Catching the Rose

by Belinda Kroll

  How terribly romantic and wonderfully nauseating.

  Why did they all stare? Veronica’s temper flared as her eyes narrowed through unshed tears. Amy had hidden Brad’s presence in Richmond for who knew how long, and yet Amy and the hidden wonder stood there, staring at her. As though Veronica had done something deceptive.

  “Amy, you have betrayed me!” Veronica cried.

  Brad was appalled. She did look so becoming when angry: he couldn’t help but enjoy the way her eyes darted with unspoken fury. “Jinx—err, Nettle—you must understand—”

  “Lord, it is true.” She felt her cheeks smolder as though she sat by an unseen fire. She shook her head to rid her mind of her swirling, funneling thoughts.

  “—Veronica, do you understand why I did this?”

  “You are confused. You don’t know what to call me. Jinx or Nettle, Ronnie or Veronica? I suppose it all depends on what you are to me, doesn’t it?” Veronica said.

  “What do you wish me to call you?” Brad asked. He had never meant to hurt her; never meant to cause this much pain. Obviously, he struck a very deep chord: she would only focus on certain features as though she could not bear to look upon him wholly.

  How he wished to make her understand; make sure she knew what he meant and felt. But no: her bleary eyes betrayed what her rigid stance and uplifted chin would not. Veronica evidently felt for him more than she let on. Especially when she believed him to be Jonathan…a deceit she would not easily forgive.

  “You will address me as Miss Vernon. You have no reason to deserve my trust.” She held her stomach to steady her spasmodic breathing. “I do not know who you are, Mr. Williams.”

  Brad attempted to step forward again, and, finding Veronica too distraught to back away, guided her to the sofa. Taking her hand within his, he vaguely registered how cold it felt. He jerked as her hand darted for his handkerchief. He cursed his stupidity. Of course, today he would decide to wear the bandana from the barn. Poor planning on his part.

  “Veronica—Miss Vernon,” Brad quickly remedied, “I am sorry I deceived you—you have no idea how sorry. I don’t think you understand how much I missed—one does not get over your conversation easily. I am sure Amy knew nothing of this entire matter of me pretending to be Jonathan and all. She perhaps thought I had a small flirtation with you.”

  “A small flirtation.” This was his reasoning for pretending to be her escape mechanism from Bentley? He did not understand what he sentenced her to by declaring he was not Jonathan. She suddenly felt resigned to inevitable oppression. Her hand seemed to have a mind of its own as it repeatedly gripped and released her neckerchief, alternately fumbling with her brooch. This could not be happening. She numbly dropped his neckerchief.

  Amy was dumbfounded. The day was being conducted in a decidedly ill manner, she resolved. She glanced at Brad, hoping for comfort, though he was stricken with Veronica’s sudden burst into the room. And Madge—she stared with an expression that frightened Amy. It was as though Madge saw something she had not realized before.

  “I am sorry for tryin’ to deceive you—no, not even that, for you were never meant to know Brad was here—oh! That’s what not I meant to say.” Amy glanced in Madge’s direction, unnerved to find her cousin still staring in disbelief. What had Amy done to cause such a reaction? Only minutes before, Brad and Madge had hailed her supreme for planning their reconnaissance. Writing letters to Brad had been laughably easy; keeping them from Veronica and Madge’s view took some trickery of which she was not particularly proud to owning. Convincing Veronica to leave for the day was brilliant, Amy admitted to herself, but losing track of the time had been entirely irresponsible. “Ronnie, don’t you understand that Madge and I had to see Brad? He’s such an important part of our lives…”

  “If you wanted him to visit, you merely had to ask that I stay away, if you were so afraid I would ruin your affairs,” Veronica said, jerking her hand from Brad.

  “Nettle, don’t be absurd.” Brad raked his fingers through his hair. Why would she not understand? “Sometimes you are so intent on causing scenes it’s ridiculous. Come now, be sensible and put this incident aside.”

  Veronica felt so sick of dealing with Yankees. “You have forgotten already, Mr. Williams,” she said, brushing past Madge as she escaped the tense parlor.

