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Catching the Rose

Page 11

by Belinda Kroll


  “Do you mean to tell me you have never rebelled against your relatives?”

  “I have never had the need to, unlike you.” Grabbing the basket, she spun before seeing Veronica’s injured gaze.

  Wincing, Veronica turned to see a shadow ducking up the stair. Unaware Amy did not follow, she pursued the silhouette halfway, before deciding her curiosity wasn’t worth the battle. Swiveling on her heel, she squeaked as a warm hand slid around her waist. Veronica vainly grappled with her assailant as he dragged her away.

  Amy dropped the basket when she found Veronica no longer with her. Hoping her uncle hadn't caught them in the act of escaping to the battle, she dashed up the stair and peeked into the hall. She wished she had a candle to illuminate the clammy air. “Ronnie, where have you gone?” she hissed, and jerked aside as a hand brushed her arm. As her eyes adjusted to the light, Amy was shocked by the spectacle of Veronica embracing a man whose identity was hidden beneath his cap. Of course, further inspection proved Veronica did not embrace him but that he firmly held her close, covering her mouth to prevent an obvious scream.

  “Who are you? What do you want?” Amy softly demanded of the aggressor, as he thumbed his cap up so she could see his face.

  The man thumbed his cap so she could see his face. “I should like to know where you are going,” he said, tightening his grasp on Veronica, effectively pinning her flailing arms.

  Amy waved the comment aside. “Let Ronnie go before she slips into a consumption, Brad. I swear…the way you treat her is abominable.”

  Squealing from behind Brad’s hand, Amy saw Veronica’s eyes widen in anger. Amy tilted her head, hiding her smile from Brad as Veronica bit his hand. Choking on her giggles, Amy watched Veronica triumphantly jump away, quipping, “Serves you right for bein’ a horrible boy,” as Brad weakly roared in pain.

  “Look what you’ve done! You’ve created a mark!”

  “I should hope so: my hands still carry marks from that warmin’ plate,” Veronica sniffed, waving away his complaint with a shadow-hidden smile.

  “Where are you taking my cousin, Nettle?” Brad wrapped a handkerchief around his hand, ignoring Amy’s expression, as he suspected she much enjoyed his spats with Veronica.

  “I am not takin’ her anywhere. She decided on her own to see the battle and…” Veronica clapped her hand over her mouth as Amy shot a glare at her and Brad demanded, “Is that so, Amy?”

  “Brad, you mustn’t tell Aunt and Uncle. They will have my hide for sure,” Amy pleaded.

  “I won’t tell,” Brad said, holding his hand up for silence as they squealed, “because I am coming with you.”

  “He’ll spoil it,” Veronica warned.

  Amy’s countenance sunk. “Even if we managed to keep him locked in the house, he’d climb out a window and follow us on foot. I know that look. He’s goin’ to come whether we want him or not. Well then, come along. We don’t want to waste time.” Leading Veronica and Brad to the kitchen, Amy paused to lace her shoes as Brad picked up the basket for the stable.

  Veronica hesitated before following Brad to the stable, and when she entered the small building, she found him cajoling the horse to stand still as he fed it a carrot. Standing near him, she wondered why she felt so amiable just then. “He’s beautiful.”

  “You two are very prepared,” Brad answered, rubbing the horse’s nose. “I came out thinking perhaps I had to prepare the carriage, but I find all is ready for departure.”

  “You sound surprised, Cousin.” Amy smiled, entering the sable to link her arm through Veronica’s.

  “I am impressed,” Brad admitted, aiding them into the buggy. Grabbing the reins, he turned to find Veronica sitting beside him, trying to hide her blush. “Miss Vernon…I could have sworn I helped Amy into the carriage first…as in, she sat beside me two seconds ago.”

  The smile in Amy’s voice as she replied made Veronica’s blush brighter: “You jostle me too much when you drive, Brad. I thought perhaps sittin’ next to Veronica would persuade you to be more controlled in your movements.” She leaned forward to see Brad’s displeased expression as she said, “Well, are we goin’ to leave, or enjoy this wonderful view of the outside world within the stable, Cousin?”

  Snapping the reins harder than he needed, Brad’s elbow jabbed Veronica’s side. Not commenting when Veronica exclaimed as his shove threw her into Amy, he cried, “Oh! —I’m terribly sorry. I’ll try not to do that again,” and followed the road to Centreville.

