Valentine's Rose

by E. E. Burke

  “Rose, honey, you won’t be cleaning them,” Delilah drawled.

  “She means your husband will employ kitchen staff,” Prudence added. “If he can’t afford servants, he won’t be able to buy you all this,” she indicated the tableware with a sweeping motion of her hand, “so you won’t have to clean it.”

  Rose liked the Iowa farm girl’s practicality. She also admired Prudence’s ability in the kitchen, which she’d demonstrated by helping Mrs. Fry with the refreshments for the wedding, as well as the evening meals. Being plain, she declared, wouldn’t matter out here, not after the men tasted her cooking.

  “Whether or not you have servants is beside the point,” Susannah said. “Given Mr. Valentine’s background and family, you’ll be attending dinner functions and hosting them, so you’ll want to know proper etiquette to avoid embarrassment.”

  Susannah spent the next hour explaining which things were used for what, and proper table manners, and the things you could talk about, like weather, and things you shouldn’t talk about, like politics. “The discussion of emotional topics at dinnertime upsets digestion,” she explained.

  Rose shook her head, puzzled. “My Da had always had a good appetite when he got all wound up over local politics.”

  “Political intrigue does tend to get the stomach juices flowing,” Charm acknowledged.

  “It is also impolite to talk about bodily functions at the dinner table,” Susannah added.

  “And don’t forget, avoid sneezing, coughing and—” Charm scrunched her nose and waved her hand in front of it, “—expelling gas.”

  Danny went into a fit of laughter.

  His mother pushed back her chair and stood. “Let’s move onto other topics.”

  With effort, Rose restrained the urge to join Danny laughing. She scooted her chair back, and then realized, upon Susannah’s pointed look, she should’ve waited for her husband to assist her. “How about something fun, like dancing?”

  They’d no sooner moved the furniture aside than someone began knocking on the door. Mrs. Fry went to answer, and in a few moments, she returned with a soldier in tow.

  “Ladies, this is Lieutenant Goldman.”

  Had Rose not clapped eyes on Val first, she would’ve said the sandy-haired officer was the handsomest man she’d seen since arriving. He didn’t exceed her in height, but appeared taller because he stood so straight.

  “Lieutenant, may I introduce Mrs. Valentine, Mrs. Braddock, Miss Walker and...” their hostess hesitated until she spotted Delilah, who’d faded into the far shadows at the end of the dining room. “Miss Bodean.”

  Delilah murmured a greeting, keeping her scarred cheek turned to the wall. The officer’s gaze lingered, becoming speculative. Of course he’d notice Delilah’s beauty. But how would he react if he saw the ravaged side of her face? Even if he weren’t unkind, she still wouldn’t want him staring at her.

  Rose broke the awkward silence. “How can we help you, Lieutenant?”

  The officer removed his hat. “You’re Mrs. Valentine? Where can I find your husband?”

  “He’s out at the claim, said he’d be back within the week.” Rose hesitated. Asking what business the officer had with Val was impolite, but making sure her husband wasn’t in trouble was more important than being polite. “Is there something I should tell him?”

  “You can tell him Mr. Jarvis has been arrested for making threats.”

  “Threats?”

  “Death threats against him and Mr. Hardt.”

  The blood left Rose’s face. Susannah put her arm around Danny shoulders, drawing him closer. Concern was reflected on every face in the room.

  “There’s no need to worry,” Lieutenant Goldman assured Rose. “We’ve got Mr. Jarvis locked up. Just tell your husband we need a statement from him.”

  “Can you assign soldiers to protect him in the meantime?”

  The officer shook his head. “My men are spread too thin to provide personal protection to individuals.”

  Rose worried her lower lip. She hated the thought of Val being out there alone, even if he had ordered her to wait until he returned.

  “Mrs. Valentine, if it will put your mind at ease, I’ll stop by and check on him,” the officer said in a gentler tone.

  Grateful, Rose smiled. “It would ease my mind, thank you.”

  Lieutenant Goldman tipped his head in a grave nod. “Pleased to be of service.”

