Valentine's Rose

by E. E. Burke

  She rubbed her thumb over the soft cotton gloves in her hand. “I never had nice things like these gloves or this dress. I can’t thank you enough for them.”

  “You don’t owe me thanks.” His voice dropped to a low register the way it did when he grappled with strong emotions. “A husband provides for his wife.”

  “My Da worked whatever jobs he could get to provide for us. He didn’t make much, though, and we had a big family...” Grief thickened her throat. “For awhile we had a big family.”

  Val stepped closer, as if he might put his arms around her, but then he reached up and cupped his hand on a beam. The shanty, poor as it was, didn’t need his help to remain upright, so he must’ve grabbed something to keep from touching her. That’s what his eyes were saying, anyway. “Tell me about them.”

  “My family?” She took a breath. Her story might be more than he wanted to hear, but she was glad he seemed interested. He’d asked few questions about her past. “We immigrated from Ireland back in the fifties, during the potato famine. I was but a wee sprout, so I don’t remember the auld country. My older brother did. Da never got over missing it. He was a farmer there, but over here he built roads. Mother took in laundry and mending, and being the eldest girl, I helped her and watched the little ones. That’s why I never went to school.”

  “What happened to them?”

  Rose hesitated. She didn’t like talking about that part because it brought back the grief and loss. “You got enough to worry about. You don’t need to hear my tale of woe.”

  “Maybe not, but I think you need to tell it.” His gaze grew intimate, caring, urging her to trust him. Could be he was right, and it might hurt less if she shared it. With him being her husband, these were things he should know.

  “Da got killed...over two dollars.” Her stomach knotted as it always did whenever she thought about her father’s senseless death. “He was so stubborn. He wouldn’t give it up, and the robbers stabbed him.”

  “That’s why you were so afraid for me. You thought Jarvis would kill me if I didn’t give him his deed.”

  She gave a slow nod.

  “We’ll come back to that. Go on.”

  “Tom, my older brother, died in the war.” She lifted her chin. “We were so proud of him. He served with the Irish Brigade, fell at Gettysburg.”

  “I heard about their bravery,” Val said solemnly.

  “Oh, aye. We sang songs about it.” She could sing one to him later. He might enjoy it, as it had an upbeat, bonny tune.

  “You had younger siblings?”

  “Four...” Her voice wavered. “This is hard to talk about.”

  “Take your time.”

  Rose closed her eyes and swallowed her tears. “The cholera broke out in sixty-six. Michael, Kathleen and Bridget were the ones who got sick. Mother and me, we tried everything, dosed them with healing teas, bathed them, prayed the rosary over them. We couldn’t afford medicine and the doctors wouldn’t come into the neighborhood...”

  She had to finish before she broke down. “This past March, my mother and youngest brother, Willy, died in a fire. It happened early in the morning while I was out collecting laundry. When I came back, the place was all in flames. The coppers pushed us back and wouldn’t let us through. I had to stand on the corner and watch the building burn, and I couldn’t do a thing...not a single, bloomin’ thing.”

  He dragged her up against him, holding her tight. “Sweet Rose, go ahead and cry. Let it out. You’ve been carrying too heavy a load. That kind of grief will drown you.”

  Rose buried her face in his shoulder, grabbed the back of his shirt and hung on for dear life. Yes, she had been drowning, and he had plucked her out of the cold water. She wept tears of grief for her family and tears of gratitude for a kind and caring husband she didn’t deserve. When she drew back, her face wet, he lifted the tail of his shirt and dried her tears.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “For getting your shirt wet.”

  “It needed a good washing.”

  With a choked laugh, she went back into his arms. He stroked her back in comforting circles, and toyed with loose tendrils at her neckline. His gentle touch, his kindness and understanding, his solid presence, even his clean, masculine scent brought her comfort. When she was with him, she felt whole, at peace.

  She pulled back with a relieved smile, sensing they’d turned a corner. “You’re right. I did need to tell it, and I needed a good cry. I’m better. Now let me look around for something I can put together for your dinner...besides beans.”

  The wry smile fell away. “You aren’t staying.”

  Rose frowned at his stubborn insistence, confused and hurt by the conflicting messages he sent through his actions. “Why do you pull me close and then push me away?

  A stricken look passed across his face. He took an abrupt step back, and his head contacted with the beam with a thump. “Ow,” he muttered under his breath as he hunched over and cupped his hand to the hurt. She would’ve rubbed it, but he didn’t let her get close enough.

  “You haven’t forgotten that I’m leaving?”

  That old tune again?

  “No, my memory is fine. I know you want to leave. But I thought you’d take me with you, now that I’ve learned enough.”

  “Learned enough...for what?”

  She shook her head, surprised and a little sad that he hadn’t figured it out yet. “For you. I know you need a lady wife, and that’s what I learned to be. Your lady wife.”

  He stared down at her, but his expression didn’t reflect the pleasure or even the tenderness she’d seen before. Actually, he looked distressed. Maybe even a little horrified.

  “It’s all right. I know I’m not a real lady yet, but I’ll get better at it.”

