by Linda George
Rosalie cried harder.
“There's something you aren't telling me. Come on, now. I'm not leaving this room until I've heard it all.”
She had to tell someone. If she couldn't unburden her soul to Tom, then it had to be Trina, the only person she felt might understand and love her anyway.
“I'm not pure, Trina. Not for a long time.”
Trina didn't say a word at first. Then, she whispered, “Tell me what happened.”
“I was fourteen. Mama had warned me for two years not to pay any heed to the handsome young cowboys who came to The Yellow Rose. Lizzy's head had been turned two years before. There would never be any honor for Lizzy. So, Mama said the honor in our family lay with me.” Rosalie hated to say anything bad about her mother, but the story wouldn't be complete without the whole truth.
“What happened to mess that up?”
As she’d come to expect, Trina had seen past the little she’d said to the core of the problem. “Mama was a dance hall girl, in East Texas. My father fell in love with her, married her, and they eventually moved to Fort Worth and opened The Yellow Rose.”
“Uh huh.”
“My father had always had trouble, gambling and drinking. Mama loved him in spite of it, because he'd rescued her from the dance halls. He never treated her with anything but respect and kindness.”
“There's good in everyone.”
“I once believed that, too. I wanted to be good and virtuous, for Mama.”
Trina grasped her hand and rubbed little circles on her wrist. “What happened?”
“One of those handsome young cowboys saw me in the kitchen, talking to Mama, and asked me to dance. Mama sent him packing and scolded me for smiling at him. When she had to go home to check on Paw—he'd been drunk for most of a week—I sneaked into the dance hall and told the cowboy I'd be pleased to dance with him.” Rosalie shook her head. “I don't know what I could have been thinking. Star struck to be noticed, maybe. He couldn't have been much older than I was, sixteen at most.”
“So, you danced with a cowboy. Is that all there was to it?”
Rosalie smiled through her tears. “No. He wanted me to go to one of the back rooms with him. I refused, of course. Foolishly, I told him I'd promised my mother I would never do such things with a man unless we were married.”
“What did he say to that?”
“He laughed. Then, he said if I had to be married, he'd marry me.”
“He didn't!”
“Yes, he did. He told me to wash my face and comb my hair and come back to the front room in ten minutes. He’d fetch the preacher.” She stopped to dab at her eyes with the back of one hand. Trina pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve and gave it to her.
“What happened?” Trina’s eyes had widened. She didn’t smile.
“When I came back, a man stood at the bar, holding a Bible. Joe said he was the preacher, come to marry us.”
“Joe was the cowboy?”
“Yes. Joe Tilly.”
“And the preacher married you?”
“He made it sound so official. Before I knew what had happened, Joe kissed me in front of everyone, the preacher announced we were Mr. and Mrs. Joe Tilly, and Joe swooped me up in his arms and carried me out the front door.”
“So. You were married.”
Rosalie couldn't bear to face Trina. She went on, almost whispering.
“He took me to a hotel, paid the manager for one night, and carried me up the stairs.”
“Take your time. Do you need some water?”
Rosalie nodded. Trina filled a glass from the pitcher on the sideboard and gave it to her. Rosalie took one sip, then held it in her hands like a baby bird, fallen from the nest.
“That night frightened me more than anything in my life.”
Trina took the glass from her and gripped both of Rosalie's hands in her own.
“He pushed my dress up. His hands...all over me...and then...then...”
“I think I understand. There's no need to tell it all.”
Rosalie nodded. “The next morning when I woke up, so sore I could hardly sit up, Joe wasn't there. I got dressed and went looking for him. I found my mother, downstairs, yelling at the hotel manager.
“'How could you let it happen?' she screamed at him. Then, she saw me and started to cry. I guess she could see what had happened, just from the look on my face. She wrapped her arms around me and cried and cried, as though I'd been swept away by a river and drowned, then been saved somehow. Maybe it would've been best if I'd drowned.”
Trina tipped her chin upward. They were both crying now. “He left town?”
