Catching the Rose

by Belinda Kroll

  Brad was surprised she dared touch the subject. But, as she had been the one to bring it up, he relished the topic with a whet appetite. “Your country is nothing but a bunch of spoiled children playing God with their slaves. You only left the union because you don’t want to compromise with reason.”

  Veronica paused. She did not play God—and was confused why anyone else would, either. However, she firmly decided this was not the time to agree, thereby making Brad’s self-worth grow larger than it already was.

  Brad found with tolerable surprise that Veronica was attractive when agitated. He was quite pleased by the animation in her face, and was glad she did not claim the general excuse of consumption. “I don’t understand how the Confederacy spirit is supposed to win against all our material advantages. A bunch of rag-tag farmers, is what you are.”

  Stiffening, she averted her gaze and tried to abate her blush.

  “We pay our people so they can support themselves.”

  This, Veronica could not stand by. If she could, she would gladly set Nan and her sister free. Maum Sukie as well. She dared not tell Brad that. “We do give slaves somethin’ in return: we give them a home. Food, water, doctors—everythin’ for free.”

  “I never mentioned slavery.” Brad smiled as she exclaimed in disgust. “If this is all for free, why then are they forced into hard labor?”

  That may be how it was at other plantations. Her father had certainly wanted it that way. It was all Veronica could do to help the slaves; but she currently felt so contrary, it was all she could do not to hit Brad. “Ask your daddy. I understand he owned slaves at one point.”

  Brad waved away her comment, though his tone hardened in ill-concealed anger. “I don’t want to live in a country seen as vulgar by the world. Don’t you feel the same, Miss Vernon? You, who upholds everything when it comes to reputations?”

  How dare he toss her ideals as though they were insignificant morals of a day-gone-by?

  “I personally thought it was about time you secesh took up arms. Now, if I want to shoot a Reb, I will be hailed a hero.”

  “What a horrible way to look at war,” Veronica cried.

  “Isn’t that what you wanted me to say? I said it because you expected me to. I am sure you thought the same ere I spoke. Don’t deny it—I read it in your face.”

  “You impossible yanks with all your stuffed pride. Of course you know what is right—you have the money, and the government—what about state’s rights? You Yankees are alike. All pompous—affected—over-confident!”

  “Why, whatever do you mean, Miss Vernon? What do you, a little southern belle like yourself, know about state’s rights? Do they allow thinking in women?”

  “You, Mr. Williams, are exactly what I thought a Yankee would be like.”

  “Handsome? Smart?” he supplied.

  It was true: he was dashingly handsome though he was such an egotistical…egotist. “You are ignorant of the proper way to speak to a lady. Since I came you’ve done nothin’ but upset me. And I saved that stupid lamp! I know not what to do around you—” She interrupted herself as her hand moved of its own accord. Horrified, she watched it contact his face with such fervency that made her shudder. Veronica immediately pulled her hand away. “I don’t know what came over me. I hadn’t—I hadn’t meant—”

  “Save your apologies, Nettle.” Brad touched his stinging cheek. It was surprising such a small woman could hit so hard. She must have had practice. “You sting just like a nettle, too.”

  “You better not be makin’ a habit of callin’ me that.” Veronica watched him from beneath her lashes, irritated to find his brow quirked in amusement.

  “What are you going to do about it, Nettle? Run to your army and tell them to hurt me?”

  Veronica stood, ready for the conversation to be over.

  Brad jumped to his feet, grabbing her arm as she turned to leave. “I hadn’t known southern women had such spunk,” he said as she struggled from his tight grasp. “You’re a regular spitfire.”

  “Let me go. This is a scandalous way treat me. What Amy would say to such doin’s!” Veronica was glad to see this had shocked some sense into him, as he paused with a slight frown.

  “You’re right, I’m behaving shamefully. I beg of you to accept my apologies with a kiss.”

  Veronica recoiled in alarm—proper girls were not kissed before marriage.

  Brad leaned close, smelling honeysuckle in her hair. “I am sorry, Nettle,” he breathed, imperceptibly kissing her cheek.

