The Soul of the Rose

by Ruth Trippy

  “Second place, Charles Harrod!”

  As Celia presented his red ribbon with a handshake, he leaned forward and said under cover of the crowd’s clapping, “If I was first place, I’d ask for a kiss.” He grinned. “I might ask for one later anyway.”

  Celia felt her breath catch, not sure how she should respond.

  When it became quiet, the announcer beckoned the winner with a broad gesture. “Finally, first place, Edward Lyons!” As soon as his name was called, Edward stepped up and grasped Celia’s hand. Those assembled clapped enthusiastically. Celia was gratified the community’s feeling of goodwill extended to the ceremony. Then just before Edward released her hand, he squeezed it, light shining from his eyes. Her smile involuntarily widened. She felt the special regard he had for her, which he refrained from displaying in front of the crowd. How sensitive and diplomatic of him.

  The announcer looked around at those assembled. “Let’s give a final applause for all the contestants!” After the clapping died down, he said, “The awards for the flower show will be next. If everyone will step over to the other side of the refreshment tent, that ceremony will begin in a few minutes.”

  As those assembled began breaking up, Edward leaned over to Celia. “May I escort you to the flower awards?”

  Charles sidled up to them. “Ah, I was going to offer the same, but, of course, that honor should go to the winner of the archery contest.” The corners of his mouth curved up as he looked at Celia. “Later, though!”

  Edward held out his arm and Celia rested her hand on it. As they started to walk she said, “Your shooting was wonderful.”

  He looked down at her. “Your saying that means a lot.” Then he grinned from ear to ear. “I take it you recognized me when I came on the field.”

  “Oh!” Celia laughed. “You will never know the start you gave me, the picture in your mother’s sitting room come to life. You cannot imagine how I felt.”

  He reached up to rub his chin. “Stripped myself of the current fashion—for you, my dear.”

  She felt the blood rise to her face. His “my dear” felt so different. . . . She searched for words to lighten their conversation. He placed his free hand over hers, drawing her closer. In the protection of his stature and strength, she felt buoyed along. Despite his longer legs, they fell in step as if they had walked together for years.

  A stream of people headed for the flower awards. Children ran hither and yon between the adults walking in pairs or trios, but Celia was scarcely conscious of anyone else. She hardly knew where Mr. and Mrs. Harrod were, or Mr. and Mrs. Chestley—even Charles. This was Edward’s time of triumph and by extension, hers. For these minutes, she was his companion by right of his win. They could walk together in full view of everyone, and no one would question the propriety.

  How good it must be for Edward to feel free from public shame. She had not thought much of such a thing, but now she put herself in his shoes. Particularly for a man of his background, the proud Boston Brahmin, his soul must have felt tortured under the cloud of suspicion regarding Marguerite. She didn’t know what had happened, but for now, she would just enjoy these moments with him.

  They approached the tables of flowers.

  “Isn’t that a beautiful sight?” she asked. Pinks, yellows, whites, reds, purplish blues in different shades were amassed before them. Sweet fragrance with a hint of musk and spice wafted up in the surrounding air. “A veritable Garden of Eden.”

  He smiled down at her. “It seems an Eden to me this moment.”

  His words drew her into the exclusive circle of those he respected and cherished. Her hand pressed his arm to let him know she felt the honor of it, even as he had pressed her hand minutes ago.

  Looking up at him, his eyes held hers, saying something she could not read. They were like a dark pool, a place where one found refreshment for soul and body. Like the pool by the large tree in his woods, where on his urging, she and Mr. Chestley had gone one afternoon. They had walked quite a ways before coming upon it. In the lovely quiet with occasional leaves rustling, they had both become taciturn. Mr. Chestley stood on the water’s edge and after a minute, told her when he was a boy, he and other lads had gone swimming in it. They tied a rope to one of the tree’s big limbs and jumped in feet first. A spring fed it so that it was bracing on the hottest day.

  Celia finally looked away from the steady gaze in Edward’s eyes. She would like to be standing by that pool now, with only this man at her side, the two of them alone without these people around. His nearness, his warmth enveloped her. Suddenly, she wanted that warmth to surround her, his arms holding her close.