Rosalie nodded. “I never saw him again. The man who'd supposedly married us was a bartender, from the saloon across the street.”
“So you weren't married at all.”
“Mama was so heartbroken, she took to her bed with a terrible headache and pain in her stomach so bad she couldn't keep anything down. I tended her night and day. On the third morning, she died.”
“Oh, my dear Rosalie. What happened?”
“The doctor called it a brain hemorrhage, a stroke. He said she'd gotten too upset and her brain couldn't take it. Consumption had weakened her to the point she couldn't recover.” Rosalie stared at the ceiling. “I killed her.”
Trina hugged her tightly. “No! Oh, no!”
“Before she died, she said I'd have to start working in the saloons and dance halls because now I was just like Lizzy. Just like her, too, before she married my father. She knew I'd never be accepted as a real lady after what happened. I was her last hope for honor in the Kincannon family.”
Trina hugged Rosalie, patted her back, talking through tears. “She did it to herself, you hear me? She should've known you'd never do such a thing.”
“She never gave me a chance to prove it to her.”
They sat in silence for a moment. Trina took the handkerchief from Rosalie's lap and dabbed at the tears rolling down her cheeks, then soaked up a few of her own. “You're not to tell one word of what you've just told me to Tom or anyone. Ever. As far as anyone has to know, you were married once, for a short time, but you lost your husband. It's the truth, even if it wasn't legal.”
“But how can I expect Tom to love me with this secret between us?”
“He won't know it's there. Do you think I told Gabriel about every time I'd been kissed before I met him? I did not. Those kisses, as dry and bland as they were, happened before I met Gabriel. After that, nothing in the past meant a whit to me. That's the way it'll be with you and Tom, too.”
“But you're talking about a few kisses.”
Trina placed her palms on Rosalie's cheeks so they'd be eye to eye. “Listen to me, Rosalie. Even if Tom knew, he wouldn't care. It would pain him to know what happened, but that's all. Nothing would change between the two of you. Do you hear me?”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because I know my brother, that's why. Now, I want you to promise me you'll never tell Tom what you told me. It isn't necessary for him to know. You've told me and I'm telling you, it wasn't your fault. You had no idea what was happening. But you know what's happening between you and Tom now. Don't do anything to jeopardize that love, Rosalie. Please.”
Rosalie stared at the handkerchief in her hands.
“You've told me and I'm still your friend. I don't think any less of you than I did before you told me. If anything, I love you even more, knowing the misery you've been through.” Trina took the handkerchief and blew her nose loudly. “Hell's bells, I'm going to be your sister-in-law. Your secret will stay between the two of us until we die. It makes no difference to me, and it wouldn't to Tom, either, but he doesn't have to know. Rosalie, please promise!”
“All right. I promise.”
Trina shook her head. “Do what you feel you have to do, but not here and not tonight. In fact...” Her face reddened.
“What?”
“If I were you, I'd make sure Tom knows he's welcome in
this room after the dance.”
“Trina!”
“I know, it isn't ladylike and some would say it's sinning, but I don't regret one minute of the time Gabriel and I spent together in a bed not unlike this one, before we were married.”
Rosalie couldn't believe what she'd just heard.
“Now, you know my secret, too. We're sisters through to the soul. Agreed?”
She nodded.
“All right, then. Let's get you dressed. I'm about to starve and I know you have to be hungry, too. If I know Marietta, she's making everyone wait supper until we get there.”
“How...how can I thank you?”
Trina hugged her. “By loving my brother as much as he loves you.”
“Done.”
“Where's your dress?”
<><><><>
Tom fidgeted with a glass of wine. Marietta wanted to seat everyone, but Rosalie and Trina were nowhere to be seen.
“Tom, is there a problem?”
“I don't think so. Just taking a long time to pretty themselves, I suspect. Why don't we go on in to supper. They'll be along soon, I'm sure.”
“Very well. Shall I check on them?”
