Defiant Rose

by Colleen Quinn

  Rosemary choked, fighting the tightening in her throat. She gave Biddle a grin, wiping at the tears that threatened to spill forth.

  “What are you talking about? There is no better than this.” She smiled through the haze of tears and hugged the ringmaster. “God, how I’ll miss you.”

  Rags snorted and whipped out a huge clown handkerchief to wipe his nose. Then all of them claimed her for a hug and a kiss, each one conveying in their own way what she’d always known—that they loved her back.

  “Ah, Carney. You be a good girl in the big city.”

  “You’ll come back soon, won’t you? And write us letters. I always wanted to get real mail.”

  “Of course she’ll come back—she’s a Carney, for Christ’s sake. Don’t worry, Rose—we’ll take care of everything.”

  Even the miners looked emotional, and Black Jack spat to hide the way he felt while the others hugged her exuberantly.

  “Don’t forget us, Rose. And if you’re ever in trouble, you send for us.”

  The pain in her head was nothing compared to that in her heart. She tried to smile bravely, but she felt as if she were being torn in two. How could she leave them all? This was her life….

  “Come, Rose, the carriage is waiting.”

  Leaving their embrace was like the time her father died. She never felt so empty and alone, yet she had no other choice. She couldn’t let Michael close them down, and she had no doubt that he would do as he’d threatened. She refused to look back as Clara, understanding her dilemma, shooed the clowns, then helped Rose into the coach. One by one the performers and crew turned away, each of them chiding the other for the tears in his eyes, but all of them were in silent agreement.

  Carney’s would never be the same without Rosemary.

  “Why don’t you move out of me way? I have all me bags, you know, and they won’t fit in that little stowaway.”

  Michael glared at Clara as the old gypsy fortune-teller jostled him inside the train compartment. She brought in bag after bag, all of them bulging with decks of cards, crystal balls, and the other tools of her trade. She flopped down in the center of the seat, placing her bags on either side of her, cackling in her contentment.

  Rosemary took the seat near the window, looking pale, beautiful, and disconsolate. Michael’s heart went out to her as she sniffled quietly, valiantly fighting the tears that he knew were just below the surface. She tried so hard to be tough, to act like one of the boys, and the restraint was telling.

  “Rose, I know you must be really upset. You can cry if you want to—here’s my handkerchief.” He handed her the square piece of immaculate linen while Clara balked.

  “Of course she’s upset! That’s her family there, boyo, and you’re taking her from them. What do you think she’d be? Bah!”

  Michael could have killed her. Clara glared at him like a wizened peahen, her webbed face knotted in accusation. Rosemary bit her lip, stifling a laugh, then immediately held her head as the pain returned.

  “Here, let me get you a cool cloth for that headache. You should be able to sleep soon—I think the danger has passed.”

  “Bah! I should have given her my herbal teas. That town doctor doesn’t know a headache from the piles. If you ask me—”

  “Woman, I demand that you cease!” Michael didn’t hide his animosity this time. Clara was making this damned near impossible.

  Rosemary made another sound suspiciously like a giggle while Clara turned toward him like a warship preparing to do battle.

  “I am here to see to Rosie’s comfort, on this heathen trip to this heathen place. You may as well get used to it, boyo.”

  “Since you think it so terrible, I wouldn’t dream of stopping you if you changed your mind,” Michael said pointedly. “There are return tickets at every depot.”

  “Are you threatening to put me off?” Clara’s eyes popped, and she leaned forward, rattling her bags. “I’ll turn you into the toad you are!”

  “I’m merely suggesting that we have a long trip together, and I don’t think it benefits Rose for us to be at each other’s throats,” Michael said smoothly. He didn’t entirely believe the toad part, but living with Carney’s had made him cautious.

  Clara nodded, somewhat ruffled. Yet, she, too, wanted what was best for Rosemary and couldn’t argue with his logic. Still, she situated herself directly across from him and began murmuring incantations, eyeing him as if waiting for one mistake.

