Catching the Rose

by Belinda Kroll

  “May 25, ‘62

  “DIARY—as Brad sleeps I catch a few chance moments to journal. I find my calling to write increases with his health, though I hardly understand why.

  “There are many things to ponder about, Diary. It seems my uncle is quite firm in his decision to prevent me from coming home. My mother, naturally, cannot defy his wishes, though she went through much, I daresay, when I was in town. In any case, I no longer have Schönheitstal to depend upon for a home in case anything should happen. Mrs. B has been quite kind, but I sense her understandable wish for Brad and me to leave, as we bring unwanted gossip.

  “Brad has been unusually quiet on the matter of when to leave, and I despair of him ever emerging from his fever as sensible as he previously was. He teases as he ever did, but I find he detests being serious for too long.

  “I try to maintain steady correspondence with Amy, but I am hard pressed to find a reliable carrier. I sent a letter detailing Brad’s improvement a month ago and have yet to receive a reply. I can only imagine Madge’s rage when she woke to find her brother and I gone, and told news that her brother be sick and unable to return for quite some time.

  “Speaking of, the invalid awakens, demanding attention. If I were more heartless, I would ignore his pleas, but I find his rewarding smiles make my occupation pleasant.”

  Veronica set down her journal, turning to find him yawning and gazing at her with a bemused smile. “What?” she moved to sit at the chess board arranged beside his bed, taking care to smooth her black mourning silks, which Mrs. Beaumont insisted she wore. “Would you like to play chess again?”

  “Why? I will only beat you.”

  “It will keep your mind off your leg.”

  “I can walk, I know I can. I’ve stood alone in this room during those moments you decide to ignore my versatile little bell. And I could do so now, if I were fully dressed,” Brad said.

  “Oh, don’t be a beast,” Veronica smiled, pushing away the chess set for playing cards.

  “I don’t want to play cards. I beat you at that, too.”

  “Only because I let you!” she snapped, whisking away the cards. “What is wrong with you today? You have been in a foul mood all mornin’ and subsequently have thrown me into one.”

  “You would be as aggravated as I, if you were sentenced to bed for a month. And to think I sent a substitute to the war for this!” Brad hesitated, horrified. “Faith, I’ve done it again.”

  Veronica paused, unsure whether he meant what he said. Had he sent a substitute that day when she had rushed from the house, assuming he had volunteered to fight? “You sent a substitute? Certainly it was not for you to court me?” The flattery beset her.

  “I sent the substitute to protect my family. I could not imagine Madge meshing with seceshes. We both know how well she welcomed you.”

  “Your mission changed at the party, then, I assume?”

  “Once establishing Madge was under Amy’s careful guidance, I turned my eyes to you.”

  “I believe you never took them away, Mr. Williams,” Veronica quipped, smoothing her skirts as she dropped her gaze. She could hardly understand herself: such comments were not ladylike, and should never be spoken. And yet it seemed so natural to speak so, when with Brad.

  Brad laughed, combing his hair. “No, I suppose not.”

  “What made you do it? Follow me, I mean.”

  “I’m not sure. Perhaps it was how you looked that night. You had this sense of overwhelming sorrow, but you put on a brave face and talked and laughed and smiled, and green compliments you so. You played the part of a dumb southern belle so perfectly that when you surprised me with bouts of provoking thoughts my curiosity worked against me.”

  “I was merely an amusement?” Veronica demanded, surprised by this turn of the conversation.

  “For the first twenty minutes, until I saw Bentley and how you interacted with him. Never in my life have I hated a man as fully as him.”

  “Why?”

  “He hurt you well when he took on that girl for amusement. You thought he loved you before her, right?”

  “I suppose it is safe to say that. Though I did not like him, Bentley’s continual assurances of his love consoled me into thinkin’ perhaps I would learn to love him. When he took on…that girl, as you say, I realized…” she paused, her shoulders slumping.

  Brad patiently waited, slightly distracted by Veronica’s trembling smile.

