Moss Rose

by Scottie Barrett

  "This? You should have seen the other guy," he laughed.

  Jensen snickered and then looked up at him with sympathetic eyes. "I did see him," she said softly. "What was it all about?"

  He swept the question aside with his hand. "Just plain old sibling rivalry. It was nothing." His words did not match the expression on his battered face. "I do hope you're planning to stay on. Of course, I'll have you moved out of the servant's quarters, today." He hesitated a moment, looking at her thoughtfully. "I've never seen my brother react this way to

  any--"

  "Actually, I think 'tis best that I leave Moss Rose." Her voice held little certainty.

  "I see." He studied her face for a long moment before adding, "It doesn't sound as though you're completely decided."

  Tears burned in the back of her eyes. "No, actually, I've quite made up my mind. I'll definitely be leaving. First thing tomorrow morning."

  He nodded glumly. "Of course, as you wish. We can depart at dawn."

  "We?"

  "You did not think I'd let you go alone? When we get to Williamsburg, I'll hire a suitable guide to see you to your aunt's."

  ***

  The trip to Williamsburg was painless enough. The weather had cooled some, and a distant ocean breeze ruffled the meadows of wildflowers. Matthias's easy charm made him an enjoyable traveling companion. They spoke mostly of insignificant things; music, cook's delicious pumpkin pudding, and parlor games. Neither of them mentioned Levi.

  The hubbub of crowded Williamsburg was a stark contrast to the quiet countryside they had passed through. Glazed white columns and windows adorned many of the brick facades of the town buildings. Clocks, baskets, boots, musical instruments, medicinal herbs, and aromatic spices could be glimpsed in the store windows.

  "Morning, Mr. North! Will we be seeing you at the Raleigh later today?" a voice came from somewhere in the milling crowd on the main thoroughfare.

  Matthias, attempting to hide his bruises, lowered his face and tipped his hat politely. "Not tonight, Mr. Fredericks. Give my best to Mrs. Fredericks."

  Jensen was relieved to get out of the saddle and stretch her sore legs while they inquired at the local stables for a guide. The groom suggested they try the tavern on the edge of town.

  "There's often a trapper or two loitering outside you can hire cheap. They know those trails better than anyone," he said.

  They could hear raucous laughter as they neared the tavern. "You wait here," Matthias said, placing a restraining hand on her shoulder. She was only too happy to oblige.

  In the moment it took Jensen to retie her boot, Matthias was back at her side.

  "I don't think we want any of those particular men," he said, straightening his shoulders and giving a quick tug to his vest. Although he was smiling, Jensen thought he looked a little peaked.

  She blinked up at him.

  "Oh, don't look at me with that stray kitten face. I'll take you to Culpeper myself."

  Jensen threw her arms around him in a grateful hug.

  "It'll take me a few days to secure things at the plantation, and then we'll head north. Just do me a favor."

  "Anything," Jensen answered enthusiastically.

  "Give me the fastest horse, because after I tell Regina, I'll have to ride like the wind to save my hide." His quip set them to laughing.

  "Maybe someone else could take me. I don't want to cause you any trouble."

  "Please, I could use a break from Reg . . . ," he cleared his throat, "from the plantation."

  As predicted, Regina's reaction was one of scalding fury.

  Jensen and Celia listened with amusement from the safety of their bedroom. Regina's voice was cold and lashing as she hurled the usual litany of Jensen insults, along with some glass trinkets. Matthias diffused the situation in his usual disarming fashion. In the end, he pacified Regina by proposing to lead Jensen to her aunt's, stay no more than a day to rest the horses, and then return home promptly.

  ***

  Culpeper was a tiny borough where the only perceptible signs of life were the twitching tails of horses tethered in front of the general store. It was late afternoon and hot, damp air shrouded the town like wet wool. Matthias wandered into the store hoping to get specific directions to the Hawthorne farm. The clerk knew that it lay on the outskirts of Culpeper. Evidently bored, he was happy to oblige them with a sketchy map, which he scribbled on the margin of a crumpled newspaper.

  Another hour traveling through a thicket of shrubs, rhododendron, and maple trees brought them to a clearing. According to the clerk, the vast meadow would eventually lead to the Hawthorne's homestead.