  Oh dear! This was exactly what she was afraid of, the effect he was beginning to have on her.

  Stirring herself to action, she slowly slipped her hand from his arm and took a step away. “Thank you for your escort,” she said in an undertone.

  “Ladies and gentlemen!” Mr. Harrod’s voice rose over the crowd. “We’re about to present the awards for the flower show. If everyone would be quiet, please.”

  Charles sauntered up and stood on Celia’s other side, and then Mr. and Mrs. Chestley by him. Then she saw Mrs. Adams ask people to move so that she could join Edward.

  “Well, Celia,” Charles said, “you ready to win a prize?”

  “I don’t know about that.” Celia looked over to single out Mrs. Chestley. “I will have to say that the climber I entered did very well despite years of neglect.”

  Mrs. Chestley scrunched up her nose. “My dear, that climber was all but past redemption and I never claimed to have done it any good. I told you if it could be brought back from near death, you could enter it and take the well-deserved credit.”

  “Thank you.” Celia crinkled up her nose in affectionate response.

  “And now, ladies and gentlemen,” Mr. Harrod said, “let me present my wife, Mrs. Lydia Harrod, to present the awards.”

  Mrs. Harrod stepped up to the ribbon table and looked at the surrounding crowd, smiling. “It has been my honor to help plan this event with our garden club.” She announced the ladies’ names, and the audience gave a round of applause.

  “Now, we have a number of categories. The spring flowers were judged a few weeks ago as their bloom time is earlier, so those winners will be announced first.” She began with the spring bulbs, the narcissus and tulips, and progressed through the lilies and irises.

  “This next group of flowers are on the tables for all to see. Most of these were cut just this morning for the competition.” She nodded to the array of multi-colored flowers. “I’ll first announce the winners of the early summer flowers; the roses will be separate.”

  After announcing the early summer flowers, she walked over to stand by the last group to be awarded.

  “As you can see roses reign supreme, and because there are many entries, they’ve been given several categories. We’ll begin with the beloved Centifolias. We usually think of them as pink, but this winner is white: Shailer’s White Moss. The grower is Mr. Edward Lyons.”

  Celia heard a quiet, “Oh no,” and glanced back. Behind Charles stood Mrs. Divers.

  Edward stepped forward to shake Mrs. Harrod’s hand and collect his ribbon. One of the ladies of the garden club brought forward the blooms and set them on an empty side table.

  “As you can see,” Mrs. Harrod said, “we are placing each winner out front for everyone’s viewing. With so many categories, we’ll have ‘Best of Show’ announced at the end.”

  “Next is a China rose, a beautiful pink that is one of our most well-known and well-loved. Old Blush is the winner, entered by Mrs. Adams. The woman quickly stepped forward to collect her ribbon, and when she turned, smiled to the crowd. Celia noticed that when she stepped back to Mr. Lyons’s side, she turned to him for congratulations.

  Mrs. Harrod proceeded to announce the winner in the Bourbon category, and then announced the Tea rose. “This year we have an outstanding example in the climbing tea rose. It is a buff yellow tinge
d with salmon at it center. The winner is Gloire de Dijon submitted by Celia Thatcher.”

  As the helper brought a large vase with the blooms dripping luxuriously over its lip, Mrs. Harrod smiled and said, “I saw this plant last year at the side of Mrs. Chestley’s house and it looked terribly woebegone. A special congratulations to Miss Thatcher on her win.” Celia blushed and laughed as she went forward to collect her ribbon. When she stepped back to her place, Charles reached over and gave her shoulder a squeeze. “Good for you!” he whispered loudly.

  Mrs. Harrod smiled and said, “Now, we’ll announce ‘Best of Show.’ You see all the flowers lined up on this side table. Any one of them could win. They are beautiful examples of nature that God created.” She led the crowd in a round of applause.

  “Now, the winner of ‘Best of Show.’ Let me say one reason we chose this blossom is that the particular entry is not usually seen until later in the season. This beautiful white, many-petaled flower is a descendent or sport of the well-known pink Centifolia. When the winner comes to the front, we’d like to hear a few words of advice on how to grow such perfect blooms so early in the season. And, of course, our winner is—Mr. Edward Lyons.”