  Susannah put her finger to her mouth like she’d just thought of something. “Would you happen to know the quadrille, Lieutenant?”

  After the officer recovered from his surprise, he eyed her quizzically. “Yes, ma’am. I’m familiar with the quadrille.”

  “And the waltz?”

  “That, too.”

  “What about the polka, the gallop...?”

  Rose smiled broadly. Finally, a man Susannah found interesting, and good for her, she wasn’t letting proper manners stand in way of getting to know him.

  The lieutenant appeared to realize the same thing at the same moment. He fiddled with a corded hatband, seemed a bit nervous. Or maybe he was shy. At least he didn’t turn and run. “Yes, Mrs. Braddock, I know how to dance.”

  “Excellent. Could you spare a few minutes to partner with Mrs. Valentine and help us teach her some of the steps? She’s eager to learn and I’m a poor substitute for her husband.”

  That’s why Susannah wanted him to stay?

  The lieutenant’s sandy eyebrows arched; he’d been equally surprised. But he stopped toying with his hat and his tense posture relaxed. Every sign pointed to relief. “It would be my pleasure.”

  Rose heaved a disappointed sigh. Those two would’ve made pretty children.

  She went along with her friend’s suggestion, not because she was interested in dancing with the lieutenant. She’d rather dance with her husband. Before she could do that, however, she had to finish her lessons.

  Chapter 11

  Six days later...

  “Thank you ever so much for the ride, Mr. Sprouse!” Rose waved to the farmer as he turned the mule team around and drove them up the narrow, rutted road. She was glad to be out of that wagon. Her insides felt rearranged by the constant jolting.

  Taking a deep breath, she gathered her courage and her new satchel and set off down a footpath carved through the tall grass. The spindly stalks reached her shoulders, and would grow higher before they were done. She’d never seen grass grow this high.

  According to the farmer, the path led to the house Val had been living in for more than a week. He’d told her he would be drilling to collect samples, looking for coal—his black gold.

  She had done as he asked and waited, although each day dragged into the next, made all the worse by her longing for him. Did he long for her? Had she invaded his thoughts a thousand times a day, as he had hers? Regardless, she refused to be ignored any longer.

  Rose breathed in the rich, earthy fragrance and ran a gloved hand over the tops of the slender, swaying stalks, which in summer would bloom purplish blue. Turkey Foot, the farmer had called it, aptly named for the grass’s three-pronged tops. Prairie chickens and songbirds loved the seeds. Overhead, a red-tailed hawk circled, as if to see if she might be something tasty, and then flew off in search of smaller prey. She could understand why the posters called this paradise. The land looked untouched since the time of creation.

  The path took a turn and the leafy tops of trees became visible over the grass. Mr. Sprouse had told her the homestead was built near a creek, and she’d know she was getting close when she saw the post oaks. Her heart beat faster and she picked up her pace, having no problem walking in the new shoes she’d obtained, thanks to the kind shopkeeper.

  She couldn’t wait to show off what she’d learned. More than that, she wanted to show Val how much she missed him and turn this pretend marriage into a real one. Now that she’d become a lady, he would have no reason to leave her behind.

  The grass ended at a clearing.

  Sh
e frowned at the sight greeting her. That wasn’t a house. It was tarpaper box with a slanted roof covered with more tarpaper. Nothing grew in the bare dirt around the shanty, although it appeared someone had started a garden of rubbish. Not as bad as the garbage overflowing the alley behind the apartment building in Five Points, but foreign refuse looked obscene out here in this pristine wilderness. She walked past the trash, looking askance at a pile of cans, which according to the labels had contained beans.

  Was that all her husband had been eating?

  “Val?” she called out. Her voice bounced back from a nearby copse of trees.

  The buckboard wagon he’d rented held a load of rocks and dirt. Concealed beneath the seat were his drills and shovels and what looked like a large blade that might fit a plow. There was the horse, contentedly grazing in a field of shorter grass. Val had to be around somewhere.

