A Red Red Rose

by Susan Coryell

  December, 1868 - I know now I shan’t ever marry. So many of our loyal soldiers perished in the war that it has left precious few available men to choose from. And so I stay at Overhome, a spinster, as life passes. We had been looking for Father’s silver cup since he returned, wounded. We had buried all the silver when the Yankees came and were able to dig up most of it afterwards, except for the silver cup, which eluded us. Today the cook found a dirty object which the hogs had rooted up in the field behind the smokehouse. When we cleaned it up, to our surprise, it was Father’s cup! We sent it off to a silversmith in Williamsburg to be refurbished. That cup has been in the family since the Revolution, originally owned by George Washington and passed on to our family by his descendants.

  I wanted to read every word, but I had to stay focused on my goal. I was about to put down Angelina’s memoir, when something near the closing caught my eye:

  So you see, I have my own guardian angel, Rosabelle, my friendly spirit. Mother told me about her shortly before she died. “Rosabelle, the nanny,” Mother said. “She has been with Overton women for over half a century. She will care for you, watch out for your safety and be a protector for you as she was for me and those before us.” How true! A lullaby. A perfect rose. A basket of ripe berries with a pitcher of cream when I awaken. How nice. How pleasant. I can forget I am a lonely spinster when Rosabelle is with me.

  I read and re-read the short entry, hardly breathing at my discovery. The date was 1875. Such a long time ago, yet Rosabelle had appeared to Angelina and to other Overton women for almost a hundred years prior to that! There had to be more. Eagerly, I moved my eyes over the rest of the diary until they burned, looking for the elusive Rosabelle to be named—the same Rosabelle who hovered over my grandmother Lenore. The same Rosabelle I’d sensed from day one at Overhome. I was glad I’d developed the skill of scanning pages when I worked on the lit mag at school. But no luck. I could find no more mention of Rosabelle.

  Laying the diaries back in the locker, I wondered where Grandmother Lenore’s diary could be. Lenore was so comfortable with her knowledge of Rosabelle that she freely talked about her with Miss Emma and Abe. Surely, then, Lenore would write about our ghost in her diaries. Either Lenore’s writings had been lost, or they had been deliberately removed from the rest of the family diaries in the footlocker. I was betting on the latter.

  I would need more time to rake over the other diaries for information about Rosabelle. Checking my watch, I was shocked to see the time. Though I had learned so much about life at old Overhome, my appetite for tidbits about Rosabelle had only been teased. I felt like Tantalus in Greek mythology, reaching to satisfy his hunger, only to find food and drink forever beyond his grasp. It was frustrating, to say the least. I replaced the diaries and closed the lid of the locker. I scooped up the wilting rose petals, planning to take them back to my room. Then, I brightened, remembering my pledge to meet Luke at the dock, to watch the stars. I shut the closet door with a promise. “I’ll be back.”

  * * * *

  “The Milky Way!” I exclaimed. “We don’t see the Milky Way at home. There’s too much air pollution, too many city lights.” The sky was as bright as a diamond display in a jewelry store. Luke and I lay side-by-side, propped on the dock lounge chairs, which we had dragged from under the roof to the open sky of the gently rocking floater dock. Except for the plop of an occasional fish breaking the surface, the smooth, dark quiet of the lake at midnight went undisturbed.

  “There’s Venus,” Luke pointed, “an’ th’ big dipper. See th’ North Star at the tip of th’ handle?”

  “Hmmm,” I murmured. “This is awesome. Even without shooting stars.”

  “Y’ don’t actually see many shooters ’til August,” Luke said. “But it was a good excuse t’ get y’ out here.” He folded me in his arms then, burying his face in my hair.

  “Like you needed an excuse.” I turned my face up for his kiss.

  Deftly maneuvering me onto his lounge chair, Luke pressed his body to mine until we lay together, our lips hungrily meeting, tasting, teasing, long into the star-point night. After many minutes, on impulse, I leaped up, doffing my clothes right down to my bikini and took a running dive off the dock. Laughing and flinging off his T-shirt, Luke followed. The night waters bathed us in a silky languor. We floated on our backs, our arms entwined, like the vines of water lotus, our eyes full of stars and our hearts full of love.

  Dear Diary, Oh, the thrill of star-gazing, the allure of night swimming! The wash of warm water, the tingle of cool air, the secrecy of starlight. My romance story is writing itself!