  In the split-second before the crowd burst into applause, Celia heard a gasp. The next moment Edward stepped up to collect the huge blue ribbon for Best of Show, and shook Mrs. Harrod’s hand. Celia heard his “thank you,” and then he turned around to address the crowd of onlookers.

  Before he could start speaking, Celia heard a “No! No!” from behind her. A wave of dread coursed through her as she saw Mrs. Divers break through the crowd and march, shaking, up to the front. “He shouldn’t get that award!” she said in an angry, determined voice. “He doesn’t deserve such recognition!”

  Mrs. Harrod looked doubtfully at Mrs. Divers. For a full five seconds no one said anything, then Mrs. Harrod said soothingly, “Please, Mrs. Divers, calm yourself.”

  “No! It’s shameful for this man to be awarded anything. That man never should have been allowed to stay in this community for the way he treated my Marguerite! He should have gone to prison!”

  Celia’s stomach tightened at the venom spewing from the woman. She felt shocked, yet felt for the mother in her as well. Then her eyes fastened on Edward, feeling an ago-nizing embarrassment for him. He stood silently, staring at his former mother-in-law, saying nothing, letting her speak without interruption.

  “Now, Mrs. Divers,” Mrs. Harrod said. “This is not the time or place to talk about this. Let’s finish the ceremony.”

  “Yes, it is the time and the place!” Mrs. Divers’s shaky voice took on a shrillness that carried over the crowd. She looked directly at her former son-in-law. “Oh, how I rue the day you ever set eyes on my daughter!”

  Just then, Mrs. Adams said in an undertone that unfortunately carried, “This is terrible, just terrible.” Celia stared at her. That the woman should say anything at this time, how insensitive of her. Celia’s eyes flicked over the crowd. Their eyes were pinned on Edward and Mrs. Divers. They stared horrified, yet fascinated.

  “You are cruel, Edward Lyons! You stand here so properly dressed, looking the part of a perfect gentleman. Why, when you first walked up to the archery competition, I hardly recognized you. What are you about, Edward Lyons? Are you out to win another woman’s heart, only to break it like Marguerite’s?”

  Celia held her breath, her chest tightening.

  At that, Charles strode up and took Mrs. Divers gently by the elbow. Before he could say anything, she shook him off. “Don’t anyone touch me. I’ve been silent long enough. I’ve suffered all this time. My daughter’s death never came to court. It should have! The public is here—now I will have public court. I want this man run out of town.”

  “Mrs. Divers!” Mrs. Harrod’s hand fluttered to her throat.

  “Yes! He deserves it. My Marguerite would be here today but for him. He killed her. Oh, not with a gun or knife. He didn’t impale her with that cursed bow and arrow of his. Oh, no! It was subtler than that, in a manner a court of law couldn’t prosecute! But he killed her just the same.”

  An oppressive silence held the crowd in check. Celia’s limbs felt stiff, frozen. Her eyes flickered to Mr. Lyons. He stood white and mute.

  Mrs. Divers shook a crooked finger at him. “You let her die. Alone! You never called the doctor. You let her die. Wished her dead. It saved you the trouble of divorcing her or killing her outright!” She stood staring at him like an old nemesis, quivering like a leaf in the wind, but determination steeling her. “You were always out for yourself and your own pleasure. You have no honor!”

  Celia took her eyes off Mrs. Divers and looked at Edward. The hardness and coldness of his visage was dreadful. If looks could impale, his would have stabbed the old woman. Celia wanted to move, but couldn’t. She wanted to bring comfort, say wise words to mitigate the hatred of the one and the cold disdain of the other, but she couldn’t stir herself.

  Mr. Harrod was the first to move. He walked up to Mrs. Divers with decision. “Mrs. Divers, come with me, please.” His voice was gentle but brooked no opposition. “I understand how disturbed you are. Don’t worry; we’ll take care of this.” He took her arm and firmly moved her away from the awards table. “Let’s find Miss Waul.” As soon as he saw Mrs. Divers’s companion, he signaled her to take her friend’s other side. “Let’s find a place away from here.”