  “He wanted me, yes, and could not wait to wed and—and…this is improper. I am a widow and yet I speak of my husband as though he were the devil incarnate. It has been but a month.” Veronica stood, her silks rustling in frustration. Glaring at Brad, she burst, “Is this your way of makin’ me feel guilty about not choosin’ you? I did what I had to do, to save you and Amy and Madge.”

  Brad threw up his hands as though he meant to ward her anger. If he wanted to continue communication, it would do well to change the subject, he reasoned. “Well, then, let’s speak of Uncle Matt-rat. What are you going to do, now that you’ve lost your lands and money?”

  “I felt more welcome with your family than my own,” she said, turning her back to him.

  “Do you know what you’re asking?”

  “If your parent’s wouldn’t mind…”

  “Of course they wouldn’t!”

  Veronica sighed, glad she would not have to worry much longer. “When do you think they could adopt me? I am an orphan, of sorts…” It was quite simple, really, and she was surprised that his expression darkened as he cried, “Adoption!”

  “You sound surprised.”

  “Adoption! Nettle, I thought you were asking to be…you want to be my sister?”

  Veronica snorted in disdain. “I see no other escape.”

  He blankly stared at her. “Where are Amy and Madge?”

  “You are skirtin’ the subject again.” Veronica turned to leave the room, humiliation roaring in her ears. Touching the doorknob, she paused to say, “They left to comfort your parents. We were not sure you would survive.”

  “Nothing is ever easy with you, is it?”

  She half-smiled. “What am I makin’ difficult?”

  “My proposal,” he said, worried when Veronica turned to stare at him as though he slapped her. “Will you not speak?”

  She could hardly comprehend him. Had Brad been sincere, those months in Charleston? Veronica shook her head, realizing how stupidly she had convinced herself he felt nothing. No, this was not what it seemed to be: Brad was overly considerate. Somehow he had heard the rumors. For an unmarried woman to tend to an unmarried man! And that they planned for Washington undoubtedly caused Mrs. Beaumont concern, as she assumed the role of Veronica’s surrogate mother.

  What did Brad mean, by proposing? He obviously felt nothing but platonic sentiments, and Veronica almost resented the obviously logical and systematical reasoning he no doubt thought to convince himself to propose.

  “Have you an answer?” A minute longer and Brad reasoned he would shake out her reply. “Veronica, don’t dumbly stand there. Answer or leave me be.”

  “I cannot.”

  “What?”

  “I cannot marry you. I cannot accept…right now.” The look on his face made Veronica forget all previous reasoning as she hastened to explain. “It is much too soon. Bentley has been dead but a month at most. I still wear gowns of mournin’. I cannot soil his memory.”

  “Nettle, you are the most confusing woman I have ever met. He certainly tried to soil you when alive. He tried to kill you, remember?”

  “We must be…kind, when speakin’ of the deceased.”

  “You’re an idiot.” Brad turned away. “But I promised to get you out of the south, so I am. As you refuse to marry me, I cannot take responsibility for any rumors.” Brad inwardly flinched, hating the tone of his voice. He hadn’t wanted to say it, but she was being so abominably proud and naïve. “You are such an idiot,” he lamely concluded.

  “Yes, well.”
<
br />   Brad glanced at Veronica, surprised to see no tears.

  Veronica’s gaze was as set as his. “I look forward to seein’ Amy and Madge and your parents. Forgive me if I’ve wounded your pride, Brad, but…”

  “Hang my pride. Haven’t given a damn about it since you pulled me from the fever and you know it,” he snapped, turning from Veronica with a scowl. When she didn’t respond, Brad turned to find he was alone. “Damn Nettle.”

  * * * * *

  July, 1862

  Upon their arrival in Washington, Veronica was pleased by the joy expressed by Brad’s family. His parents gazed upon him with calm fervency, and Amy tended to his every comfort. To hear Madge repeatedly utter, “I am glad you have come,” was relieving, and even more astonishing for Veronica to learn Madge specifically addressed her, and not her brother!

  Turning with great surprise, then, Veronica asked beneath the tones of the conversation, what Madge could possibly mean?