  ***

  A shabby picket fence surrounded the farm. Jensen was certain that one strong breeze would be the end of the fragile enclosure. A single cow grazed on sparse patches of grass and dandelions while a handful of chickens scampered behind a cocky rooster, busily snatching insects from the dusty ground. A sizeable vegetable and herb garden was flourishing and looked completely out of place on the otherwise desolate farm.

  To Jensen, the house looked like something right out of medieval England. A weatherworn thatch roof shaded the first floor overhang. The cracked and vine-covered facade was a mosaic of stone, wood, and brick. A massive, blood red bougainvillea overwhelmed the rickety front porch.

  "My hands are actually shaking. I can't tell if I'm nervous or excited."

  Matthias reassured her with a touch on the shoulder. She dismounted and walked up what was left of the front steps. The door stood slightly ajar. Jensen rapped lightly. A delicious, spicy scent curled through the crack.

  "Rosy, Rosy is that you?" a weak voice called from within.

  Jensen pushed the door open further and stared wide-eyed at the contents of the cottage. The yellow, cracked walls were covered with paintings of exotic landscapes and wild animals. The shelves and tables were crowded with crafts, statuettes, and artifacts of nature, including one silvery piece of driftwood that had a remarkable resemblance to a bird in flight. A greasy black kettle, the source of the appetizing smell, was hanging over the open flame of the hearth.

  In the furthermost corner of the expansive room, ribbons of sunlight illuminated the pale face of a woman. Her knees were covered with a heavy quilt, despite the suffocating warmth of the day. Atop the patterned quilt, a striped orange cat slept peacefully.

  "Who's there? Rosy, why don't you answer?" The strained voice sounded fearful.

  Although the once bright eyes were now clouded with a milky haze, Jensen recognized them at once. "Aunt Charmaine," Jensen said softly, "I've found you at last."

  With a gasp, Aunt Charmaine sat forward, abruptly dumping the cat from her lap. Jensen ran to her, taking her thin, cold hand in hers. "'Tis Jensen, Aunt Charmaine. 'Tis your niece, Jensen Marlowe," she said between quiet sobs.

  Aunt Charmaine lifted trembling white fingers to Jensen's face, skimming it lightly. "Jensen, I didn't think you'd come," she said, circling her thin arms around Jensen.

  "Come now, child, we sound like a couple of blubbering fools." She wiped her tears away with a handkerchief and then handed it to Jensen.

  "I've brought it!" Jensen pulled the silver box from her pocket and tucked it into her aunt's frail hand. "'Tis all in there. And you would not credit how easy 'twas to obtain the information. I merely had to mention your name to Monsieur Lemarchand, and he was only too happy to assist."

  Her aunt's eyes pooled with tears.

  "I'm too late!" Damn his eyes for not letting me leave earlier, she thought.

  "I learned of Raymond's death only days after I wrote you the first letter. Didn't you get my last missive? Or was my dear brother censuring your mail."

  "To be sure." Jensen buried her face in her aunt's lap. "Lord, what a fool to believe I could actually make a difference."

  "Ah, but you have made a difference." Jensen peered into her aunt's tender eyes and saw peaceful resignation. "You don't know how wonderful it is for me to have you here. How long can you sta
y?"

  Jensen clumsily wiped tears from her cheeks. "Aunt Charmaine, I'm not just here for a visit. I was hoping I could stay with you," she sniffled. "Indefinitely."

  Aunt Charmaine's face brightened instantly. "Child, you've made me very happy indeed. I only hope you will not be terribly bored here."

  "Bored? Never. We have so much to catch up on."

  The sound of Matthias coughing discreetly brought their attention to the tall figure, backlit in the open doorway.

  "Matthias, come meet my aunt."

  "Aunt Charmaine, this is Matthias North. He was kind enough to escort me here."

  "Mr. North, I am very pleased to meet you. I am greatly indebted to you for ensuring my niece's safe arrival."

  Matthias crouched beside her and lifted her hand to his lips. "The pleasure was all mine, Mrs. Hawthorne. Jensen is an enjoyable riding companion. We had to contend with a little rain, but for the most part the weather was quite cooperative."

  Suddenly, the backdoor flew open, cracking against the wall. "Move, and I'll blow holes in the both of you," the short, buxom woman shouted, her eye trained down the barrel of a very long musket.

