Ever After Tale.
And as a special treat, here’s a sneak peek at this year’s Christmas story:
Rose Red, available for preorder now!
“Rose Eleanora White! You’d better not be in there scribbling!”
Rose slammed the journal closed on top of her pencil, and scrambled to hide it under the stacks of household bills and receipts she was supposed to be in the parlor categorizing. “No, Mama!” Her mother’s deceptively light footfalls sounded out in the hall, and Rose busied herself laying out the lists of last month’s sales and pretending like she’d been studying them for the last hour.
Mama swept into the parlor, graceful and overbearing as always, in her second-best gown and winter bonnet. She managed to look perfect even as she collapsed—carefully—onto the settee and began to pull off her gloves. “December is utterly exhausting, isn’t it, my dear?”
Rose knew that her mother wasn’t actually expecting an answer, and thus didn’t bother responding. Good thing, too, because Mama continued. “The Ladies’ club meeting went well. Mrs. Bellini was right to start it, and right to make me the chair.” A long-suffering sigh, and Rose wondered if her mother had been too “exhausted” to hang up her winter cloak, or if it was currently dripping melting snow into a puddle in the foyer for Rose or her sister to clean. “Although I’m not sure how she managed it, now that she’s married to that cripple.”
“Signore Bellini isn’t crippled, Mama.” He was blind, certainly, but he made the most beautiful music. Since Arabella had married him, she’d certainly become more interested in the townsfolk, too.
But she should’ve known better than to interrupt her mother. Mama’s expression rarely wavered from the pinched-lip disapproval she usually wore, even though she was very self-conscious of gaining lines around her eyes and mouth. “Rose!” Her gasp would’ve been comical, if it didn’t forewarn some insulting comment that would wound as deep as any barb could. “Are you hunched over those books? Do sit up!” Rose didn’t think she could straighten any more, but she tried. “How utterly embarrassing for me, to be saddled with a daughter who not only refuses to learn proper decorum, but who reads. If you would learn to be more of a lady, as I’ve tried again and again to instruct you…”
Mama trailed off with a sigh, and Rose dared to hope that was the end of it. But no. “The ladies all asked after you, you know. Wondered why you weren’t attending.” Because I have no wish to spend the afternoon being told I’m inadequate. “I had to make excuses for you again, of course. I hate it when you put me in such a dreadful position.” She hadn’t gone, but she hadn’t been invited, either. And that suited Rose just fine. Her mother didn’t want her or Snow there, and they were happy for the weekly break from Mama’s overbearing company.
To distract the older woman from her daughters’ inadequacies, Rose tried to steer the conversation back to the meeting. “Did you make any good plans for the Christmas Festival?”
“Yes.” Mama was frowning, though, eyeing Rose’s dress. “It will be on the twenty-fourth, as always. They requested Snow be in charge of decorating again, and I will of course be overseeing the preparations. You don’t have a job.”
“I’ll be happy to help where I can.” Everland’s Christmas Festival was the town’s most special celebration all year; like a grander version of the weekly church socials, with a bonfire and fireworks and all sorts of beautiful songs and delicious roast foods. “It’s my favorite time of the year.”
“I suppose I could allow you to come to next week’s planning meeting, if you could manage to find a gown that doesn’t look like you’ve been rolling in the mud. Really, Rose, if your father could see you…” Mama’s disappointed tone trailed off, and Rose tried not to be hurt.
Instead, she smoothed a hand over her serviceable skirt, and tried to straighten her shoulders, the way her mother always nagged her to do. “Papa’s inexperience is the reason that we’re—”
“Don’t you dare talk so disrespectfully about your father!”
Rose winced at the bite in Mama’s voice, and turned back to the ledgers and papers on the desk. Her hands shook as she pretended to fuss with them, not wanting her mother to see how close to tears she already was. Mama was rarely satisfied with her work, or her appearance, or her contributions, or even her thoughts. Rose had long ago vowed not to let her mother know what sorts of things she wrote in her journals, sure that the older woman would not just disapprove, but forbid her from engaging in anything so unladylike.
No, Mama wanted Rose—and Snow, if possible—to be a perfect, boring lady.
Unfortunately, neither of them could afford to be, and still keep a roof over their heads. Papa’s poor investments and mistaken belief that the force of his will alone could command respect out here in Wyoming had landed them in their current pickle. Rose and Snow worked—often behind Mama’s back—to make sure his widow could continue to live life as lavishly as she had back in Alabama.
For now, though, Rose had to repair the damage she’d caused her mother’s nerves. If she didn’t, many years of practice told her that Mama would pout and sulk and be harsher than usual in her critiques. “I’m sorry, Mama. I know that you must be tired. Why do you go rest? Snow bartered for some of Briar Jorgensen’s chocolates that you like so much, and I’m sure that she could bring them up to you.”
The older woman’s brown eyes narrowed, and her lip pursed. Finally, after a long moment of studying Rose, she nodded and stood, her manner brisk and her gloves slapping against her opposite hand. She didn’t look at all exhausted any more, but Rose knew better than to question. “Snow isn’t totally useless at times, I suppose.” Rose managed not to wince. The only time Mama wasn’t horrible to Rose’s older sister was when she was irritated at Rose. “It was miraculous that she could remember my tastes. I confess that I’m quite enamored with Miss Jorgensen’s treats, even if I think that the poor girl is completely pitiable, not being able to find a man at her age.” Rose knew that the barb was directed at her, and pressed her lips together tightly to hold in the retort. Mama must’ve realized she wasn’t going to get the argument she wanted, and sniffed. “Very well. You may send Snow up with some chocolate and tea. That would be acceptable.”
“Yes, Mama.”