Tom glanced toward the stairs and smiled. “No need. Here they come now.”
Tom had already admired Trina's dress, but standing next to Rosalie, he hardly noticed Trina at all.
Rosalie wore the emerald green taffeta gown they'd bought in Fort Worth, and the green necklace, too, on her soft, white throat. Her dark hair, fluffed around her shoulders, framed her face perfectly. Tom almost forgot to breathe.
Trina grinned at her brother. “She felt a little peaked from the heat, but she's fine now.” She left them and went to find Gabriel and check on Hannah once more before dinner.
“And are you?” Tom asked quietly. “Fine, now?”
Rosalie had promised Trina she wouldn't spoil this evening with Tom. She couldn't stand the idea of deceiving him, though. When they got back in Fort Worth, she would tell him the truth about herself. Her darkest secret. With all her heart, she hoped he wouldn't shun her after he knew.
“Yes. I'm sorry about...all that. I worried that you wouldn't...feel the same about me...after...what happened.”
He took her hand. “I meant what I said. I mean it even more now.” She smiled so sweetly, he wanted to kiss her right there, in front of everyone. “Shall we go in to supper?” He offered his arm and led her toward the dining room, gleaming with light from the gasoliers in the center of the room. Yellow roses tumbled from a huge vase in the center of the table, along with Wisteria and yellow ribbon bows. Each place had a China setting with a complete set of silver utensils and yellow cloth napkins to match the roses.
Dinner was exquisite. Roast goose and all the trimmings, with peach cobbler for dessert. Marietta beamed under all the compliments. Rosalie agreed she'd never eaten a more delicious meal.
After dinner, they made their way toward the back of the house to the ballroom.
Rosalie gasped at the sight. Six smaller gasoliers, surrounding one huge one in the center of the room, cast soft light on everyone below. Mirrors on every wall made the room appear ten times its actual size. Small tables, with four Queen Anne chairs at each one, lined the walls, providing places for dancers to rest and converse. A fountain at the far end of the room lent the hypnotic sound of a gurgling stream to soft string music coming from one side of the room.
“Where are the musicians?”
“Behind that wall.” Tom pointed to a partition at the far corner of the room, standing several feet from the actual walls. “It's considered rude to have them in full sight of the dancers.”
“Really?”
“I always thought it was silly, myself, but some people consider musicians to be second-class citizens.”
“And Marietta?”
“Calls it nonsense, too, but she goes along with tradition. She considers all people the same. Just people. May I have this dance, Miss Kincannon?”
“You certainly may, Mr. McCabe.”
They whirled about the floor, waltzing among the other couples, enveloped by the heady fragrance of the candles on the tables and the strains of the “Blue Danube,” played with energy and genuine emotion.
Rosalie allowed herself to forget all else but Tom and the dancing, dismissing all fears, delaying all worries, in exchange for this one magical evening.
Gazing into his eyes, feeling his hand at her waist, his fingers twined with hers, she hoped she could find the words and the courage to tell him the truth.
<><><><>
Just before midnight, Tom suggested a walk on the veranda. The dance would be over soon. Rosalie couldn't remember ever enjoying an evening as much as this one.
“I can't begin to thank you enough for bringing me here.”
“My pleasure. I would've been a fifth wheel for sure without you, and lonely as a hound dog. I wish we didn't have to leave tomorrow.”
“Such a lovely dream. If we're careful, we might not wake up and the dream could go on forever.”
Tom's heart clutched at the sight of her in moonlight. “Rosalie, I have something I want to ask you.”
“Of course.”
“I love you with all my heart.” He dropped to one knee and took her hand in his. “Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
Chills shimmied down her arms and spine. She trembled.
“You know how I feel about you. I know this is quick, but all my life, I hardly knew what I wanted until I found it. It's the same with you. I want you to share my life, to be the mother of my children. I want you to be the other half of me.”
She couldn't speak for the tightness in her throat. So, she pulled him to his feet and kissed him instead, an exceptionally passionate kiss, meant to express everything in her heart and soul.