  “Why, only what I say, Veronica. That you married a man you so abhorred for the well-being of myself and my family has turned whatever hateful thoughts I dared indulge.”

  Veronica could only blush.

  “I cannot remember a time when you have not been at least civil, and that you most likely prevented the death of a most beloved brother—twice! —has secured me of my affection.”

  Veronica was only too aware of Brad’s steady gaze as she stuttered her protest in vain. “Do not speak such things, Madge! It is bewilderin’. I know not what to do with such a marked change in you. And lower your voice! Your brother stares in such a way that makes me blush with confusion.”

  “I should not be surprised. You saved him from a fever of the worst kind, or so he claims. And I see nothing wrong with his attentions.”

  Decorum could not keep Veronica from expressing such blatant surprise. Madge now approved her brother’s assumed ardor! She could hardly lift her gaze as Brad explained in great detail all but his refused proposal. That he could speak without the extreme resentment she sensed during their journey made Veronica’s blush seem quite permanent.

  With a burning curiosity, Amy wished to know what Brad did not speak of, which obviously embarrassed her friend. She could see no “looks of love” between them, though Brad sent many, and she was quite struck by the gazes of wonder and amazement Veronica threw every time she dared rip her gaze from her lap.

  “What have you to say for yourself, Ronnie?” Amy’s uncle demanded, noticing she was suspiciously quiet.

  The hesitation in Veronica’s tone made Brad smile. “It does not matter what I say, for I am sure Brad has thoroughly convinced you of my goodness. I could admit that I was neither so patient nor tender as he claims, but I suspect, no, I am quite sure that he would so violently deny it, that my breath would be wasted.” Upon drawing laughter, Veronica was satisfied that she would be let alone. Brad’s sudden acts of unaffected congeniality were perplexing.

  And though she maintained her silence during dinner and other family settings, Veronica could not hide all her confused looks as Brad became more talkative than he ever had. While in Richmond, he had not said much more than was absolutely necessary, it now seemed they switched roles. For Veronica did not talk, and Brad talked too much.

  Her only way of escape was either to sit in the garden and tend to the newly-growing weeds, focus solely on her journal, or sit beside Madge. For Brad would not talk in so personal a tone before his sister. And if he tried when they happened to be alone, he was silenced by her stares, monosyllabic answers, blushes and weary smiles.

  “I cannot understand her, Amy. She has become quieter than I have ever seen, and every time I try to speak to her, I am afraid I will kill her through mortification,” Brad said, slouching beside his cousin on the library couch.

  Amy smiled, pulling his cane into her lap. “Perhaps you are tryin’ too hard.”

  “Or not hard enough,” he muttered, catching Veronica walking past the window, probably on her way to the garden again. “What do you think she is doing out there, pulling at weeds and whatnot?”

  “I assume she is tryin’ to make herself useful. She is destitute, now, Brad, and is hard-put to understand what it means.” Amy stood to use his cane, smiling as she toyed with it. “Would you like me to speak to her about your concerns? That is, without lettin’ her know they come from you?”

  Brad shrugged. His gaze never left Veronica as she worked. What an odd girl, he so often thought, and wondered just what made her so attractive. Jumping from his seat when Amy leaned out the window and called for Veronica’s presence in the library, he grabbed his cane and sped from the room. “Cousin, I don’t know what you’re doing, but…”

  “Leave it to me, Brad,” Amy smiled, sitting at the table to finish her work. Sure that he would not bump into Veronica in his flight, Amy waited with her pile of scrap material.

  Veronica wiped her skirt and apron, entering with a smile. “You called, Amy, dear?”

  “Oh, yes. I was wonderin’ if you would be so kind as to help me with these bandages.” Watching Veronica sit, Amy smiled and handed her a length of material, demonstrating how to rip it into bandage lengths. She shook her head as Veronica energetically worked. “I keep forgettin’ you are quite knowledgeable when it comes to ailments.”

  Veronica blushed.

  “I would thank you again, for all that you have done for Brad, but I am sure you would only bite my head off,” Amy continued. She ripped another length and watched her friend. The silence was comfortable, though Veronica would not meet her gaze. What happened in Richmond, she wondered?