Rose watched as her mother swept from the room, her once-red hair carefully powdered in a style so out of date it wasn’t funny. But then, sighing, Rose had to admit that no matter her mother’s appearance, the older woman was formidable; self-centered, used to getting what she wanted, and downright scary at times. Which, of course, made her the perfect choice for chair of the Ladies’ Club in town.
Lucinda White was obsessed with propriety, and making an acceptable match for her daughter. Of course, she had very clear ideas on what constituted the “perfect match”, and so far no man in Everland met those requirements. But Mama was content to wait, sure the right man would come along. A man worthy of Gerald White’s only legitimate offspring.
And if she was honest with herself, Rose wanted to get married, too. At this point, it was just about the only thing she could imagine that would get her out of this house, away from Mama and away from Mama’s Ladies’ Club and Everland. Oh, the ladies in the club were nice enough, but Rose had never become friends with any of them. Had never been allowed to become friends with any of them, thanks to Mama’s high-handed dictates. Rose was to be proper and decorous at all times, and not associate with anyone who wasn’t up to Mama’s strict standards. Which was, of course, nearly everyone. Rose and Snow—who also wasn’t up to Mama’s standards—had to make do with each other as friends, and that was that.
Of course, “proper and decorous” was alright, if they wanted to starve. But t
he two White girls had been going being Mama’s backs for years, in an attempt to keep their home. Snow had her sewing, and Rose kept the hogs out in the barn, which Mama refused to acknowledge as necessary. And she wrote.
With another sigh, Rose finished tidying up the papers on the desk, and pulled the pencil from the journal. Even though Mama was gone, there was no use trying to pick up the thread of the story. Rose’s inspiration—and her desire to write—had been squashed by her mother. It wasn’t uncommon.
Instead, she tucked the journal away in between the household ledgers, sure that she’d be able to pick up her story about the train robbers again as soon as Mama was resting and the inspiration struck again, and went to find Snow in the kitchen.
After passing along Mama’s requests, and a warning that Snow was once again in Lucinda’s good graces, for however short an amount of time, Rose left her older sister putting together a tray. Their jackets were all hanging in the foyer—sure enough, Mama’s cloak was dripping all over the floor, so Rose shoved a rug under it and hoped that it hadn’t damaged the floor—and she pulled down her green one. With her mother occupied upstairs, now was as good a time as any to toss the hogs the dinner slops.
The sun was setting when she tramped across the snow to the barn. Their cottage stood on the outskirts of town, where Papa had been determined to build a plantation, like he had back home. But he’d died shortly after having the first small barn constructed, and now his widow and daughters used it to house the pigs they raised and sold for meat.
It wasn’t how Rose pictured her life going, oh no. She wanted to travel, to see the country… and to write about it. Her publisher back in Chicago told her that she had an “unique voice” when it came to her short stories, but the meager income from those weren’t going to pay enough to get her away from these hogs. She had journals full of her attempts at adventure novels, and Snow said they were pretty good. All she needed was to see a little more of the world, and they’d be good enough for publication. As it was, writing scenes about train robberies and gallant lawmen kissing rescued damsels was hard when she barely remembered her only train ride, and had never even seen a particularly gallant lawman, much less kissed one.
The snow seemed to glow in the last of the light, and Rose smiled. It had been her mother’s cruel joke to call her sister “Snow”, when her skin was so dark, but it fit the older girl. Perfectly icy and pristine when she needed to protect what was underneath.
Here, so far from the house, the blanket of white was unmarred. Rose was the only one who ever ventured out to the barn, and since it was behind the house, opposite town, there was no reason for it to be anything but perfect. She stopped a moment, the bucket of slops heavy in her arms, and just admired the white-dusted firs.
Christmas was only a few weeks away, and although it was frigid, this was Rose’s favorite time of year. Not because she had particularly fine memories of the holiday, but because the town always put on a grand festival, and everyone worked together, and Wyoming was just so beautiful.
That’s when she noticed the disturbance in the snow, a track leading from the opposite side of the barn. And the drops of red that followed it.
Blood.
Who is in Rose’s barn? Preorder Rose Red to find out!
ACKNLOWEDGEMENTS
First of all, thank you to all of my fans; readers who enjoy sweet historical western romance crossed with fairy tales! I couldn’t do what I love without your support. I owe a grand debt to my critique partners JA Coffey and Merry Farmer, and my “I wanna be you when I grow up” mentor, Kirsten Osbourne. Thanks are also owed to my editor, the awesome Eve Hart of Hart’s Romance Pulse, and to my Cohort. If you’re on Facebook, and you adore the Everland tales enough to want to help brainstorm the next one and promote the current one, drop me a line about joining Caroline’s Cohort. The more, the merrier!
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Caroline Lee is what George R.R. Martin once described as a "gardener author"; she delights in “planting” lovable characters in interesting situations, and allowing them to “grow” their own stories. Often they draw the story along to completely unexpected--and wonderful!--places. She considers a story a success if she can re-read it and sigh dreamily... and she wishes the same for you.
A love of historical romance prompted Caroline to pursue her degrees in social history; her Master's Degree is in Comparative World History, which is the study of themes across history (for instance, 'domestication of animals throughout the world,' or 'childhood through history'). Her theme? You guessed it: Marriage throughout world history. Her favorite focus was periods of history that brought two disparate peoples together to marry, like marriage in the Levant during the Kingdom of Jerusalem, or marriage between convicts in colonial New South Wales. She hopes that she's able to bring this love of history-- and this history of love-- to her novels.
Caroline is living her own little Happily Ever After with her husband and sons in North Carolina.
You can find her at www.CarolineLeeRomance.com.