  Cringing, Veronica’s eyes flew open as he released her arm and stepped away. “Was that the kiss?” It was a relief he didn’t force himself. Those slight kisses on the cheek Bentley gave her had not the tenderness her ‘friends’ back home so often spoke of. How surprising that this man made her remember that. “That was the kiss?” she whispered with a hint of a smile.

  “Were you expecting more? I could hardly be expected to kiss you fully, having only known you today. And, considering the conversation we finished, I could only be expected to regard you as an adversary: at most, a sister. I would not kiss Madge fully, so why would you expect me to kiss you fully?” Was that a smile on her face? No, the frown was prevalent. “Is this what southern parents teach their girls?”

  Veronica could stand no more taunting. This man was too cruel. He had no idea what it was like to live her life, and she did not appreciate such uncouth behavior. Lifting her limp skirts, Veronica ran to her bedroom, determined not to face him until forced to.

  Flipping an unruly lock of hair from his eyes, Brad realized he had never met a woman so apt to cry—or rather, show any emotion at all. He rather liked not knowing all the emotional turns of a woman. Though, perhaps he had been too harsh. Veronica knew nothing but her southern values; she had never been taught to question what she thought fraudulent. He pursued Veronica, knocking on the guest bedroom door upon reaching it. “Nettle?”

  “You are cruel, Mr. Williams,” she cried, making Brad believe she leaned against the door in an attempt to prevent him from entering. No matter. He did not particularly want to be in a confined space with an emotional woman at the moment.

  “What is the to do, Cousin? What have you done?” Amy asked, poking her head from Madge’s room. Frowning when Brad hesitated, she stepped into the hallway, shutting the door behind her. Perhaps the interactions between Brad and Veronica were too volatile to be healthy. Had she made an error in throwing them together?

  “I…made some unseemly comments to Miss Vernon.”

  “Were you just callin’ her ‘Nettle?’” A wry smile forced its way to Amy’s face as he nodded. “If that name is the least of your worries, I fret for you, Cousin.”

  “But she attacked me, Amy,” Brad hissed, pulling Amy from the door. He did not want to take the chance that Veronica listened on the other side, for he would no doubt be slapped again. “If you would just go and talk to her, then I won’t have to worry about all this.”

  Reluctantly nodding, Amy waited until Brad had escaped to the first floor before knocking on Veronica’s door. There was a long pause, and a startling thump to make Amy wonder if Veronica had perhaps fainted to the floor. “Ronnie? Ronnie, let me in,” she demanded, wrestling with the doorknob. Jumping in surprise as the door was jerked open long enough for her to fall into the room, Amy gasped as Veronica slammed the door shut. She watched, quite puzzled, as Veronica threw herself to bed.

  “Ronnie, what happened? Brad is downstairs with Madge, and both are throwin’ themselves into a high dungeon about your incivility. My aunt and uncle know not what to do. Tell me what has conspired between you and my cousins. Brad said you attacked him.”

  Veronica sat in a mortified rage. “All I did was gave him a slap in the face for bein’ so impudent. How dare he tell tales about me? Oh, how could you bring me to this Yankee house?”

  “My family has always supported the Union. I even asked if all was right, and you muttered your agreement. Were you not listenin’?”<
br />
  Veronica buried her face in her pillow.

  “I’m sorry you didn’t know of my family. But really, what did you think they would be? Veronica, we live in Washington. We live in the Yankee capital.”

  “I was surprised, is all. I would have been fine, except for—Brad. He verbally attacked me. Asked all these questions, and threw me into a tizzy. I never thought to audibly doubt the ways of my family. I just knew to follow ‘em.” Veronica pushed her tousled hair from her face, smiling as she thought of Brad deciding to come out with a drink. “Your cousin is odd.”

  “Yes, I know. All of my friends are madly in love with him, and yet he hardly looks in their direction. Actually, I believe he dotes on you.”

  Veronica laughed, until she realized Amy was serious. “I’ve hardly known him a full day,” she scoffed.

  “And yet in the time past, you have thrown a fork at him, held your own in a debate, slapped him, and let him kiss you.”