  I admit, the swim was my idea. It was getting a little too hot and heavy there on the dock. Hey, I’m no Virgin Mary and I’m no stranger to hook-ups. It’s just that, dammit! I want this to be right. Real. Special. Not just a summer fling. The way I feel about Luke is totally different from anything I’ve ever experienced before and I want to savor it, go at my own pace. My brain registers this, but logic tends to melt with passion. I know I am in love and I think Luke feels the same way about me. For sure, I have stars in my eyes.

  EIGHTEEN

  It was probably inexperience. No way could I blame Sasha. We were trotting along the trail just fine, thank you, and next I thing I know I’m in an embarrassing heap on the ground. A branch caused my horse to shy, catching me in La-la Land, daydreaming about Luke’s touch instead of paying attention to my riding. Off I went, grabbing for the saddle horn before I remembered I was riding English now.

  Jeff looked like he didn’t know whether to laugh or to offer sympathy. “Are you okay, Ashby? Should I get Luke?”

  “I don’t think I need Luke to rescue me this time, Jeff. Nothing is hurt except for my dignity.” I gathered myself up, brushing leaves and sticks from my clothes.

  “Luke likes to rescue people,” Jeff said. “Especially you, Ashby.”

  “Oh yeah? Who says?”

  “I saw you holding hands. I know what that means.” He made a face that left me guessing whether he approved or disapproved of what he thought it meant.

  As I stepped into the stirrup, and reached to steady myself, suddenly a sharp pain circled my left wrist with the bite of a handcuff, so penetrating that tears sprang into my eyes. “Dammit! What was that?”

  Jeff looked disappointed. “Uh-oh.”

  “Sorry, Jeff. My bad. I shouldn’t have said that in front of you.”

  “Dammit?” he scoffed. “That’s nothing. My friends use worser words than that, like—”

  “Okay, okay. I get it. Now I guess we’ll have to go back.”

  “Like I said, ‘uh-oh,’” Jeff sighed. “I guess we have to go home. The ride’s over.”

  Nursing my wrist, biting my lip, and cursing silently, I led Sasha back to the stables. If I could make it to the house, put some ice on my wrist and avoid any hoopla over my injury, I might escape my aunt and uncle’s scrutiny. No sense in making a big deal about a stupid fall. But no such luck. Wouldn’t you know my uncle would be in the stables checking on one of the horses.

  “Ashby fell off Sasha!” Jeff squealed before I could shush him. “She hurt her hand.”

  “Oh. Let me take a look,” my uncle said. Gently, he examined my wrist. “Hmmm. Looks to be swelling.” He moved searching fingers around my wrist, applying pressure. “Any pain here? How about here?”

  “Ouch!” An electric shock ran up my arm all the way to my funny bone. Only there was nothing funny about it. “That hurt!”

  “I’ll give Dr. Ross a call.”

  “It’s just a bump.” I sniffed back tears.

  “It could be broken. We’ll let the doctor do the diagnosis.” His look stopped me before I could protest. “I promised your mother and father we’d take care of you, Ashby, and that is that. No argument. Now, I’ll give the doctor a call. Jefferson, you go with Ashby up to the house, and give Miss Emma the details, please. She’ll know what to do.” With that, he reached for his cell phone, watching to make sure Jeff and I follo
wed his orders.

  “Dammit,” Jeff said as soon as we were out of earshot of his father. “How’re you gonna ride with a bum wrist?”

  “I’m tougher than you think,” I said. “Now, promise me you won’t say that word again, please.”

  Miss Emma stretched me out on a chaise on the sun porch, applying a baggie of ice to the sore wrist and telling me over and over that everything was going to be all right. I was beginning to look at the porch as my personal infirmary, since I’d recuperated in this same spot after Eddie’s wolf dog scared me senseless. Jeff danced all over the porch, literally bouncing off the walls, hopping first on one foot and then on another, until Miss Emma spoke to him in an exasperated voice, “Heavens, child. Settle down!”

  “I’m bored!” Jeff said.

  “Really, Jefferson,” Aunt Monica’s voice wafted her onto the porch. “Ashby cannot be expected to entertain you every minute. Now, go to your room and play.”

  Subdued, Jeff left, but I was sure I heard him mutter “dammit” under his breath.

  I was pleasantly surprised when Dr. Ross informed me that I had suffered no more than a deep-bone bruise and a strained wrist. “It’s going to turn black and then green and it will be quite tender to the touch. If it still pains you after a week, we’ll take an x-ray to check for a hairline fracture, but I’m ninety-nine percent sure it’s just a big, deep bruise.” He wrapped it in an Ace bandage and told me to keep up the ice packs and take Extra Strength Tylenol. “No using the wrist for a week.”

