Roses Collection: Boxed Set

by Freda, Paula

  Herb had been so accommodating this past week, that his frown surprised her. Expecting a rebuke, she said, "Herb, we're not children anymore. We're adults in the real world."

  That remark only deepened his frown.

  Not wanting to spoil their new camaraderie, she added, "Well, okay, if you want me to accompany you this Sunday. But don't expect it every Sunday."

  Although his frown eased, she read the disappointment on his face. Still he offered, "Thank you. Geneva has some beautiful Cathedrals I think you would enjoy visiting."

  That Sunday, she let him choose the Cathedral for Mass. The Basilica of our Lady Notre Dame was a small Cathedral built in the mid-eighteen hundreds. Sculptured in the Gothic style, its interior was aesthetically columned and artistically beautiful with carved liturgical furniture, altar platform, and golden Tabernacle, and its stained glass windows depicting religious images. From the ceiling in front of the main altar hung the cross with our Lord. Above the golden Tabernacle, was set the white statue of Notre-Dame de Genève that was given to Geneva by Pope Pius IX.

  Watching the devout semblance on Herb's face as he joined the file of communicants to receive the Sacred Host, gave Carol pause for reflection. She remembered her youth and how very much receiving Holy Communion had once meant to her. Herb hadn't left his faith behind as he grew into adulthood. She found herself envying his strength of character.

  When the Mass was over, she joined Herb in exploring the Cathedral's interior. Most of those attending Mass had left except for a few nuns in full habit and their charges, a group of children varying in ages. The children uniformed — the girls in brown jumpers and white blouses; the boys in brown pants and white shirts — each bore a pinned tag. Curious, Carol drew near to the touring group. She made out the word orphanage on the tags. They were a group of orphans. She sighed compassionately. So many children had not been as fortunate as she, with her well-to-do and loving parents. Her mother had been left an orphan, but Mark had been there to protect her. And in time, he had requited her love and sworn his life-long allegiance to her. Cybelle had won her man, unlike herself, Carol thought sadly.

  One of the children, a girl, appearing no older than nine or ten, broke from the group and crept into one of the pews in front of the main altar. None of the nuns noticed. Carol followed the girl.

  Drawing a small wooden Rosary from the seam pocket of her jumper, the girl began to pray, gaze uplifted to Jesus' mother, represented by the white statue above the altar.

  Carol slipped into the pew behind her and sat down quietly. She felt someone entering the pew and turned to see Herb joining her. The girl felt their presence and turned. Flashing dark eyes widened with expectation. She looked from the Lady to the couple and asked, "Are you the ones she has chosen to be my parents?"

  Before Carol or Herb could formulate an answer that would not cause her grief, a nun entered the pew where the child knelt. She scolded, gently, "Alouette, you know you are not supposed to wander off or speak to strangers."

  "I was only praying to the Lady, as I always do." She glanced at the pair behind her. "They may be the ones she has chosen."

  "Child, you insist on expecting our Lady to answer all your prayers. She is a busy woman."

  The nun turned to Carol and Herb. "Forgive the child for her intrusion. She's done this before. Always a precocious child, she keeps expecting a miracle."

  "Why hasn't a loving couple adopted such a beautiful child by now?" Carol asked.

  Herb held back a gasp. When was the last time he'd heard such a gentle and caring tone in Carol's voice?

  The nun moved her hand in a soft caress to the child's left arm, not readily noticeable from where Carol sat. Though intact, it was shorter than the other by a couple of inches. The nun's gaze silently explained, Most that come to our orphanage seeking to adopt, come seeking perfection.

  Carol experienced a pang of compassion for Alouette. She empathized. Hadn't her own desire to be loved and chosen by Evan, been similarly rejected.

  "Come child," the nun urged, "we've taken enough of these people's time."

  Alouette refused to be deterred. Her eyes pleaded with the couple for an answer to her inquiry."