  “Where are you going?” Madge followed her, careful to avoid the spilt coffee.

  “Away.” Veronica lifted her skirts as she mounted the stair. “You need not worry about me, Madge, for I am sure you are the one least in the wrong. You merely wanted to see your brother. I have no doubt of your intentions. You did not know—rather, you were not privy to—Amy and Brad had other intentions.” Her hand brushed against the railing. She involuntarily twitched when Brad caught it, preventing her from leaving.

  “Don’t hate me.”

  “Let it be known I didn’t come up with the idea.” Veronica ripped her hand away and stumbled to her bedroom. With a sob, she ripped off her brooch and neckerchief, shaking her head to clear cobwebs. Faltering, she reached for her bed. Her skirts were too heavy; her head too light.

  “Oh, Heavens,” she whispered, fighting to maintain consciousness. Cursed corset. Horrible man, exasperating man, cryptic man…

  * * * * *

  PART TWO: November, 1861

  “What is she doing up there, Amy?” Brad asked, having just completed his twenty-fifth length of the parlor. “And just what has Madge been doing in Nettle’s—Veronica’s—Miss Vernon’s room all evening?”

  “Probably calmin’ her down, if she hasn’t already fainted,” Amy dryly observed, watching Brad slowly turn and walk the length of the room for the twenty-sixth time.

  “Good Lord, do you think I made her faint?”

  “She has been through a lot today, Brad. Her hopes and dreams were dashed the moment she realized Jonathan and you were the same. Don’t forget that Jonathan was her ticket out of marryin’ Mr. Stratford. And don’t think she’ll ever once ponder marryin’ you. She hates you now more than ever, I suspect. She probably hates me, too, now that I think about her reaction. I suppose she heard a little too much of our conversation. I wonder how long she was out there, anyway…” Amy’s comments drifted as she stared at the ceiling. It was much too quiet up there.

  Shaking her thoughts aside, Amy continued as Brad paused to run his fingers along the piano keys, “She feels I was a part of your scheme—I have probably lost all confidence.”

  “Oh, I am sorry. You know, I have no idea what that feels like, suddenly losing the trust of a most beloved individual.”

  “Sarcasm is not appreciated. Of course, it’s not as though she has been confidin’ much in me anyway—it seems as though you occupied much of her thinkin’ and she was ashamed, or confused, or…selfish, I suppose.”

  “Well, that’s certainly more than she ever let on.”

  “She thought of Jonathan, pardon my mistake. She resented you.”

  “Of course, she resented me. I made her question everything she lived for, everything she knew, loved, hoped—dreamed of. Why wouldn’t she resent me?”

  “When were you ever alone with her? I must admit when I saw that card Madge managed to snatch, I recognized your handwritin’. It is a good thing Madge was too mad to really scrutinize it. But really! To play with her emotions! I am thoroughly ashamed of you.”

  “Are you lecturing me? You, who held her confidences and mine, and led us both along as though you didn’t quite understand the entire matter? You meant that she come here today—you wanted us to meet and talk. You’ve destroyed any chance I ever had with her—Jonathan might still be in the picture if we could somehow convince her that there is another Jonathan out there. But that wouldn’t work—she’s going to be twice as suspicious, twice as wary, twice as bitter and hurt. And to deceive her twice!” He slammed his fist into the palm of his hand. “You don’t even know the entire story! You don’t know the things she’s told me.”

  “And she
hasn’t told me anything?” Amy retorted. How was it, that out of all the people who lied and cheated and deceived, she was the scapegoat? “I do not appreciate the fact that both you and Veronica think I am completely to blame. You lied to her first! You told her you were Jonathan, sent by Rhett. I should never have told you about him—never should have confided who Veronica hoped he would return with. You are the entire reason she began to call you Jonathan, and she ultimately believed your falsehood.”

  “Amy—!”

  “I am not finished! You never gave her reason to doubt, though I am sure she picked up details you thought she wouldn’t notice. What sort of lover are you, Brad, not to notice she is an observer? More so than me, possibly even you, I daresay. So many times, I saw her flinch when you brushed back your hair as you pretended to be Jonathan. It’s such an idiosyncrasy of yours, I doubt you even realized until it was too late. For heaven’s sake, you switched accents in the middle of the party. Do you think her dumb?”