  Hearing the doctor’s diagnosis, Monica gave a sigh of relief. “Hunter will be happy to hear this. He and I both feel you have bonded with Jeff so well this summer, and you have been such a marvelous addition to our little family here.”

  My cheeks heated at my aunt’s praise, knowing in my heart it was undeserved. I wondered what she would think about how I’d bonded with Luke.

  “Sorry. I seem to be accident prone,” I said.

  “Ashby, Independence Day is almost on us. We have the most wonderful way to celebrate July 4th here at the lake. We watch the fireworks off Marker’s Point by boat. It is really quite spectacular. You will join us, won’t you? Hunter and I insist.” Her eyelashes flickered ever so briefly. “Of course, we will invite Luke, too.”

  So, my aunt, who spent precious little time at Overhome, had it all figured out just like Jeff. It was hard to keep a secret here. Hard, but not impossible. When it came to secrets, there was one biggie: Rosabelle. I made up my mind I wasn’t leaving Overhome until I’d discovered everything there was to know, everything about Lenore and her three sons, the Overton brothers, and Rosabelle. Only then would I begin to know my own secret self. Who is Ashby Overton? Really?

  * * * *

  My uncle occupied the captain’s seat while my aunt perched daintily across from him, all decked out in white Capri pants, topped with a designer big shirt embossed with Old Glory. Her dangle earrings glinted ruby and sapphire. Luke and I made ourselves comfortable on the long stern cushion with Jeff between us. White-bright anchor lights from hundreds of bobbing boats illuminated the darkening skies. It was like a scene from Star Wars—a flotilla of spaceships hovering over the onyx surface of the lake. Patriotic music exploded in surround-sound from the CD players of boats and boom boxes everywhere. Bars of “God Bless America,” mingled with “Dixie,” and “The Battle Hymn of the Republic.” Beside us a boat full of tanked-up frat-boy types belted out Lee Greenwood’s “I’m Proud to be an American” with more gusto than tune.

  We sipped icy drinks and snacked on chips and dip and fruit from a cooler. “Want to sing “Yankee Doodle” with me?” I asked. Jeff, preoccupied with all the festivities, ignored my comment, but Luke snorted.

  “Long as I c’n wave my rebel flag at th’ same time.”

  As the skies darkened, the fireworks display began, puncturing the sky with golden spikes of star-burst, which ricocheted off the lake in dazzling reflection, before dissolving to gold glitter-dust. “O-o-o-h! A-h-h-a!” from the crowd. Each display grew more colorful, more intricate, more engaging, as red, blue, and green whirly-gigs burst against the black velvet backdrop of night. Silver daggers stabbed from sky to water, purple fingerprints whorled, while whizzing, booming cannon shots played back-up loud enough to shake the mountain in hollow echoes. Monica was right. It was the most spectacular fireworks display I’d ever seen, with mirror-images and ricochet-sounds.

  Caught between us, Jeff gazed, mesmerized, until his mother called him to come share her seat up front. At first, I figured she was trying to give Luke and me some alone-time, but as I watched him snuggle into her arms, I had the warming thought that she was just being a loving mother. Wasn’t that what she’d always wanted?

  Taking care to avoid my bandaged wrist, Luke took the opportunity to pull me close, and we did some of our own snuggling, and even managed to exchange a few quick kisses when we thought the front row was zeroed in on the finger-painted sky.

  After a colorful and chaotic finale, we puttered back to Overhome, along with hundreds of other boats, careful to observe the NO WAKE requirement. By the time we approached the dock, Jeff was so sleepy he could hardly stand up.

  “Ashby, do you mind getting Jefferson tucked in?” Monica asked. “Miss Emma will be waiting up for him.”

  “Your aunt and I want to boat over to a friend’s house near the club. They’re having a dock party,” Uncle Hunter added.

  That explained my aunt’s elaborate outfit, I thought. “Sure. No problem.”

  “Do be careful about your wrist,” my aunt called from the retreating boat. “Miss Emma can get him into his pajamas. Just give him a good night hug and kiss for me. Thanks, dear.” And they were gone.