  “Hello? Anyone here?” Rose approached the door, little more than a wooden frame with more tarpaper attached, held up by leather hinges. Her hand trembled as she reached for a piece of rope hanging from a small hole, which she assumed was attached to a latch inside. Even with Jarvis in jail, there were other dangers, like animals. Or Val might’ve come down ill...

  A flock of birds burst from the trees, twittering, and her nerves jumped. Something moved within the grove; a shadow appeared, and the shadow became a man.

  She caught a sharp breath as Val emerged from the trees, his upper half bare.

  He didn’t see her because he was looking down at the ground, lost in thought. His trousers hung low on his hips, suspenders dangling, and he carried his shirt slung over his shoulder. His hair looked jet black and dripped water. He must’ve bathed in the creek.

  Her stomach did a slow flip. She curled her fingers, eager to explore the sprinkling of dark hair across his chest, follow the thin line that arrowed down his abdomen and discover the secrets he’d hidden from her.

  “Val?”

  He looked up with surprise and halted, staring at her like she was a ghost. Dark bristles covered the lower half of his face. The half-grown beard gave him a rakish handsomeness.

  “Rose?” His voice quavered, and an answering shiver ran through her.

  She dropped her satchel and raced to meet him. He met her halfway. As she threw her arms around his neck, he lifted her by the waist. Their mouths collided.

  He kissed her with the frantic desperation of a man who’d been deprived of the essentials in life, like food and water, and held her so close not even a blade of grass could fit between them. The kiss went from awkward to searching to deeply satisfying.

  She’d hoped he would be pleased to see her, but his reaction exceeded her dreams. He couldn’t kiss her like this and then let her go. Her heart soared as high as those birds winging into the sky.

  The first thing that brought her back to earth, the bristles on his face began to burn the skin around her mouth. She drew back and reached up to his jaw, ran her fingers over the stiff, half-grown beard. “I like the way it looks more than the way it feels.”

  He blinked at her like she’d cracked him on the head. Then his brows gathered in a frown. He grasped her arms and moved her away, his surprised gaze sweeping her, top to bottom. “What are you doing out here?”

  “Coming to see you.” Smiling, she wound her arms around his neck.

  He removed them, a flicker of regret in his eyes. “It’s not safe—”

  Oh no, she’d not let him push her away, not after that kiss. She rested her hands on his chest, an alluring contrast of soft hair and hard muscles that quivered at her touch. “You needn’t worry about Mr. Jarvis anymore. He got put in jail after he bragged to half the town he was going to kill you and Mr. Hardt. Didn’t Lieutenant Golden come by? He said he’d tell you.”

  Val backed up a step, drew on his shirt, and, sadly, buttoned it up. “He did tell me, and said you’d asked him to stop by. I asked him to tell you I was fine and not to worry.”

  “That he did, but it’s not worry that brought me out here.”

  Val’s gaze shifted over her shoulder in the direction of the shanty and weary disappointment pulled at his features. His attention returned, as he came back from somewhere his mind had wandered. “Even still, this place isn’t suitable.”

  He’d started backing away, making excuses again. She hadn’t finished showing him what she’d learned, and she would not let him send her away until he’d promised to take her away with him.

  “Look, I have something to show you. Remember this fabric you picked out?” She lifted one side of the calico skirt and made a twirl, slow enough to show off the bustle in the back. The pretty pattern, creamy daisies in between bands of green and brown, complimented her coloring, especially her hair, or so said her friends. “So? What do you think? Susannah helped me make it, and I got a proper...” she searched for a polite word for the horsehair contraption strapped to her backside. “Unmentionable.”

  She wiggled her hips to make the point.

  To her relief, that brought on a smile. “You certainly did.”

  He took her gloved hand and smoothed his fingers over the soft cotton, then lifted her arm for another pirouette. When she came back around, his eyes glowed with a look that said he was well pleased. “The dress is made more lovely by the wearer.”

  Her heart did a happy dance.

  “Thank you, sir.” She executed a curtsy. “You can see I’ve been learning.”

  “Learning?” He arched an eyebrow. “What have you been learning?”