  “You are the moral character that inspires us all, Amy—therefore, you are the scapegoat. If you didn’t always try to be perfect and helpful and willing to put yourself aside for the good of everyone else, perhaps we wouldn’t judge you so harshly. You constantly lecture me, though I am three years your senior, and yet you don’t practice what you preach! I am heartily ashamed.”

  “Oh, please—!”

  “Well, what else am I to say? Did you see her eyes, Amy?” Brad fell onto the lounge with a decidedly dejected slouch. “Those horrible eyes bore into me as though I were nothing but an onion skin.”

  Amy smiled in spite of herself. “Do you really find her eyes horrible?”

  “Oh, what do you think?”

  “We’re behavin’ dreadfully. Let’s make up so we can work together to attain Veronica’s forgiveness.” Hearing a noise from the stair, she leaned to see Madge rush past the parlor doors, carrying wet cloths. “Madge! Madge, what’s the to do? What’s goin’ on upstairs?”

  Madge poked her head through the door, her hair in disarray. “Well, what’s the to do with you, Amy?” She walked into the parlor, draping the cloths over her arm.

  “Madge, not from you, too.” Amy settled onto the floor to lean beside Brad.

  “I can’t believe you, of all people, would do this to Veronica. True, she’s a secesh, and she’s tenacious. But Amy, you’re her trusted friend. You have done what is expected of me, for heaven’s sake. And you, Brad! I thought you were so wonderful, sneaking through southern lines to see Amy and me. And to think you’ve been here for weeks, play-courting Veronica!”

  Veronica slipped down the stairs unseen. It seemed as though Madge, for once, was defending her. How ironic, that out of the three Veronica would have figured to be morally intact, Madge had the virtue, while Amy and Brad the façade.

  “You don’t know what you’re saying, Madge,” Brad said.

  “Don’t treat me like a child when I have been the most honest and sincere in this entire matter, Brad.” Madge noted with great satisfaction that he gazed at her with mild surprise. “I may have behaved petulantly and been a boar to Veronica, but I never let her doubt my actions. You, Amy, told me I should never try to deceive someone into thinking I feel what I actually do not.

  “And Brad, you have thoroughly confused me. In Washington, you made it perfectly clear Veronica was nothing more than an amusement. But when alone, you treated her as a princess; you wanted her attention and regard, though you will forever deny it, I daresay. I can’t believe you actually chased us south just to see her! Your darling Nettle or Jinx or Ronnie or whatever you call Veronica! —frankly, you make me nauseous.”

  Veronica smiled from her perch.

  “What has she told you? It seems as though we could write her biography. I’m sure we could come up with her entire life between the three of us,” Brad peevishly muttered.

  “Now that’s uncharitable, Brad, you mustn’t say such things. You don’t feel that way, I know it. You’re just mad she found you out before you had the chance to tell her. You were goin’ to, weren’t you?” Amy asked.

  “And what of it? What would she have done then? You mean she might have looked at me? She couldn’t even bear to look at me, Amy.”

  Veronica cringed involuntarily as she watched Maum Jo clean the floor. This was hardly the time to gaze into his eyes and beg him to tell her it wasn’t true.

  “Would you stop complaining? If you want to talk to her, go, then. She listened to me. I must admit she’s quite rational for a southern belle.”

  “Why are you smilin’, Madge?” Amy asked.

  “I made peace with Veronica—during the time that you two ruined your relationships with her. And she has invited me to her home. In South Carolina.”

  “Where else would her home be?” Amy snapped.

  “Away, Madge! I tire of your voice,” Brad roared, his anger growing as Veronica smirked. It was fortunate that he could not read her thoughts, for in truth she reasoned that it was about time Brad felt as she did when he belittled her troubles.

  “Well! At least I was invited.” Madge flounced out the door with a whisk of her skirts. She walked into the hall, catching Veronica at the foot of the stair. Winking, she walked into the kitchen, motioning Veronica should maintain her quiet position. Veronica sighed, content to listen.