  "Rosy! It's all right. This is my niece, Jensen Marlowe, and her friend Mr. Matthias North."

  Rosy paused for a moment, still eyeing them suspiciously over the gun. Her pink cheeks deepened to the color of ripe strawberries. Slowly, she brought the musket down to her side and gave the visitors an apologetic shrug. She tossed her gray-streaked blonde curls and flashed Matthias a flirtatious smile.

  "This is Rosy. I couldn't get along without her," Aunt Charmaine said and then shifted her gaze back to Matthias. "I do hope you'll stay awhile, Mr. North."

  "I'm afraid I can only stay long enough to water the horses," he replied with a wink for Jensen.

  "That's a shame. Well, you two must be hungry. Rosy, could you please serve up the stew? I'm afraid it's rather thin. The only time we have meat is when Farmer Mayfield brings us one of his rabbits, or when Rosy's trapper friend, Pietro, passes through town."

  "Aye, and that'll be soon. I warned Pietro not to come back here without some fresh venison."

  ***

  Matthias's departure came sooner than Jensen would have liked. With sadness, she watched as he tightened the saddle on his horse and lowered the irons.

  Jensen stood quietly on the front steps, rubbing her hand lightly on the wooden handrail, which had been worn smooth from use. Matthias looked up at her with his penetrating blue eyes and flashed her a smile that, for a very brief moment, reminded her of Levi's. With a sudden, bittersweet ache, she longed for Moss Rose. Matthias's leaving would break the last tie she had to the plantation, and most of all, to its owner.

  She fought back tears as she gave Matthias a long hug goodbye. "Godspeed, Matthias," she said in a quavering voice.

  "Will you be alright out here, Jensen? This farm does not seem like an ideal place for three women to be living alone. It's very remote."

  "Matthias, I can shoot the stripes off a cat's tail."

  "Oh yes, my brother mentioned something about your shooting skills," he said with a wry smile. "Please write if you need anything."

  "Thank you. I'm sure I'll be fine. There is one thing, though . . . ." He stopped her words with a finger to her lips.

  "I'll send a note when my brother returns safely. And, not to worry, he need not know that I've written you," Matthias said, reading her thoughts.

  As she watched Matthias's elegant figure ride off toward Culpeper, Jensen sat down on the splintery steps to cry, feeling as though that was all she was doing of late.

  ***

  Jensen found life on the farm tranquil. She spent her days weeding and watering the vegetable garden while Aunt Charmaine, her failing eyes shaded under a huge hat, kept her company. The only thing that broke the serenity was her aunt's violent coughing fits.

  On hot afternoons, while her aunt napped, Jensen found solitude on a huge boulder, which sat in the center of a shaded creek behind the farm. Jensen would lay back on the rock, dangling her toes in the cool water.

  Still, there was an aching void in her contentment. She knew it was ridiculous to pine over him, but she couldn't seem to make herself forget his kisses.

  One particularly bright day, Jensen blew the dust from one of her aunt's sketchpads and headed outdoors in search of artistic inspiration. Although she had nowhere near her aunt's talent, she'd always enjoyed sketching with charcoal.

  Choosing the quaint farmhouse as the focal point for her picture, she leaned against the splintery fence and began drawing it and the bordering gardens. Moving her hand rapidly over the parchment, a soft black outline began taking shape.

  Her concentration was broken by the sound of horse's hooves on the hard-packed dirt. Wary, she squinted into the sun to get a good look at the visitor.

  The squat, swarthy man mounted on a huge horse, sat heavily in the saddle. He had a sinister appearance, outfitted as he was in strange attire. His coat and pants were a crazy patchwork of hides, and his long greasy hair was topped off with a filthy stocking cap. Straggling to mid-chest was an equally greasy beard, and the little bit of skin that showed above his cheeks was blanketed in grime. A small pack mule with a deer carcass draped limply over its back trailed his horse.

  More than a little alarmed by the stranger's appearance, she clutched her sketchpad to her chest and raced to the porch. Before she could reach the front door, it burst open, and Rosy bounded down the steps two at a time.

  "Pietro! Where 'ave ya been? I was nearly sick with worry."

  Pietro laughed. "Rosy, ma cherie, you have the patience of a child. Look, I've brought you a gift." He presented the deer with a flourish of his hand.