  “I did not let him kiss me, Amy, he grabbed me. And that fork flew of its own accord.” Veronica paused as Amy smiled, and she tentatively asked, “You think he likes me?” Amy nodded. “What if he’s just playin’, though?” Veronica pressed.

  “Then play with him! Let him think he enamors you one minute, and be your true self the next. He wouldn’t know what to do. If anythin’, he is enamored because you’re the first woman who hasn’t thrown herself at him in a long time,” Amy remarked, laughing. Having a multitude of women forever wanting to call had heightened Brad’s ego to a point of disgust.

  Brad’s manner toward Veronica was anything but gentlemanly, but this would certainly be interesting if Amy be right. Climbing off the bed, Veronica knelt before her trunk to dig out a flattering dress. “I’ll get my indigo out. You tell all I’ll behave and that I’ll be down in two shakes of a leg.”

  Amy was cautiously pleased as she scrambled from the room. How she hoped she wasn’t making a mistake by being so excited about all this.

  * * * * *

  June, 1861

  Pulling her hair into a chignon, Veronica watched the humidity cause ringlets at her neck and forehead. The mirror revealed that her momentary crying had brought a sparkle to her eyes, and redness to her lips and cheek. With a smile, she reasoned she could not have asked for better features in her current quest of making Brad love her. Sliding into her black pumps, Veronica left her bedroom to meet the family in the dining room.

  “The meal began ten minutes ago, Miss Vernon,” Madge couldn’t help but say as her father helped Veronica into her seat.

  “Are you feelin’ better?” Mrs. Williams asked, glaring at her daughter as she handed Veronica a plate. Wishing to make amends for Madge’s continuous rudeness, she attempted polite conversation: “I believe we used to live somewhere near your home, Miss Vern—Ronnie. We once lived in the south, you know.”

  “Well, that explains your accents,” Veronica said, suddenly noticing Brad was not present. Glancing across the table at Amy, who also saw the empty seat, Veronica slowly observed, “I was told the family eats together for dinner.”

  “I’m sure Brad will come,” Mr. Williams briskly said, encouraging everyone to enjoy the meal as he complimented the servant girl at his left for her superb cooking.

  The silence heavily weighted in as the meal continued its present course.

  As the front door slammed, alerting the house of Brad’s arrival, it was all Madge could do to not jump from her seat. After pleading with her gaze, she attained her father’s permission to leave and leapt from the table, rightly assuming her brother waited in the library.

  Hearing Madge shriek, the family hastily left Veronica alone in the dining room. Resignedly leaving her meal, Veronica followed and leaned against the parlor doorjamb, watching across the parlor into the library as the Yankee family forgot her existence. Brad sat on the sofa with sister and cousin on either side, and with parents across the rug on the chaise lounge. Not caring about what Brad had to say, Veronica dazedly watched him narrate. Suddenly, she could see why he seemed to have so many women in love with him: his smiles reached his eyes.

  Veronica was silent as she enjoyed how Brad told his story, though she heard not a word. Frowning when he said something about the volunteer office, she realized he spoke of volunteering for the army. What else could entrance the family so? Veronica’s hand flew to her mouth as she suddenly understood. This was entirely devastating. True, Veronica’s heart was not set on Brad, and therefore she was spared of such distress as that…though if he had not so meanly insulted her earlier, Veronica reasoned she would have been very put-out.

  Of course, perhaps Brad wasn’t a soldier. That could be a possibility.

  Pretending he could not see Veronica as she leaned against the doorjamb, Brad continued his story. He noted her discomposure the longer he spoke, and when she finally spun to run away, he murmured, “Amy, I would like to take a walk.” He abruptly stood, ignoring how Madge glared at his preoccupation with Veronica. Excusing himself from his parents and the room, Brad waited for Amy at the library door.

  Confused, Amy followed him to the back staircase, where she pulled at his sleeve to point out the window, having spied Veronica sitting on the garden bench. “Go. Talk to her,” she ordered, pushing him to the door.

  Brad, stronger and more resolute, effectively resisted Amy’s shove. “Why? I am not her friend. Veronica Vernon is a horrible little woman with a bad temper.” He relented at Amy’s crestfallen expression: “I will only go if you sit beside her, and…and hold her hand…or something. I will not go out there by myself and talk to such an impudent woman.”