  “I’ll get you the cloth,” Michael said, giving Clara one last forbidding look before retreating to the dining car and summoning the porter.

  He had no sooner departed than Rosemary groaned, allowing herself to voice all the discomfort she felt. Clara nodded sympathetically.

  “You took a good fall, you did. It was a foolish thing, though other circus women have done as much. Now you’re stuck with him, and I couldn’t let you go alone with that boyo. Who knows what this place is like? Has he told you much?”

  “No.” Rosemary sighed, placing her hands on her forehead to still the throbbing. “I know that he’s rich, that he has been to school and worked in banking. He has a mother and a brother, I think. Other than that, I don’t know anything about it. I’ll try to find out, though.”

  “City notions,” Clara hissed like an old teapot. “No-good place. Your mother came from such, and look what good it did her.”

  Rosemary shuddered. That still hurt, that her mother had left her like a discarded dress that no longer fit. Although only pregnant for a couple of weeks, Rosemary already felt a keen bond with her own child and a determination to take care of it. How, then, could her mother have done what she did?

  It was a question without an answer. Even Clara was strangely silent whenever the subject came up, referring to her mother as simply “that besom.” Yet her mother had loved the city, the very place that so unnerved Rose. She had to get out of this, had to convince Michael that she was capable of taking care of herself before the end of the trip. She also had to make him not want her, which was becoming damned difficult with his solicitous attitude.

  Somehow, she had to make Michael change his mind. Whatever it took.

  He returned with the cloth, relieved to see Clara dozing and Rosemary curled up in a corner. Offering the compress, he frowned at the sight of Rosemary’s pale face and withdrawn expression. If she continued like this, it wouldn’t do anyone any good, especially herself or the child. “Here.” Michael came to stand beside her, refusing to let her ignore him. “This should help the headache.”

  “Thank you,” Rosemary said coldly, though she accepted the cloth and placed it on her forehead. She was angry, but she wasn’t a fool. The coolness of the compress helped alleviate some of her pain, and she sighed gratefully.

  “I’m glad to see that it helps,” Michael said. “I’d like to keep you awake for a few more hours. There’s tea in the dining car, if you feel you’d like some breakfast.”

  Rosemary shrugged, then turned to look out the window as if his presence meant no more to her than the fly on the sill. It didn’t really matter to him what she wanted—he’d already made that abundantly clear.

  He considered her response, judging it for what it was. Even Carney’s anger was better than this. Offering his arm, he indicated the door. “I think tea is advisable. Let’s go.”

  “Now? But I’m not dressed to go to a public dining place,” Rosemary protested. “I’m still wearing the clown suit.”

  His eyes traveled down the hated garment, remembering their wedding when she’d refused to wear anything but. That had been another consideration that he’d been battling. He certainly did not want Rosemary showing up in Philadelphia as Carney the clown. Yet he knew if he suggested anything of the sort, she’d indignantly refuse to change. Firmly taking her hand, he led her toward the aisle, stifling a chuckle.

  “Well, I don’t think anyone will object. If you feel uncomfortable, you might want to consider changing into one of the dresses I bought you. But I’ll leave
that up to you.”

  Rosemary gritted her teeth, taking his arm and accompanying him to the dining car. She didn’t like this new accommodating Michael, she decided quickly. He didn’t fight fair.

  The dining car was packed with Denver businessmen, roughened cowboys, and newly rich socialites. Rosemary slipped into a seat at the end of the car, feeling every man’s eyes on her as he took in the contradiction of her face and outfit. Women glanced at her in confusion, while their companions seemed torn between amusement and outrage at her unusual attire.

  Michael didn’t seem to notice. He held out her chair as gallantly as if she were one of the beautifully dressed women. Scoffing, Rosemary plunked into the seat, pretending that the stares didn’t bother her in the least.

  Michael hid a smile. He was finally starting to think like her. It was scary, but it would make life a lot easier. After handing her a menu, he scanned his own as the porter approached and poured tea from a shiny tin pot. Everything rattled from the motion of the train, but most of the passengers appeared to have gotten used to the movement.