  "Come and meet Pietro, Jensen," Rosy said, her face shining.

  As Jensen stepped forward, Rosy fussed with her disheveled hair and used her apron to wipe the flour and sweat from her brow.

  "Pietro, are you alone?"

  "My partner's coming. He stopped to bathe in the creek."

  "Looks like you could 'ave used a dip yourself."

  "Rosy, my sweet, I could not bear to stay away from you a moment longer." He bowed deeply over her hand and kissed it with obvious relish. "I'll just bet you've got something delicious cooking up at the house." Pietro smiled hopefully, revealing mottled teeth through a parting of his thick black beard.

  Jensen watched with a pang of envy as they strode arm in arm to the house, Rosy's gaze adoring as Pietro recounted his latest harrowing escapade.

  With a sigh, Jensen returned to the fence to resume her drawing. As she blew the excess charcoal dust off the paper, a large shape cast its shadow over her work. Twisting her head around in alarm, she found a tall man standing behind her. Because the sun was still too bright, it was impossible to discern his features. But the man's long blue-black hair set her pulse racing.

  "Jensen? Is that you?" he asked in a deep familiar voice, but not the voice she yearned to hear.

  "Malaton," she said a little wistfully.

  "You sound disappointed."

  "'Tis just, you took me by surprise." Using the sketchpad to shade her eyes, she took a hard look at him. His appearance was as powerful and barbaric as she remembered. The desiccated claw of a large bird still dangled from his ear, and there was a dreadful new addition to his garb, a snakeskin headband.

  "Well, I certainly wasn't thinking to find North's little stable hand in this backwoods place," Malaton said, flashing a wide, toothy grin.

  Jensen, always finding the contrast between his savage appearance and his civilized tongue amusing, returned the smile. "So, you're Pietro's partner. 'Tis good to see you again, Malaton."

  "Good to see you, too. I'm having trouble believing North let you go. I think I'll head down to the plantation this week and find out what the devil's going on with him."

  Jensen absentmindedly crumbled the stick of charcoal between her fingers. "I guess you haven't heard," she said softly.

  "Hav
en't heard what?"

  She peered directly into his eyes. "Mr. North left Moss Rose to join up with the militia."

  "He did what? What could have possessed him?" Malaton gave the fence a swift kick and snapped the brittle post in half. "Those Brits don't stand a chance against the French-Indian alliance. According to Pietro, they've already taken quite a beating." He shook his head in disbelief. "Their flashy red uniforms just invite musket fire."

  Jensen grabbed his broad forearm and squeezed it. "Oh Malaton, do you think he's in danger?"

  Malaton placed reassuring hands on her shoulders. "I don't think you'll have to worry about Hawk North. He's a survivor." He smiled down at her. "I am a little surprised, though, to hear such heartfelt concern coming from one of his former servants. Something tells me that I haven't heard the whole story."

  She primly tucked her hair behind her ears. "'Tis just natural concern for another human being, nothing more." Hoping to change the subject, she said, "Something smells wonderful. Let's go see what Rosy has on the fire."

  ***

  Jensen was amazed at how the presence of the men transformed the atmosphere of their quiet home. The conversation was loud and boisterous. The women lingered over supper, captivated by the men, as they recounted their slightly bawdy adventures. Hearty laughter, a crackling fire, the rich smell of roasted meat, and the heady fragrance of the robust burgundy made for an enjoyable evening.

  "Jensen," her aunt called to her across the noisy table, "I do hope Malaton's appearance did not alarm you this afternoon."

  "On the contrary Auntie, Malaton is an acquaintance of mine. I met him while I worked at the Moss Rose Plantation," Jensen said, before taking another sip of the piquant wine.

  "Well, imagine that. Either this truly is a small world, or Malaton, you really do get around."

  "Maybe it's a little of both," Malaton said with a laugh.

  At the far end of the table, Rosy and Pietro were busy whispering into each other's ears. Rosy's face was blushing crimson. Jensen watched the shameless flirtation through lowered lashes, until the words Levi North, coming from Malaton's mouth, struck her ears like an explosion.

  "Jensen, you really have never explained how you managed to get to Virginia, or how you found yourself indentured to this man, Mr. North," Aunt Charmaine said with marked curiosity.