  “You know,” Amy whispered, gripping his hand as they cautiously opened the back kitchen door, “your temper is not so clement, either, Brad. I find it ironic that you would complain of another with a temper not unlike yours.” She smiled into his frown, urging him forward.

  Veronica rocked back and forth on the bench. Her reputation would be in a shambles if word got out she willingly left to visit Yankees. Her mother would never forgive a ruined reputation. The more Veronica thought, the more she realized there was no way to leave without Amy’s help. Biting her lip, she wished her thoughts didn’t revisit the sight of Brad smiling in the library.

  This was hardly the time to swoon.

  “Nettle?” Brad ventured, after much prodding from Amy. He caught a laugh as Veronica refused to acknowledge him, and would have escaped had Amy not clenched his arm and forced his presence.

  “Do not mind him, he knows not what he says,” Amy glared, sitting beside Veronica.

  Sitting on Veronica’s other side, Brad made no attempt to touch her hand as his cousin did. “I’m sorry if I shocked you, Miss Vernon,” he haltingly began, though, when noticing a slight smirk on Veronica’s face, his temper flared. “Look, I don’t have to explain to you why I teased, so I don’t know why I’m out here.”

  Completely ignoring Brad’s soliloquy, Veronica jerked her hand from Amy’s and burst, “You brought him out here, didn’t you, Amy? Did he not ridicule me enough earlier?” With a crumpled frown, she spun to find Brad studying her. “Have you anythin’ more to say or am I permitted to leave your presence?”

  Brad held out his hand as Veronica blinked to abate tears. That he stared as though he could read her thoughts was disconcerting, and as her gaze flickered between his face and hand, Veronica was confused as to why he thought she would shake it. They did not have an agreement.

  Veronica stepped from the bench and stared at the cousins. They had much in common: their eyes had the same intelligent manner, though not the same color. Gasping, she began to feel the repercussions of uneven breathing while wearing a corset as her lungs contracted. Veronica wrenched from the cousins and dashed into the house, hyperventilating.

  Brad, faster than Veronica and unhindered by skirts, found her collapsed and struggling on the back staircase. Kneeling beside her, he massaged her heaving shoulders. “Miss Vernon, you must be calm. You will faint if you c
ontinue.”

  Veronica pulled away, standing as she picked up her skirts to mount the step.

  “Nettle, you can’t mount those stairs in your condition without someone to help,” he protested, frowning as her shoulders set with a stubborn resolution.

  Veronica swayed, losing control to the heat. Panicking, she spun to face Brad, gripping his hand with both of hers as her eyes rolled into her head. Her mind felt giddy: she had always wondered what it felt like to faint.

  Exclaiming as Veronica’s knees gave out, Brad caught her about the waist and knelt to the ground as the dead weight almost overwhelmed him. He turned to find his mother witness the fall and order Madge to run for her salts as Amy warmed a pot of water. Once they were again alone, he whispered, “Little spitfire, are you conscious?”

  “Where am I?” she blinked.

  “On the stair.”

  Frowning, Veronica muttered, “I am not a spitfire, you horrible creature.”

  “Can you stand up?” Brad asked, allowing a small chuckle.

  The sudden confusion in her gaze made him stare in surprise as she weakly said, “You mean I’m not?” Veronica watched him shake his head and massage her hand with bewildered, appreciative eyes as he laughed at her. She faintly smiled as her breathing regulated. “Thank you, Brad.”

  Thinking she evaded a faint, Brad was amazed when Veronica limply fell against him. With a slight grunt, he lifted her into his arms and with some difficulty, maneuvered her large hoopskirt up the narrow staircase. Pausing at the top of the stair, Brad reasoned it would be more practical to leave Veronica in Madge’s room, for he could well imagine Veronica’s horror if she ever found out he entered her bedroom. He gently laid Veronica on Madge’s large reading chair, tucking a blanket around her.

  Brad jumped as Amy stormed into the room, brandishing a damp cloth for Veronica’s forehead. Certain Amy would revive her southern friend, he left the room with a faint blush.