  “Oh, loads. Look...” She turned and glided toward the shack, keeping her shoulders straight while swinging her hips slightly. “And I’ve taken to wearing gloves everywhere. They get dirty so I have to wash them at night.”

  She halted at the edge of a fire pit. The gray ashes had been cold for some time. An industrious spider had woven a web across the opening of a pot filled with leaves. Regret squeezed her chest. She’d been well fed and comfortable, while he’d been out here living in a tarpaper shanty, with no one to see to it that he had healthy meals or clean clothes. What good did it do to learn to be a proper lady when she wasn’t even given the chance to be a proper wife?

  Rose executed another turn and nearly ran into him not realizing he’d followed.

  A crease marred his brow. “You look very pretty, but you shouldn’t be here, Rose. I expressly told you to wait for me—”

  “I’m glad you like my dress, but you haven’t shown me around yet...” Rose darted around him and set off for the shack. Her stomach tightened with nervousness. He’d already told her he was leaving as soon as he returned and sold his land. If she couldn’t convince him to let her stay, she’d lose her chance to change his mind.

  She flung open the door to the shanty and walked in. A musty smell struck her at the same time as the heat. The sun shining on that black tarpaper would turn the shanty into an oven by the time late summer rolled around. But Val intended to return to England, and she intended to go with him, so they wouldn’t be suffering for long.

  The walls were made of laths and partially covered with newspaper, mostly in spots where the wind had torn away strips of tarpaper on the outside. Light shone through the boards in several places, illuminating a bare dirt floor and meager furnishings, including a cot that was little more than branches nailed together with a lumpy looking mattress thrown on top. The blanket, at least, looked clean. Crates served as shelves, on which were stacked various containers and cans. Window openings had oilcloth nailed over them.

  This place needed airing out and cleaning.

  Rose smoothed her hands over her brand new dress. Not at all the right clothing for out here. She would’ve brought her old work dress if Susannah hadn’t taken it away and hidden it somewhere—or maybe she’d burned it.

  Val pushed the door wide and propped it open with a large rock, letting in more light and a blessed breeze. He crossed the room, ducking beneath a crossbeam—if he stood up straight, his head would bump the ceiling. “You ca
me all the way out here to show me your dress?”

  No, she came all the way out here to save her marriage.

  “You think I’m silly?”

  “I don’t think you’re silly. But I’ll think you’re mad if you still want to stay now that you’ve seen this place.”

  Rose refused to be drawn into an argument. She was staying, and that was that. Venturing closer, she reached up and combed her fingers through his damp hair, tucking the lengthening strands over his ear and letting him know with a look how much she sympathized. “I’ll be here to help ye, Val, so it’ll go easier.”

  His fingers locked around her wrist and he drew her hand down. It hurt that he kept pushing her away, even though she knew he needed her. “You cannot stay out here, Rose. This shack isn’t fit for hogs.”

  Rose released an irritated breath and drew off her gloves. Impressing on him that she was now a lady had put her at a surprising disadvantage when it came to being his helpmate out here. Opening his eyes to her past wouldn’t impress the aristocrat, but it would ease the conscience of the struggling landowner. “You remember I promised for better or worse? Well, I’ve lived with worse than this.”

  His mouth tipped up in that stomach-tickling half smile. “Worse than dirt?”

  “Some filth is worse than dirt.” She struggled for a way to describe the squalor without painting a picture that would disgust him. “I grew up in a poor neighborhood. You’d call it a slum. Five Points, though I imagine that wouldn’t mean anything to you.”

  The horrified look on his face told her different. “If you mean Five Points in New York City, then yes, I’m familiar with it. I spent some time in New York before I headed out west. I can’t believe you lived in that place. It’s worse than the Devil’s Acre in London.”

  Rose knew nothing about the Devil’s Acre, but the name was enough to make plain it was a bad place. Well, then. He ought to realize she could deal with dirt. She didn’t want to dwell on her poverty any longer than necessary—it only made the differences between them more glaring. At the same time, she was grateful to him for lifting her out of it.