  Luke lifted Jeff in his arms, carrying him up the long, steep steps from the dock. As I trailed behind, watching the child’s sun-streaked head resting on Luke’s shoulder, I decided Luke was the most tenderhearted hunk I’ve ever met. He stuck around long enough to deliver his own hug and kiss to the warm and dozy little form before steering me outside. No sooner had we moved beyond the back stoop than we fell into one another’s arms. Luke’s scent and touch and taste drew me in with a powerful, dizzying sweep. “Now it’s our turn for a hug and a kiss,” Luke said, as his lips overtook mine.

  “I never want t’ let you go,” Luke whispered after we had stood linked tightly for many minutes. “But I have t’ lock up th’ stable office.” He cupped my face in his hands. “An’ it’s gettin’ late. They’ll be cruisin’ in from their dock party soon.”

  “I’ll come with you, Luke,” I said. “I’m not ready to let you go, either.”

  Holding hands, we walked along the rocky path to the stable, when we both noticed at the same time something unusual, something wrong. The stable door was wide open.

  “Uh-oh.” Luke raced ahead. By the time I arrived, he stood scratching his head and looking baffled. “Man, this is weird. Makes no sense. They were all shut in their stalls when I left for the fireworks. How…how did Sasha…”

  “Sasha?”

  “Sasha’s gone. His stall’s empty. All th’ others are there, but Sasha’s gate is down; he’s nowhere t’ be found.”

  “Night Riders? Eddie Mills?” I could barely articulate through numb lips.

  “My first thought, too.” Again the bewildered look. “Th’ Riders like to leave their sign, y’ know, th’ rebel flag. But not this time.” He opened his hand then, to show me the rose bud. “I found this on th’ floor of Sasha’s stall.”

  It took me a while to find my voice. “The Night Riders have their sign, Luke. Well, Rosabelle has her sign, too. She’s done something to…with Sasha. My Sasha! Do you see now why I’m upset, why I have to find out what’s going on here? Just when I come to the conclusion she’s my loving protector, she goes and snatches my horse?” Covering my face with my hands, I burst into tears.

  With one step, Luke’s arms were around me, holding me until my sobbing stopped. Leaning back, he wiped my tears with his fin
gers.

  “Can’t we look for Sasha? Can’t we look now? I mean, he has to be in the woods somewhere.”

  “I’m sure we’ll find ’im,” Luke said. “It’s not like Sasha t’ stray too far from his food trough. There’s nothin’ we can do tonight. The woods ’r too thick an’ dark; trust me. But first thing tomorrow. I promise, we’ll find Sasha. We’ll get t’ th’ bottom of this.”

  I could not let it go. Sasha’s disappearance was too real, too awful. “Luke, Luke, listen to me, please.” I fixed my eyes on his. “I know you’re skeptical about Rosabelle. I mean, I can understand why you want me to leave Abe out of this, and I respect that. I’ve tried and tried to pry information out of Miss Emma. But she drops little hints, and teases me with just enough history and hearsay to confuse me, and then she drifts off, sometimes in mid-sentence.” I looked deep into his eyes, pleading for him to feel my urgency. “If you can’t believe me, could you at least help me look for the truth, for some answers?”

  Luke moved the rose from one hand to the other, a distracted look on his face. The silence got to me. I broke in, “I don’t know why, but, I’ve never, you know, talked…really talked to Uncle Hunter about the spooky stuff. But, I’m so totally freaked out now. Maybe he can explain…”

  “Don’t,” Luke said so suddenly that I jumped.

  “Don’t tell my uncle? Don’t talk to him about…about the rose you just found? About Rosabelle? Why not?”

  “Did y’ ever notice th’ only folks workin’ here full time are old codgers who’ve been aroun’ forever? Know why? Becuz nobody else’ll work for Hunter Overton. Locals despise th’ guy, and th’ old folks’ve only stayed on ’cuz of your Grandma Lenore. Abe was in love with her, and Aunt Emma was her best friend. Me? I got no choice.”

  “Why is my uncle so despised, as you say? What’s he done that nobody wants to even work for him?”

  “I don’t know all th’ details. Never wanted t’ know, t’ tell y’ th’ truth. I’m not even sure I believe half of it. But it started with your grandfather, Thomas Overton. A lot of folks felt he was a real bad-ass. Cheatin’ people out of their property an’ then flippin’ it. Y’ know, sellin’ it for a huge profit. I figger maybe Hunter took some lessons from his old man. Hunter an’ his buddy Fred Taylor, the family lawyer. People say they’re in cahoots. Payin’ officials under the table to rezone bought-up farmland so they can build resorts an’ condos an’ stuff.”