  “Oh, for the day when thirty miles does not take so long,” Veronica muttered, reconciled that the voyage there would be uncomfortable silence. Glances at Amy to help alleviate such silence had no effect, for Amy would not be obliging.

  Upon reaching Bull Run River, she found the many wagons, buggies, carriages, horses and people to be exhausting. “Let’s go over the bridge,” she said, pointing to the meadow past the river. “I’m sure we’ll be able to see much more.”

  Brad laughed, as the horses halted, for they could go no further in the traffic. “And be in close range. Nettle, we will be shot if we’re that close.”

  “That’s not true. See? There are other women here and they haven’t been shot. We’ll be fine…where’s your sense of adventure?” Veronica smiled into Brad’s frown.

  “I suppose it’s with my common sense, because both seem to be missing today. Fine, we’ll go over the bridge. But if your damned rebels bomb it…”

  “Don’t be silly, Mr. Williams. And please, watch your language. There are ladies here,” Veronica simpered, leaning against Brad’s shoulder, much to Amy’s amusement.

  “I don’t see any,” Brad said, flicking the reins to cajole the horse forward through an opening.

  “Horrible boy,” Veronica muttered, regaining her stiff posture. She could hardly ignore the smile he threw over her head at Amy, as he chose a spot and helped her from the buggy. Veronica helped Amy lay a blanket on the grass to prevent staining, and set out the contents of Mrs. Beaumont’s basket.

  Brad lounged in what little shade the buggy offered. “If you don’t want your skirt dirtied, move,” he warned.

  Veronica inched away, watching him pull his hat over his eyes. Annoyed, she stole his hat. “Why did you come if all you’re goin’ to do is sleep?”

  Brad’s eyes smiled as he reached for his hat and found Veronica would not easily relinquish it. “I came to save my own hide, not amuse yours.” When Veronica smacked the article to his face, Brad grabbed her wrist and pulled her close, pushing his cap to his crown.

  “Mr. Williams!”

  “You needn’t worry, Nettle. I merely want to see you now: for as soon as you pay mind to the battle, I am sure you will essentially lose your mind.”

  Veronica laughed in his face, determined not to let Brad ruin her day. “I believe your cousin is attracted to me,” she said to Amy, pretending Brad did not maintain his close hold as she amiably accepted a biscuit from Amy.

  “What was that?” Brad demanded.

  “What was what, dear?” Veronica asked.

  “Well, isn’t it true, Brad?” Amy handed him some roast chicken.

  “Never seen such an unattractive face,” Brad muttered, releasing Veronica as though she were diseased. Shuffling back into his lounging position, he hid his smile beneath his cap as he heard Veronica’s laugh, which was dryer than one that conveyed enjoyment.

  Amy smiled and passed Veronica the sherry. “Don’t mind Brad. He enjoys provokin’ you.”

  Deciding to follow Amy’s advice, Veronica sat enraptured with the vast crowds of spectators. She had heard many civilians from Washington, Centreville and even Richmond had come, but Veronica would never have imagined hundreds of them. “It is like a huge army picnic.”

  Shading her eyes with her hand, she was unaware of Brad’s steady gaze—though Amy noticed it with a smile. “They’ve been fighting since five this morning,” she heard Brad mumble from beneath his cap.

  “Five! Shouldn’t they have an intermis
sion and collect themselves?”

  Heartily laughing, Brad slid his cap from his face, nodding to the camped soldiers. “They don’t fight the entire time. There are hiatuses for doctors to retrieve wounded. And strategies to pull the enemy into traps.”

  “Is not that a bit underhanded?” Veronica couldn’t help but ask.

  “What did you expect?”

  Veronica shrugged, jumping as she heard the cannon boom. “I wish I’d brought my opera glasses with me. I can’t see anythin’.”

  “This is not some opera you watch, my little Nettle. Men are dying out there.”

  “I know that,” Veronica snapped, whipping her skirt aside as Brad moved to stand. “And I’m not your little Nettle. I told you not to call me that.” She jumped to her feet to face Brad so he did not tower over her, her hands clenching her skirts as she glared.

  “I can just barely see the outline of the Blue Ridge Mountains. Wouldn’t this make a pretty sketch, Ronnie?” Amy nonchalantly asked, stabbing a piece of meat.

  Veronica shook her head in confusion.