  The emotions that flickered across his face were hard to decipher, and then they were gone, shuttered behind a mask. “You don’t have to learn anything, not for me. Believe me the effort isn’t worth it.”

  If he’d thrust a knife through her chest, it couldn’t hurt worse. What was he saying? That no matter how hard she tried, she could never learn enough? Never be good enough for him?

  The truth crushed her hope.

  Oh, he might be attracted to her, and even feel sorry for her, seeing her desperation. But she’d been fooling herself into thinking she could mold herself into the kind of woman he wanted. Unable to face him without dissolving into another embarrassing bout of tears, she dodged past him and fled out the door.

  Chapter 12

  He deserved to be horsewhipped. How many times would he hurt Rose before he learned not to put his hands, or his lips, anywhere on her person? Val scrubbed his fingers through his hair, wincing when he encountered the egg he’d grown after stupidly backing into a crossbeam.

  That was the first time he’d whacked his head on the crossbeams, all because he’d been stupid enough to take Rose into his arms. Something he’d dreamed of doing last night, and the night before, and the night before that.

  If fact, when he’d first seen her standing next to that dilapidated shack, looking so fresh and lovely, he’d thought she was an illusion. His brain hadn’t started working again until well after they’d commenced kissing. If she hadn’t pulled back to remark on his unshaven face, he might’ve swept her up and carried her into the woods and...

  He swore under his breath. Letting his thoughts wander off in that direction wouldn’t do either of them any good. Right now, he needed to do what he should’ve done in the first place—

  Take her back to town.

  He turned and collided with the crates he’d used as shelves. Cans fell to the floor, two rolled under the bed, which he’d pulled into the middle of the room to avoid the bugs that came out of the walls, especially at night. His skin prickled at the memory of waking up with something crawling up his arm. He wasn’t subjecting his wife to that, or to having an owl swoop down on her while she took care of her personal needs in the woods, or to the countless other things he’d encou
ntered out here. Including Indians. They’d been less frightening than the bugs.

  Picking up the cans he could see, he slammed them on top of the crate and strode outside.

  Rose stood over by the wagon. She couldn’t make it clearer that she was ready to leave. What did he expect, after he had abused her tender heart by saying her efforts to impress him weren’t worth it. He’d meant to say he wasn’t worth her efforts. Seeing the admiration in her eyes when she looked at him soothed his pride and filled his heart to bursting, but his conscience wouldn’t let him accept it.

  Her heartbreaking story, how much she loved and missed her family, had stirred something deep inside. He longed to do more than offer her a shirt she could soak, except he’d never experienced the kind of love she’d described, and he didn’t know how to give. He knew only how to take. If she knew half the things he’d done, the selfishness that encrusted his heart, she wouldn’t waste her time on him.

  That’s what he had to do. Abandoning her at the hotel would only make her believe he was rejecting her again. But if he told her about his sordid past, about why he had to leave, and what drove him to return, she wouldn’t want to remain with him. She’d be able to shed her infatuation and open her heart to someone more deserving.

  His stomach twisted at the thought.

  “Let me get the horse. I’ll take you back.” He would talk to her on the way to town. At least then he wouldn’t have to look her in the eye while he confessed his sins.

  “No, I don’t think so.”

  Her rebellious remark arrested his retreat.

  She turned around, holding one of the large drill bits. As she picked away pieces of grass stuck to the blades, her brow pinched in a thoughtful frown. “You said before, we’re in this together. So I’ll be stayin’ here to help you. Don’t worry about me begging you to take me along. I won’t ask again. But I’ll not be shirking my duties in the meantime.”

  He started back in her direction, determined. “You aren’t shirking your duties because you don’t owe me anything.”

  She dropped the bit back into the wagon and crossed her arms over her chest in a gesture that bespoke defiance. “I made my vows. Even if they mean nothing to you, they mean something to me.”

  Her remark had the effect of a slap. She couldn’t have insulted him more if she’d tried.

  “This has nothing to do with our vows, which, by the way, I take very seriously. There’s nowhere out here for you to stay, only one bed, which I’d give to you, but you wouldn’t want to sleep in it. The place is infested with bugs.”

  She marched over to the shack and picked up her satchel, which she’d left beside the door. “I’ve lived with bugs before. So big they could pick up a baby and carry it off. Bugs don’t scare me. But if they scare you, then you can sleep outside.”

  “Scare me? I’m not scared of...” He clamped his jaw shut before he told a lie. She’d change her tune after she met that creepy crawly with a million legs. Maybe it would do her good to sleep one night in the shanty. She’d be more than ready to leave in the morning. He could put a blanket under the wagon. There were probably fewer bugs under there than in the house.

  “Suit yourself.”

  “Thank ye, I will.” She opened the door and vanished inside.

  He walked to the door and was met with a titillating view of her backside as she crouched down on all fours and peered under his bed. “What are you doing?”

  “Just seeing how big the bugs be...”

  “They don’t come out until dark. Usually.”

  She retrieved the missing can and he offered her a hand and helped her stand. “Do you have anything other than beans?”

  “There’s jerky, canned milk, canned peaches...”

  “Flour? Lard?”

  What did she think she would find in here, a fully stocked kitchen?