“Does that mean yes?”
She gazed into his eyes, trailed her fingers over his face and over his lips, which pursed in a kiss for her fingertips. She looked away. The moon hovered just over the horizon, as though it were waiting, too, for her answer.
“Rosalie?” He touched her chin with his fingertips and turned her back to face him. “Is the answer no?”
She shook her head. The lump in her throat had grown to the size of a hen's egg. “How can I answer, with what I must face in Denver?”
“Well, now, I've been thinking about that very thing. You cannot possibly marry another man if you're betrothed to me.”
How simple. “You're right. I can't, can I?”
“So, I'll ask you again. Rosalie Kincannon, will you be my wife?”
“I love you, Tom. It would please me more than anything to be your wife.” She embraced him, laughing, crying, ecstatic with the revelation there might be a way to salvage a situation previously feared unsalvageable. A nasty little doubt scurried through her mind. “You aren't doing this because you feel sorry for me, are you? I couldn't bear it if that were the case.”
“I'll tell you this now and you can believe it for the rest of your life. I won't lie about the way I feel about you. Not now. Not ever. Lying is something I've never been any good at. Don't guess I ever got the knack of it, even though I tried a couple of times when I knew I was in for a bustin'. I still got busted, harder than if I'd told the truth in the first place. “I promise I'll never lie to you.” He grinned sheepishly. “I might do like Gabriel and withhold facts for a spell, but I won't lie.”
“So, I'll be expected to pull the truth from you one tiny piece at a time, is that it?”
“Yep. Every little piece will cost you a kiss.”
“Well, then, I expect you'll be getting a lot of kisses, Mr. McCabe.” The pain of the lie hovering between them, even though Tom had no idea it was there, threatened to buckle her knees. “Let's go back inside for the last dance.”
“Not until we seal our vows to each other.”
“Vows? Don't they come later?”
“They begin now. With our promises, one to another, to love, ch
erish, until the end of our days.”
How could she promise? Deception sealed her lips and stabbed at her heart. “I hear one of my favorite pieces of music. We must dance to it, as a celebration.”
Tom nodded, touched his lips to hers briefly, then followed her inside.
Warning bells chimed in his brain. Something wasn’t right. He expected her reaction to his proposal to be more joyful, more complete.
Could it be having to face Strickland with the news she was betrothed to Tom? Understandable. Tom would just have to see to it that she understood what was going to happen and what wasn't. The most important part she had to believe was that she would never live at the Strickland home within reach of that sorry bastard, even if Tom had to sell half the remaining cattle on their ranch to buy her freedom from Richard Strickland. Zane might not agree to take the money, but his father would.
Amos's face hovered in Tom's mind, asking where he got the damn fool notion that he could dispose of their property in such a fashion, even with such a grim alternative. Tom didn't have the answer. He knew only what had to be. And what could never be.
<><><><>
The dance ended at midnight. Tired and happy, guests filtered out of the ballroom and up to their rooms for the night.
At Rosalie's door, Tom kissed her good-night. She knew she couldn't wait until they were back in the Acre to tell Tom the truth. Learning she was no longer pure might change his mind about wanting to marry her. He had to know. Yet, everything within her screamed that she should not spoil this perfect evening. No, not quite perfect. Making it so would serve a double purpose. She wanted it more than she’d ever wanted anything in her life.
“Tom, as soon as everyone is settled, do you think we might talk more? There's something I have to explain.”
“Certainly. Where would you like to talk?”
She stood on tiptoes to kiss him lightly. “Here, in my room?”
His smile came readily. “I'll be back in about an hour.”
“No need to knock. Just come on in. I'll be waiting for you.”
Chapter 12
One fifteen. All was quiet in the halls. In Trina and Gabriel's room, he heard Hannah whimpering for a moment, then she hushed. Tom took care not to let his boots sound when he came down the hall toward Rosalie's room. Her door stood ajar. He eased it open carefully, then closed it behind him.