  Brad smiled. “Somehow, I’m not surprised to find you an artist. Certainly explains why you like to sit and stare at things.”

  “Insolent boy!” Veronica cried. About to say more, she hesitated, hearing the cannon boom; that ear-ringing, earth-shaking boom that so frightened her in Charleston. She held her hand up to Brad, sensing he meant to speak. “Do not continue with your…”

  “Isn’t that Mr. Sumner?”

  Brad turned, irritated by Amy’s constant interruptions. “Yes, and there is Albert Riddle and Albert Ely (Garrison). I hope you will let Veronica and I be as we discuss this!”

  “What is their significance, Amy, dear?” Veronica asked, entirely puzzled.

  Amy smiled, glad that her little distraction had caused enough curiosity in Veronica to allow a pause in the argument. “I suppose they don’t teach you much about politics down south. Charles Sumner is senator of Massachusetts (Garrison). Riddle is an Ohioan congressman (Garrison). Ely—oh, Brad, who is Ely for?”

  Brad kicked a tuft of grass. “He’s representing New York for something. They’re all here to congratulate their regiments as soon as they capture Richmond and return victorious. Because we all know that a war can be won in a single day.”

  Veronica could hardly ignore the bitter sarcasm dripping from his voice. “You almost sound as though you don’t believe in your army, Mr. Williams.”

  “I suppose you would almost be right, Miss Vernon. They are too new. We are only here because Lincoln wanted to use the ninety-day recruits with what training they had before the ninety days were up and they could go home” (Garrison).

  “You mean Mr. Lincoln had to actually set a limit for people to join? My word—and we have all the military geniuses. I’m not surprised at your doubt, then, Mr. Will…” Veronica’s voice trailed as she noticed the spectators all stood, cheering and screaming. Further inspection, though, proved to show the southern spectators were the most jubilant.

  “Is it just me, or is the battle comin’ closer?” Amy asked, standing to join her cousin.

  Frowning, Veronica walked from the buggy, squinting to see through waves of blinding sunlight. “They’re retreatin’,” she murmured in surprise, as Yankee squads withdrew in a semi-organized manner. About to ask Brad what news he heard, she clutched the tree as a shadow passed overhead and landed with a definite explosion on a retreating regiment.

  Amy and Brad watched with rising horror as the one bridge collapsed with a heavy-loaded wagon into the creek. “I knew we should have stayed on the other side,” Brad muttered.

  Skimming the battlefield, Amy paused, and took a double take, as she realized bullets seared the air to reach her. Exclaiming as Brad shoved her into the buggy with the basket, she watched civilians and soldiers chaotically run.

  “Where’s Nettle?” Brad shouted, as a fearfully loud yell came from the Confederates. Shivers ran down his back as he jerked in its direction. Shivers ran down his back. “Where is she?” he demanded, scanning the crowd for any sign of her. Leaning close as Amy grabbed his arm and pointed in the direction of their disrupted picnic, Brad stared. Veronica made no attempt to reach them, she was so awed by the sight of the fighting. He couldn’t help but admire her stupidity.

  “Nettle…you idiot…run!”

  Veronica turned to see Brad call, his hand motioning that she should try to reach the buggy. Her breath caught as she suddenly found it hard to breathe the gritty air. Waving to the vehicle as it crawled through the mob, she was suddenly knocked over by a sprinting soldier.

  “You all right, ma’am?” he asked, squatting to peer into her face. She coughed, nodding as she brushed back her hair. “Good,” he said, tipping his hat. “You best leave, now,” he shouted, continuing with his flight, unaware that Veronica stared after him, completely bewildered.

  “Move out of the way!” Brad shouted, inducing his horse through the crowd. “Amy, I won’t be able to reach her in this mess. You’re going to have to turn the buggy around and hold it still until you hear me shout to go.”

  “I…what?” Amy exclaimed as she suddenly found the reins in her hands. “Get back here! Oh, this was a horrible idea.”

  Brad jumped from the buggy and shoved aside a small man with spectacles. “Get off, creature!” he said as a Yankee soldier pummeled into him and they fell to the ground from the impact. He sat up to see Veronica unresponsively lying beneath the pounding feet. He crawled through. “Veronica?”

  “Am I dead?” She thickly asked as he touched her cheek. “I must be dead. You didn’t call me Nettle.” Veronica groggily glanced at the rushing crowd, clutching Brad’s arm as he helped her stand. “Are you my guardian angel?”