  “I don’t cook.”

  She heaved a sigh of disappointment. “No, I don’t suppose you do.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Her shoulder lifted in a slight shrug. “You were born with a silver spoon in your mouth. So I don’t suppose you would know how to do such things as cooking...” She took a meaningful look around the room. “Or cleaning.”

  Val straightened as much as the low ceiling would allow. “In case you hadn’t noticed, the floor is dirt. You can’t clean dirt.”

  She’d already turned away from him and went poking around behind crates.

  “What are you looking for?”

  “A broom.” She found what she sought in a corner. “In case you hadn’t noticed, you can sweep a hard-packed floor. That’ll get some of the bugs out.”

  He stood aside as she whisked the small room, using the tip of the broom to get into the corners. She dislodged a few dead bugs, small ones, or did they just look smaller in the daylight? She swept them outside with a flourish. When she’d finished making her point, he took the broom. Bugs were the least of their problems.

  “Walk with me down to the creek. We’ll need fresh water, and you might enjoy the view.” He’d prefer more pleasant surroundings when he confessed things that weren’t so pleasant.

  Val leaned the broom against an outside wall and picked up a bucket he had forgotten to take when he went down earlier to wash off the dirt and sweat. He’d spent all day digging and drilling, and coming up with nothing. His impatience added to his frustration—two hallmarks of his life that remained constant even now.

  Rose walked alongside him into the trees. Above their heads in the leafy canopy, birds sang; two squirrels chattered and chased one another, leaping from branch to branch. Around their feet, wild violets bloomed in surprising profusion. He heard the creek gurgling before it came into view. The peaceful surroundings eased some of the tension in his chest and shoulders.

  Her arm brushed his and the tension returned, only this time centered in the nether regions. “I saw rocks and dirt in the wagon. Have you found coal yet?”

  “No. But I still have another section to sample...” He tried not to sound discouraged. Based on the sympathetic look she gave him, he failed.

  “You’re worried you won’t find any.”

  “For your sake, I hope that’s not the case.”

  “Why do you say, for my sake?”

  “Because I want to leave you wealthy enough to live in comfort.”

  Her expression turned reproachful. “I don’t need much to be comfortable. Being wealthy isn’t important to me.”

  Given the grinding poverty in her past, it should be.

  “It’s important to me that you have the resources to live without worry.”

  She stood a few feet back while he squatted by a spot where the water flowed clear. “I’m not the one who’s worried. And as much as I appreciate you wanting to take care of my material needs, I don’t think this is about me. ”

  Rose already saw through him to a degree, so he might as well conquer his cowardice and expose his true nature.

  “You’re right. I am worried. I’m concerned I won’t make enough to take care of you and to replace what I’ve wasted.”

  She remained quiet for a moment, and then, “You spent all your money?”

  “And a fair amount of my father’s money. Gambling, betting on horses, drinking like a fish, entertainment, women...at one point, I convinced my younger brother to join me in my excesses and managed to ruin him as well. ”

  Val kept his attention focused on the task of filling the bucket because he didn’t want to see the expression on Rose’s face. Her father had been murdered for two dollars. She’d be repulsed by his careless, wasteful life.

  “Why would you do that?”

  Leave it to Rose to boil it down to one simple question—one he didn’t want to answer.

  “Because it was fun?” Val set the bucket aside, fighting to overcome his fear and self-loathing. He owed her more than a flippant reply. “I’m impetuous, selfish and destructive—at least that’s what I’ve been told for as long as
I can remember. As it turns out, it appears they were right.”

  “They?”

  He stood but still couldn’t force himself to face her directly. “My parents, my governesses. I went through an astonishing number before I was sent off to school. The teachers tried their best to beat the devil out of me, but they had no luck. Neither did my older brother, or my former betrothed, although she employed kinder methods.”

  “Sounds to me like you wanted to prove them right.”

  “In part, but you see, that only confirms their perceptions. Otherwise I wouldn’t have done it. My misspent youth is the reason I’m here in America. The Baron purchased a one-way ticket and told me not to come back. But I’ve never minded him. Not once.”

  Rose drew closer. He couldn’t see her as she was standing behind him but he knew she was there—her nearness always set off a thrumming energy that charged his nerves and heightened his senses. It didn’t feel the same as the forceful agitation that had caused him to break things and hurt people when he was younger. This powerful surge tugged at his very soul. He longed to embrace the source, though he was terrified of what might happen if he did.

  Her fingers curled around his arm. She held onto him with both hands. Was she worried she might lose her way? If so, he was the very last person she should hold onto.

  “Tell me why you must go back.”

  Another question he’d been waiting for and dreading.

  “To salvage my wretched pride.”

  He knew now that wasn’t possible. Ironically, Rose had taught him that. Going home rich wouldn’t prove anything, and he would feel no better about himself afterwards. Everything he’d done since he’d arrived in America, including marrying Rose, only confirmed he was still impetuous and selfish, and he had destroyed too many lives. He’d nearly ruined hers, but she had such amazing resilience, she would bounce back. One day, after she found a good husband and had a house full of children to look after and love, he would be nothing more than a bad memory.