  "May we visit her?" Carol asked, her own gaze equally beseeching.

  The nun, surprised at this unusual request, did not reply immediately.

  Alouette quickly reached into the pocket of her jumper and pulled out a card. "This is where I live. Only a mile from the Church."

  The nun replied to Carol, "Of course, you may." Her voice held a thread of hope."

  "We'll come. I promise." Carol said, turning to Herb. "Okay?"

  There was no way he would ever refuse, Herb thought, not, when for the first time in years, he'd glimpsed the sweet Carol who had stolen his heart in his own childhood.

  "Yes, of course. We'll come," he reassured."

  Herb kept his promise. Each Sunday, after Mass, they visited with Alouette at the orphanage to spend Sunday afternoon with her and her companions. They played games, they sang with her and listened to her play the piano. Alouette had a lovely soprano voice, and, for her age, played well the upright piano gifted by a patron of the orphanage. The nun, whose name they soon learned was Sister Ambrose, was hopeful that by the time Alouette reached adulthood and left the orphanage, she might use her musical skills to obtain honest work.

  CHAPTER SIX

  During the following six months, Carol and Herb had less and less time to think about Evan, between establishing Mark's overseas branch and visiting with Alouette. More and more, Alouette stole the hearts of the pair she believed Christ's Mother had chosen to be her parents. The day after Christmas, Carol entered Herb's office, sat down in front of his desk, and with a tone brooking no argument, told him, "I want to adopt Alouette."

  Herb nodded. "So do I," he said. "But this home's first adoption requirement is that the adopters be a married couple."

  "Exceptions can be made," Carol said.

  "Yes, for the rich. And perhaps for the famous. Unfortunately, you nor I fit those descriptions. Neither are we a married, or even an actual couple."

  "My parents would help."

  "Would it be fair asking them?"

  She knew what he meant. Hadn't her parents helped her enough? Mark ran a successful business that had its limits. He was getting on in years and so was her mother. Both were alert in mind, but after raising four children, their bodies felt the strain. This was their time to rest, enjoy and spoil grandchildren; the actual rearing should be left to the parents themselves, if the children were fortunate to have them.

  No, it wouldn't be fair to ask them, Carol thought.

  Herb read the sadness blanketing her airbrushed beauty. If only she could love him as he loved her. They could marry and provide a good, loving home for Alouette. But Carol was still in love with Evan. She had accepted that Evan would never requite her feelings, but he could tell from the wistful look in her eyes when occasionally Evan's name came up in conversation, that she continued to harbor the slimmest of hopes. He hadn't intended to tell her this soon, but it might be best. "Carol, I think you should know that Evan and Julie married yesterday."

  "Yesterday? Christmas? So soon."

  "They were engaged for almost a year, and very much in love." He knew he was pouring salt on her wounded heart, but he hoped that this news might help her snap out of her unattainable dream. How many times must she be reminded that Evan had never loved her, never asked for her love, never led her on, or ever been anything to her but a good family friend? Personally, he liked Evan, a good man with a kind heart. He belonged with Julie. She was his type. A simple, shy girl, plain of face, but beautiful of soul.

  "No one said anything to me about the wedding date," Carol whimpered, eyes glazing over with tears.

  "Your parents asked me not to say anything, either," Herb said. "They didn't want to cause you unhappiness." He groaned with exasperation, "For Heaven's sake, Carol, I've lost count of the men who have begged fo
r your affections. And as you well know, me at the head of the line."

  Oddly, his words that in the past might have her shrugging with indifference, touched a chord in her heart. Compassion, she thought. Empathy. He felt the same hopelessness in loving her, as she felt in loving Evan, who was lost to her now forever. Herb was right. It was time to let go, play the field again. She, herself, had lost count of the young men seeking her affections. Time to check out the contenders.