  “I have often wondered at your Quaker-like mannerisms, Amy, dear. You do not speak in thees and thous, but your manner of dress is very modest, and you have all the makin’s of a pacifist.”

  Conscious of Veronica’s sudden discomfort by her accent, Amy smiled while ripping another length. “Have I never told you? My mother was a Quaker, as is mine uncle. They were brother and sister as my aunt and father were brother and sister. Havin’ married outside their home, it is understandable that they lose some of their Quaker mannerisms…but not before I happened to pick some up as a child.” Pausing to laugh, she continued, “But get Uncle mad, and it would take nigh an hour to understand what he says between his ‘thees and thous’ as you say.”

  There was a pause as Veronica thought of all she had been privy to in the past month. “Are you not as surprised as me that Brad seems to be so…grateful?” A shake of Amy’s head only furthered her frustration. “Why is it, that I am solely confused by his congeniality? I would tell you that he was not so kind in Richmond or durin’ our journey here, but you would not dare believe me for I am certain he means to make my word mean nothin’!”

  She frowned when it seemed Amy would not answer.

  “Do you remember that jest I made; about tauntin’ Brad into thinkin’ you loved him?” Amy ventured. There was an aura of uneasy silence surrounding Veronica, as she thought of the many times that conversation had crossed her mind since its occurrence. And how she had firmly resolved never to play such games when actually attracted to the object of derision. Veronica roused herself to finally reply, “Yes.”

  “I think you should stop it.” Amy firmly said as Veronica laughed her protest. Amy shook her head and continued, “You do not know him so well as I! You are in danger of seriously makin’ him love you and I am not about to sit here and watch you jilt a beloved cousin.”

  “How fortunate for you, then, that you were not in Richmond,” cried Veronica, in spite of her well-intended silence on the matter.

  “Somethin’ did happen in Richmond! —ha, I knew it.”

  Struggling against her better judgment, Veronica found she quite willingly imparted the barest of details to Brad’s cousin. “He proposed—in earnest, I now believe—and I refused for I thought him still confused by the fever.” The silence emanating from Amy’s frame made her nervous, propelling her to say, “You are angry.”

  “You... a
re an idiot.”

  “You know, he said that exact same thing. But I am hard-pressed to understand him! He speaks congenially but acts irrevocably hurt by my refusal! As though I am to be glad of Bentley’s death! Does he think so little of me as to assume I should be glad of anyone’s death? Relief, perhaps, tremendous amount of guilt, of course, but gladness! And there are moments I almost think Brad is jealous. Jealous! Jealous, I assume, of Bentley. Doubtin’, I suppose, that I did not love him—for Brad no doubt thinks this can be the only reason for my refusal.”

  Amy watched in all amazement as Veronica paced the room as fervently as Brad had when revealing his ruse in Richmond. The similarities made her smile, and as Veronica suspiciously spied it, Amy rushed to reply. “And have you told him as much? I thought not. Why do you refuse him, then?”

  “How can I be assured of his affection? Or of mine? This past year has been the most confused, whirlwind, bloodiest year of my life…I’d like to see another affect calm as well as I!”

  “Affect it!”

  “Do you think me acquiescent to the fact that I’ll never see my mother again? Or Schönheitstal? And what of Nan? She will never see her sister again and they have a bond so strong I would rather die than break it…and yet look at what I have done!” she sat, ripping material into bandages.

  “You have done much good, Ronnie.”

  Veronica brushed aside Amy’s comment with a frown. Spying Brad limping in the hall, she spun so her back faced the door. She was most certainly not in the mood to suffer his chattiness.

  “What is the to do, Amy?” Brad asked, sitting beside her in exhausted content.

  “She is quite determined to wallow in her own self-pity.”

  “Is that so? And for what reason does she wallow?”

  “I am still in the room!” Veronica muttered, glaring daggers.

  Brad turned in mock surprise, his grip playful on his cane. “So you are! Well hello, Miss Vernon! How goes the day for you?”