  Edward moved next. He leaned his hands on the table, looked directly at Mrs. Harrod. “Mrs. Divers is mistaken. She is mistaken!” He drew in a deep breath. “Excuse me, please.” He turned to leave and the crowd parted before him. Only after he had left the area did people start to talk in low syllables.

  Charles joined his mother and consulted her briefly, then looked up at those assembled. “Ladies and gentlemen, we’re sorry for what just happened. If everyone will pick up his or her flowers, that would be helpful. We want to extend our congratulations to all the winners.”

  Celia saw Mrs. Chestley walk up to one of her friends. “Here, Mrs. Hamilton,” she said, “why don’t you and your neighbor go to the refreshment tent. Didn’t you want a little something before the next event?” She continued to encourage one after another of the onlookers to move on. Celia watched this quiet little woman capably disperse those nearest her.

  As people began to leave, Charles approached Celia. “Can I do something for you? I know this has been a shock.”

  She looked up at him. “Will you please help me find a place to sit. . . .”

  20

  Celia drew the bed covers up close around her head, relieved to be alone and quiet in her own room. If only she could bury herself away from all that happened these last hours. Maybe here she could think through the dreadful revelations of the day.

  Charles had taken her to the refreshment tent where he found a chair away from the other guests who drifted in and out. He insisted she drink some of the lemonade he procured for her, then he drew up a chair and solicitously saw to her every perceived need. She went along with whatever he suggested. She couldn’t think, truly she couldn’t. Finally, she suggested returning to the flower tables to assist his mother.

  “I don’t think that’s necessary,” Charles said. “Others can help her.”

  “I feel I must do something.” To herself she said, something mindless—but hopefully useful. She stood and Charles reached for her arm. She smiled at him absently, but something in his eyes made her determine to stop leaning on him so much, to put all confused thoughts aside until she could be alone and sort them into some sense of order. She just wanted to get through the remainder of the day.

  And here she was. As she quieted herself, the questions started arising. What had Edward done? What had really happened? He’d said Mrs. Divers was mistaken. Yet, the pain of that mother. The anger, all this time, festering. Unresolved. Then for it all to come out like this. Before all those people. What a hateful situation. Humiliating. How Edward must suffer. The very ill-feeling he had tried
so hard to dampen down, to appease by hiding himself away from society, now was out in the open—like a freshly exposed wound. Oh, Mrs. Divers, what have you done?

  Pain seared through Celia. If she suffered, how must he!

  Celia got through the following days as best she could. There was that next book discussion to prepare for. At first, she didn’t have the heart for it, but after she began, found it took her mind off her pain. As she delved into Pascal, and found direction for her mind, she wondered how Edward would react to this particular writer.

  The evening of the book discussion—afterward, Mrs. Chestley caught her alone a moment. “That was a wonderful discussion, dear.” She reached over and hugged Celia. “I don’t know how you do it, choose such scholarly works and then help us get so much out of them.” She turned to pick up her shawl. “I’ve already told my husband I’m going right home. I’m rather tired, I suppose I’m still feeling it after all that happened this week.”

  Celia nodded acquiescence and walked her friend to the door, then watched as she crossed the grass to her house. All were gone now except Mr. Chestley and herself. The evening had been worthwhile. Still, he hadn’t come.

  She had hoped against hope he might. But, of course, he was probably feeling . . . oh, what he must still be suffering! The sorrow, the shame, the humiliation of it all.

  Mr. Chestley walked up to her. “How are you doing? That was quite a discussion we had tonight. I thought your choice of Pascal’s Les Pensées might be a little too deep for our readers, but you managed to whet their interest for more. Bravo, my dear.” He glanced down at the floor. “I see Mr. Lyons didn’t join us tonight.”

  “Yes.”

  “Celia, do you think Mr. Lyons has weathered this all right?” His eyes searched hers.

  She couldn’t believe Mr. Chestley’s tender heart. It opened up the way for her to say, “He’s very strong, in more ways than one. I’m sure he’ll be all right.” Celia heard the bravado in her voice. “That is, I hope so.”