  “Stop being silly and tell me your name.”

  “You know, you are not much different as an angel,” Veronica said with a frown. When Brad glared his determination, she obediently replied, “Veronica Vernon of Schönheitstal.”

  “And my cousin?”

  Veronica gasped as the rushing crowd pressed them into a deep embrace. “Amy Williams, recently of Richmond. Why do you ask this? Shouldn’t we leave?”

  “One more question, please. I am not sure whether you were hurt when you fell. For heaven’s sake—indulge me! What is my name?”

  “Idiot, recently of Washington. So, does this mean I’m not dead?”

  Brad smiled, satisfied now that she had exerted to insult him. Turning to find the buggy had not moved, but the traffic similarly had not gotten better, Brad jerked Veronica close enough to whisper in her ear, “Drop your hoops.”

  “What?” she cried in dismay.

  “The only way you can jump into that buggy is if you drop those hoops.”

  “And ruin my reputation?”

  “No one is paying attention. They're too busy saving themselves!”

  With a frown, Veronica turned to lift her skirts and drop her hoops. Clutching the hoops tightly to her chest, she leaned against Brad as he slipped his arm around her waist and asked, “Are you ready?”

  “I’m a little lightheaded,” Veronica admitted, squealing as Brad suddenly grabbed her hand and sprinted her through the crowd. He jerked her close, and, ignoring her exclamation of discomfort, threw her into the buggy. If all had been different, Brad would have laughed at how he barely managed to avoid throwing Veronica into Amy’s lap.

  “Hello,” Veronica gasped, tucking her hoops beneath her with a blush as Amy stared, quite shocked, at her sudden appearance.

  “Hello yourself,” Amy retorted. “Where is Brad? The horse is ready to bolt.”

  Brad leapt into the buggy, causing both women to scream. “Is this the thanks I get for saving you, Nettle? Shame!” he said, gripping the reins so hard his knuckles turned white.

  Amy, in her daze, was observant enough to catch the admiring gaze Veronica threw to Brad as he proceeded to safely get them home.

  * * * * *

  July, 1861

  Veroni
ca sighed and sank onto the foyer bench upon entering the house. “Where is everyone?” she asked as Amy came from the library. “I assume everyone has left: that’s the only time this house is ever quiet.”

  “Ronnie, this is hardly the time,” Amy snapped, ripping her bonnet off her head and throwing it beside Veronica.

  “Hardly the time for what?” Brad congenially asked, walking in with a suspiciously lighthearted step. “As it is around supper, I suppose our family, Amy, is in the dining room. Miss Vernon, are you hungry?”

  “Famished,” Veronica declared. Smiling as Brad offered his arm for her, she murmured, “You certainly seem to hold me in high esteem today, Mr. Williams. If it were not for our history, I would have said you were just flirtin’ with me.”

  “Appearances are not all they seem, Nettle,” he said with a smile as he took Amy’s arm and escorted them to supper.

  The silence of the dining room hailed them. The air, already muggy, was dense enough to slice through and Veronica wondered if Amy or Brad could feel the tension as Madge demanded, “Where have you been?”

  “We went to see the battle,” Veronica replied, politely nodding to Brad’s parents as he seated her. Pulling the napkin into her lap, she thanked the servant girl Emma for serving the meal.

  Mrs. Williams dropped her fork. Waving Emma away as she came forward with a replacement, Amy’s aunt incredulously stared at Veronica. To hear a willing admittance was shocking. “Did you not realize you could have been severely hurt?”

  Amy kissed her uncle’s uplifted cheek. Seeing her aunt was not to be greeted, she humbly slid into the seat beside Madge, ignoring how her cousin’s eyes burned her skin. If only Madge would curb her gaze and let her parents handle the situation. Why would Brad not say anything? It seemed as though all his concerns focused on Veronica. Amy smiled her approval.

  “Brad, stop standing there. I am not in the mood to watch you gape at Miss Vernon,” Madge snapped, her fork clattering to the side of her plate.

  “Enough,” Mrs. Williams snapped, her tone splintering through the humidity. “Brad, I would be much obliged if you would take your seat.” As he sat to be close to Veronica, her brow arched. “So. How was it? Was the battle all the excitement and grandeur you expected, Miss Vernon?”

 

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