  “Do you know what you want? We’ll be stopping for dinner, but you should eat something now.”

  Snatching up her cup to keep it from reaching the table’s edge, Rosemary shook her head. “I’m not really hungry,” she lied, determined not to make this easy for him. “Why don’t you just go ahead and order for us? Especially since I have no say in any of this.”

  Michael stared at her for a moment with the same expression he wore when he finally figured out Carney’s bookkeeping. “Fine.” He turned to the porter, obviously suppressing a grin. “We’ll take eggs and bacon, potatoes and coffee, toast and jam. And after that, we’ll have whatever else you have.”

  Rosemary’s mouth dropped as she heard his order, but the porter merely nodded and took the menus. Once the man had departed, Rosemary leaned across the table and looked at Michael as if he’d taken full leave of his senses.

  “Why did you order so much? That breakfast would feed six people and then some!”

  Michael smiled, and she could have sworn she saw a twinkle in his eyes. “Since you couldn’t decide, I decided for you. After all, you’re eating for two now.”

  Rosemary fumed, but there was nothing she could do. He merely glanced at her, as if waiting for a fight, but she couldn’t give in to the impulse. Instead, she fought what she felt, pretending indifference, gagging when the food arrived.

  It looked like a banquet. Rosemary stared in disbelief as the porter placed dish after dish in front of her. When the table seemed to creak in protest, she held up her hand, indicating that no more would fit. The porter nodded, then turned to Michael.

  “Will there by anything else, sir?”

  Michael glanced at Rose and at her horrified expression, then shook his head. “No, that will be it for now. But come back soon—the lady has quite an appetite.”

  The porter gave Rosemary an odd glance, then withdrew. Forgetting her resolve, she glared at him. “I do not! I can hardly keep anything down these days! I couldn’t possibly eat all this!” Even as she spoke she was forced to hold on to the various plates to keep them from tumbling to the floor.

  Michael fought a satisfied grin. “I’m sure you’ll do it justice. After all, I had to spend my hard-earned money. And you know how much I hate that.”

  “Of all the mercenary, low-down, rotten—” She stopped as he broke into laughter, his gray eyes filled with mirth at her assessment.

  “Don’t forget ‘cheap,’ ” Michael agreed. “I think you left off with ‘rotten.’ ”

  “I’m glad you think it’s so funny.” Rosemary glared. “It’s not you who is being forced to leave your home, to go to some…”

  “Heathen?” he supplied helpfully.

  Rosemary refused to answer, especially when she realized he wasn’t taking her seriously at all. “Do you know I was right about you from the first?”

  “And I was right about you,” he said softly, ignoring her tone. “I thought you were the most fascinating woman I’d ever met.”

  The breath died in her throat. She glanced up at him, half expecting to see his ridicule, but he was gazing at her in the utmost sincerity.

  “Rosemary, this is going to be a long trip, and it won’t be easy for you adjusting to a new city and a new place. I’ll do my best to make you feel at home, but you have to meet me halfway. I’ve made some mistakes, and I’m willing to admit them. I want to start over. We have a new beginning, in a new place, and we have a child coming. Isn’t that reason enough?”

  God, but she wanted to believe him. Could she really mean something to him? The thought was like a rush of pure sunshine, followed by a crushing doubt. He’d never indicated anything of the sort and never behaved as if she mattered. No, it was she who had foolishly thrown her heart away. Rosemary stabbed an egg with her fork.

  There were times when she got the feeling that he’d been too long at Carney’s. And this was one of them.

  Exhaustion overtook her when they returned. The quantity of food she’d consumed, coupled with her lack of sleep, had her yawning before they even reached the compartment. By the time Rosemary curled up in the corner, she was almost asleep as she hit the seat.