  “We can’t let Madge go south alone,” Amy murmured, leaning on Brad’s knee.

  “But we can’t invite ourselves.”

  “Veronica must know that if she invites Madge, she invites us as well. We can’t trust this friendship to last very long. They are much too different to become true friends, I’m sure.”

  “Hmm, yes, such friends as you and Veronica? Prime example,” Brad laughed.

  “Don’t be cruel.”

  “Do you expect me to be amiable at a time like this?”

  “You could at least be civil! This is not the time to be melancholy. We need to prove to Veronica that we value her friendship. Well, I suppose I value her friendship. You value her admiration. Did you ever tell her?”

  “She would have laughed at me. And besides, I didn’t know at the time. I thought I was just enjoying her attention…after all, we constantly bickered. The most intellectual stimulation I’ve ever had, excepting your presence.”

  How intriguing, that Brad found Veronica’s conversation stimulating. Never before had any man considered Veronica a worthy adversary in discussion. She moved to sit by the parlor doors as Amy replied, “I am sure she felt the same way. She respects you through her resentment, I am sure. You are leagues above Bentley, if that comforts you at all.”

  “Oh yes. So very much. There’s nothing I like more than to be compared to the illustrious Mr. Stratford. That pompous, pusillanimous southern pullet will rue the day he ever met me, if I find he forces Veronica to do something she ought not.”

  There was a lull in the conversation, and Veronica found herself panicking. Perhaps they were readying to leave the room. What if they found her, listening? She silently stood and picked up her skirts, meaning to creep to her bedroom.

  “Did you ever tell her how you felt as Jonathan?”

  The room went quiet as Maum Jo walked into the parlor to light the candles and lamps. Frowning, Veronica walked into the library, handkerchief in hand. Her curiosity was simply too much to bear.

  “Net—Miss Vernon!” Brad said, jumping to his feet. “Are you feeling well?”

  “Do I look well?”

  “Remarkably.” Perhaps her hair was disheveled, and her nose pink from crying. But her eyes were bright, and her lips moist, and the green housecoat she had changed into deeply complimented her coloring. Veronica caught his gaze and blushed, pursing her mouth in unspoken resistance. “I am only doing what you wish me to, Miss Vernon,” Brad smiled.

  “Spare me your witticisms,” Veronica snapped, walking to the kitchen, hungered by her crying. Smiling at Nan, Veronica dropped into the nearest chair, not bothering to arrange her skirts. Receiving her past
ry with tolerable pleasure, she frowned as Brad stepped into the room.

  “Is there anything I can do for you, Miss Vernon?”

  “I should like to go home.” Veronica stabbed her pastry with her fork.

  “What’s keeping you from leaving? Surely not my presence,” Brad smiled, sitting across the table. He cringed as he met her glare. Belatedly, he thought perhaps he should have sat beside her, to avoid her accusatory eyes.

  Veronica ate her pastry, trying to enjoy the sugar. Instead, she resented how sweet it was when she felt so horribly sour. “At least I’m not sittin’ with Bentley,” she murmured more to herself than to anyone else.

  Nan clucked her tongue. “You best be grateful he ain’t here now, Missy Ronnie, he’d lose his temper for sure.”

  “What does he have to do with all this?” Brad testily asked.

  “He’s my fiancé, you fool. As if you didn’t know that. He’s the reason why I came to Richmond. I thought if I could find a more suitable husband, I wouldn’t have to marry him. But then again, you knew that, didn’t you? After all, it was you I was talkin’ to that night in the barn.” Brad watched her with an eye of concern, of which she was terribly aware. “Stop starin’ at me. I feel revoltin’ thinkin’ about it.”

  “So, you came up north to find a husband. And all you were able to find was me?”

  “I could never marry you. Now I’ll have to marry Bentley.”

  “Veronica, wait,” Brad shifted to move but kept his seat, as her eyes demanded he do so. “I want to tell you I’m sorry.”

  “You have. Many times over. And my name is Miss Vernon, Brad—Mr. Williams…” her voice broke. “Oh, why did you have to do it?”