  She felt a pang of despair. The thought of wanting someone else made her feel miserable. She'd never felt the least bit of interest in any of the contenders. Herb was the only one with whom she felt somewhat comfortable. The one man who tolerated her obsession, who continued to love her despite her rejections. A good, honest, respectable man, with intelligence and integrity, one who had proved his loyalty to her since their childhood. One she could trust, who never used flattery to win her favor, one who was not afraid to stand up to her, but was nonetheless sensitive to her needs, and ready to give his all.

  Carol's mouth tightened with reserve. She spoke adamantly. "You're right, Herb. I'm through wanting someone who doesn't need me. I want to adopt Alouette. She needs me— and you. And you need me. Herb DeLuca, will you marry me?"

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  "Herb?" Why didn't he answer her? She had just proposed. He should be jumping for joy. He'd proposed to her several times over the years. But instead, his face had creased with displeasure. In fact, he looked downright angry. "Didn't you just tell me you were at the head of the line for those begging for my affections?" she asked.

  He stood up, pushed back his chair non-too-gently, and came towards her, his frown deepening with each purposeful step. Carol winced, suddenly frightened.

  "Herb, what is it. Why are you so angry?" These past months he'd been so kind, so understanding. Had she misjudged him? Was it contempt she read on his features?

  He stared her down until she stood up, ready to leave his office.

  "Sit down," he said.

  Frightened or not, she didn't care for his tone, or the way he towered over her.

  "Sit down, Carol," he warned.

  Carol swallowed. Was there a monster lurking behind the kindness?

  "Perhaps we had better discuss this another day," she said, and turned to flee.

  She didn't get far, before he'd clasped her arm and led her over to the leather couch by the wall. Before she could utter a protest, she was seated beside him.

  "We'll discuss this now. But first, you're going to answer a question. Why?"

  His gaze held her riveted. He took a deep breath, as if to control his temper. "Why?" he asked her again.

  "I-I told you why," she stammered, opting for the truth. He'd see through anything less, and grow angrier. That wouldn't serve her purpose. Serve her purpose. The thought reverberated in her mind. No wonder he was angry.

  "I-I'm letting go, like you've been telling me to. And-and I want to adopt Alouette. I know you've grown to care for her as well, in a fatherly way."

  "But why," he insisted. "Why me? Why not one of the other contenders for your affections?"

  Most of the anger had drained from his stance, although he still clasped her arm, preventing her from rising and leaving, his face close to hers, his lips almost touching her lips.

  Of course he'd grown angry, she reasoned. Her proposal had been cold and matter-of-fact, expecting nothing less than his acceptance, and after all the times she'd rejected him. Wouldn't she have reacted similarly in his place? She swallowed hard, and touched his cheek gently with her hand.

  He studied her face as she smiled reassuringly. Slowly the gentle Herb she'd always trusted resurfaced. He released her arm.

  "Herb," she infused her voice with tenderness. "First, I apologize for asking in such a cold way, probably making you feel like a needed commodity. Yes, it's true I want to adopt Alouette and I need a husband to do so."

  His brow threatened to re-knit into a frown. Again, she caressed his face. "But it's also true," she went on, "that I don't feel about those others contending for my affections, in the same way that I feel about you. I've always trusted you, admired your integrity, your loyalty. Always expecting you to be there for me. If I'd never met Evan —"

  Herb was listening to her intently. "What I'm trying to say," she continued, "is that since Evan is lost to me, there is no one else I'd rather have by my side than you." She hadn't lied, she told herself. She had been totally honest, for the first time in years.

  "I'm being honest, Herb. I do need you, not only for Alouette, but also for me. This past year I've felt like a ship floundering on a stormy sea. I need you to be my anchor, the only one with whom I can feel safe. Truly. Will you marry me?"

  His arms went around her and he pressed his lips to hers. Startled, she didn't move, didn't return the kiss, waiting for his next move or words. He let her go and watched her, as if waiting for her to speak.

  "Was that a yes?" she asked.

  He didn't answer.