  Michael watched her with a wry smile. Carney had done her best to outwit him; even at breakfast, she had willingly eaten twice her normal amount, just to save face after he’d ordered so much. Somehow, he had to break her out of the shell of cold indifference she’d been wearing, down to the real Rosemary. She was a constant challenge, a clown with a whimsical outlook on life that would forever keep him on his toes. Silently he wondered what their child would be like, with his solid accounting outlook and her scorn of anything as mundane as numbers. It would be interesting to say the least.

  She sighed in her sleep, obviously uncomfortable, wedged as she was against the corner. Without waking her, he managed to nudge her into his arms, allowing her head to rest on his shoulder. She was so interesting to look at, her red hair framing a face that even in sleep seemed about to burst into laughter. Everything about her was Irish, passionate, and full of fun. Yes, Rosemary Carney was one of a kind, and he wondered at his luck in having met her at all.

  “Ah, you’ll be leaving her alone while she sleeps. Damned fool banker! Playing patty fingers with the lady when all the while you want nothing more than to break her heart.”

  Michael’s eyes lifted and saw Clara watching him with all the affection of a hawk toward a mouse. This was a problem he’d have to cure fast, for he had the distinct feeling that as long as Clara was against him, Rosemary would have a hard time committing to him in any way. Keeping his temper even, he spoke softly.

  “I was trying to make her more comfortable. This is a long ride, and Rosemary is hurt. I would think you would support my efforts.”

  “Bah! You must want her laying on your shoulder. I might be old, but I recall a few things. It’s helping her you are, but it’s your own reward that you’re thinking of.”

  Michael fought the urge to toss the woman bodily into the luggage compartment. “I know you might find it hard to believe this, but I care for Rosemary. I only want what’s best for her.”

  “You dinna’ care for her—she’s the one that cares for you. It’s that damned potion….Lord, how I regret the making of it at all!”

  “What are you talking about?” Michael stared at her in confusion.

  “The potion, you fool! That night Rosie came to you. I had given her a potion to make you fall in love with her. The lass didn’t think she could seduce you on her own. Good Lord, man, you don’t think it happened just because of your charm, do you?”

  A slow dawning occurred as Michael put the pieces together. The night Rosemary had come to him…it was directly after he’d put the snake in her bed.

  The irony of that struck him fully, and Michael burst into laughter. Even though he didn’t believe in any such nonsense about a potion, he realized that if Rosemary did, it might easily influence he
r emotions. And if Rosemary really believed she was in love with him, potion or no potion, half of his job was done.

  “What’s so funny, boyo?” Clara asked suspiciously.

  “Nothing,” Michael lied. “It’s just that Carney still has the ability to surprise me. And something tells me she always will.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  DINING AT THE HARVEY HOUSE was like heaven after trying to eat on the train, but Rosemary couldn’t eat more than a few bites. She was still stuffed after breakfast, and the sight of the sumptuous dinner foods was nauseating.

  She was sipping a cup of tea, aware that Michael was watching her with a peculiar smile as the waitress poured him a whiskey. Holding the glass to the light, he examined the amber contents, speaking almost as if to himself.

  “This looks like a good whiskey, but appearances can be deceiving. I’ve heard that liquor is one of the more common beverages that people use to poison another, due to the heady taste. Have you ever heard anything like that?”

  Rosemary choked, the tea burning her throat. “Poison?”

  “Or adding any other substance,” Michael continued thoughtfully. “Like medicine, herbs…even a potion.”

  The color drained from her face. Rosemary watched him intently as he sipped the whiskey, seemingly unconcerned about the implications of his words.

  “The only problem with such a ploy is that one seldom drinks alone,” Michael explained. “There is always the possibility that one may choose the wrong glass. Then the result could be either deadly or humorous, depending on the initial intent.”

  He knew. Without a doubt, Rosemary knew he had figured it out. A ghastly smile came to her face, and she turned quickly toward the window, trying to change the subject.

  “Isn’t the countryside lovely? I think the western states are the prettiest, don’t you?”

  “Worse, some of these medications—or potions, if you will—have long-lasting effects,” Michael continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “Clara, for instance, told me that some of her medications last for months. Can you imagine? One false swig and a man or a woman could be affected for half a year!”