  "Herb?" she chimed, surprised at the timidity in her voice.

  He stood up. "Go back to your office. I need to think about it."

  Well! I never— she thought, bristling. Here she was baring her soul, and he needed to think about it! She stood up. Herb moved to the door and opened it for her. She didn't trust herself to speak — her words might consign him to hell. Raising her chin haughtily, she met his gaze head on. His eyes glinted metal silver. She chided herself, it was merely the sunlight streaming through the wall of windows, reflecting in his grey irises.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  The woman was an ambiguous minx, Herb fumed, returning to his desk. She knew he loved her, had loved her for as long as he could remember. His initial reaction to her proposal nearly made him leap for joy. But simultaneously, he concluded, she meant to exploit his love. He was all for adopting Alouette, the sweetest, kindest child he had ever met who desperately needed loving parents. And he'd lost count of the times he'd proposed to Carol before he realized how obsessed she was with capturing Evan's heart. But now Evan had married Julie, the love of his life, and of late, he felt his camaraderie with Carol growing along with his hopes of winning her love. Her proposal angered him, not because he didn't want to marry her, but because she only turned to him in order to adopt Alouette. Carol didn't love him. Never had. She hadn't responded to his embrace or his kiss. He might as well have kissed a cold, marble column. If it had been Evan, she'd have, metaphorically speaking, melted in his arms. But he knew for a fact that Evan had never kissed her, had never shown a hint of amorous interest for her, and refused all of Carol's advances. Still she persisted until Evan finally told her outright that Julie was the love of his life, and he wanted no other.

  She'd threatened suicide. Evan, the kindest man Herb had ever known, had driven Carol all the way back upstate to her parents' home, to make sure he left her in safe hands. On his return to Long Island, he had immediately proposed to Julie. And now they were married.

  At last, Carol knew Evan was lost to her forever. In the interim, Alouette had entered her life. Carol needed a husband. And who to turn to? Ever faithful and loyal Herb. "Well, not so easy, my dear." He'd have to think about her request. Between his indifferent reply preceded by Evan's rejections, no doubt Carol's ego was in tatters. Served her right. But the thought gave him no pleasure. He ran a nervous hand through his hair. He loved her, faults and all. He couldn't recall a day when he didn't love her. He'd be a fool not to take advantage of this opportunity. It might be his last. As Alouette's father, Herb extrapolated, Carol's affection for the child might over time extend to him. And, at last on intimate terms, tenderly, with patience, he might turn her friendship into love.

  He'd have to control his temper, rebuild her shredded ego, and somehow bring back the sweet girl with whom he'd originally fallen in love, before Evan entered their lives.

  Of course, there was also the chance he'd fail miserably to turn her friendship into love. Carol had this image in her mind of
the perfect man. Evan had fit that image, not Herb. Not physically, not characteristically. He'd always tried his best to live a healthy, moral life, but like all humans, he had to work at it. His parents were proud of him, had always loved him and supported his choices, whether they agreed with them fully, or not. He wasn't that certain about their approval if he married Carol, although they would accept her as their daughter-in-law because of his love for her.

  Herb stood up and paced across his office, debating what to do. He didn't accomplish much work that day, but by late afternoon, he'd made his decision. He buzzed Carol's intercom. "Will you come into my office, I'd like to talk to you."

  A pause, and Carol replied. "Are you still mad at me?"

  Herb was surprised at the humility in her voice. All this for our sweet Alouette, he mused. If only it were for him as well. "No, I'm not angry anymore. And I apologize for my loss of temper." He should have gone to her office to deliver his decision, and he wasn't certain why he hadn't. Perhaps he needed his own familiar setting, or maybe his own unsettled ego needed mollification.

  "All right, I'll be right there," she replied.

  Herb clicked off the intercom, stood up and straightened his tie that he'd loosened while pacing across his office. A few minutes later, Carol knocked on his door.

  "Join me on the couch," he asked when she entered his office.