For Whom the Roses Grow

by Rebekah Blackmore

  Jo wasn't sure what to make of the touch. She turned her eyes back in front of her and quickened her steps so that it was she leading Hattie.

  As the girls reached the opening at the head of the woods, Jo released Hattie's hand. She rubbed her palms against the top of her skirt, trying to get some of the nervous sweat off before Hattie and she started digging around in the dirt. She may have a little bit of extra time before she was due to see Mrs. Anderson again, but she did not want to have to spend more time scrubbing off caked-on muck than was strictly necessary.

  Jo led Hattie to the garden, trying to stay clear of the molehills and stray roots that sprawled across the ground. Hattie let out a gasp as she saw the overgrown, disheveled state that everything had become. “Bless my eyes, I did not expect things to be this rough when you asked for my help. A few weeds maybe, the best way to layout the plants, fine, but this? Jo, we could have a team of people working and this would still be an arduous task.”

  Now it was Jo's turn to bite her lip, and she nodded sullenly. “I was determined to work on it myself, but I daresay this is a task much larger than I can do alone.” She reached across her stomach with her left hand to clutch at her forearm as she made her way over to the worst of the ivy-covered statues. “I intend to plant a few flowering plants and crops for Mrs. Anderson's meals, but I also would like to plant a few bushels of roses right here. Mrs. Anderson has always found them so lovely.”

  “You seem to think rather highly of your dear Mrs. Anderson. I heard that she has become quite the witch since her husband and son passed on.”

  “I cannot say that she does not have her bad days, but lately, she has been nothing but sweet to me.” She purposely disregarded the way that Mrs. Anderson had reacted to having her medication that morning. “She really is a remarkable woman. Beautiful, and kind . . . She used to be a prolific painter, did you know that?”

  “I did, actually. My mother has several of her paintings in the parlour, ones that your mistress did of our family for my grandmother's birthday.”

  “It seems that everyone I talk to owns at least one of Mrs. Anderson's paintings. I did not realize her art was so popular.” She reached out to the statue and starting pulling some of the vines off the marble.

  Hattie moved to stand next to her and began her work on the opposite side. “Her husband, Mr. Anderson, owned a storefront in town, three or four buildings down from Marjorie's. He namely sold the knickknacks he had gathered on his journeys, but he sold Mrs. Anderson's artwork, too. He made quite the living off them.”

  Jo's eyes widened. “I did not know that.”

  Hattie nodded. “He closed his store when he first fell ill, although Mrs. Anderson's paintings still circulated for nearly a year after his death. They weren't as happy as they had been when Mr. Anderson was still alive, but I daresay they were all beautiful.”

  The side of Jo's mouth quirked up. It wasn't hard to imagine Mrs. Anderson bringing life to even the dullest of subjects.

  For the next several minutes, the girls worked in silence. Getting the weeds off was harder than Jo expected it to be, but having a second pair of hands around most definitely made the work easier to do than it would have been working alone.

  When the silence got to be too much, Jo started to hum a tune to herself. It was one that her mother used to sing to her when she was feeling overwhelmed as a child. It had been years since she had heard the song, or even just the melody, but humming the notes never ceased to bring a feeling of calmness to her when her nerves got the better of her.

  As Jo's humming rose in volume, Hattie began to beam. She started to hum too, although her notes were much higher than any of Jo's. Even though she was only humming, it was obvious that she had a lovely, melodic voice, and that she was more than capable of holding a tune.

  Jo's theory was proven when Hattie began to sing the melody to the lullaby under her breath, the clear, smooth notes twinkling in the air and filling the pit of Jo's stomach with warmth. She paused her work to listen more closely, the heat in her stomach cinching into a ball and traveling through her veins until her entire body felt warm. Her heart was beginning to beat faster, and she found that it was growing impossible for her to remove her eyes from the beauty in front of her.

  When Hattie caught on to Jo's staring, she immediately cut off and furrowed her brows. “What's wrong?”

  Jo looked away as quickly as she could, her cheeks heating up shamefully. “You have a lovely voice,” she muttered, ducking her head and rocking back onto her heels.

  Hattie began to giggle. Jo tried to keep her eyes on the ground, but she couldn't help looking up at the other girl after a few seconds. Hattie was beaming and her eyes were sparkling, stars of mirth twinkling like diamonds as the sun washed across her face at just the right angle. She reached around the statue and grabbed Jo's hand again, the twinkling getting brighter the closer that she got.

  Hattie squeezed Jo's hand before leaning in, her thumb moving to rub small circles on the back of her hand. Jo began to lean in, too, her heart racing and her eyes flickering shut before she even knew what she was doing.

  She prayed that she wasn't misunderstanding the situation, and that Hattie wanted this as much as she did. She was feeling rather thankful that Mrs. Anderson was resting and that Hattie and she were out of sight from the rest of the town. Someone noticing the lust in her eyes could cause her shame enough without the added blasphemy of her and Hattie acting upon their actions by the other families in town. As for Mrs. Anderson, she just did not want her to see. The beautiful maiden may have approved of Dessie and Susanna’s courtship, but she had known them for years in comparison to the few months that Jo had been working for her.

  Jo kept her eyes closed as she fell forward, although she briefly opened her eyes to see if Hattie had closed hers too (she had). The nervous butterflies that had begun to flutter in her stomach exploded, and she slammed her eyes shut again before tightening her grip on Hattie's hand.

  They moved closer, and closer, and closer, until Jo could feel a Hattie's breath on her skin, and right as Jo began to feel a light pressure on her lips . . . she heard a loud banging come from the direction of Mrs. Anderson's window.

  Jo's heart sunk, and she pulled her head away so quickly that it made her dizzy. She stepped backwards and tried to catch her breath, her hands beginning to shake as she looked up and saw Mrs. Anderson staring down at Hattie and she. It was difficult to see the expression that she had on her face from that distance, but from the velocity that Mrs. Anderson slammed her curtains shut, it was likely that she was not happy with the new advancement in Hattie’s and Jo's friendship.

  Hattie stared at Jo with a puzzled look on her face, but when she followed Jo's gaze up to the window, it was only a few seconds before realization dawned upon her. She gasped and took a step back from Jo, moving a hand up to cover her mouth. “I am so sorry,” she said, her cheeks and her ears burning crimson. “I didn't realize that you . . . ” She trailed off, shoving a strand of hair behind her ear. She locked her gaze firmly on the ground and crossed her arms, letting out a breath before hurriedly saying, “I should get home, I thought I was reading your interest right but clearly——”

  “Hattie, wait,” Jo interrupted, staring at the closed curtains for just a second longer before looking to Hattie. Hattie was clearly disappointed, her eyes still directed downwards and her mouth pressed in a firm line. Jo stepped forward and took her hand again, albeit hesitantly. “I am interested in you. It's just . . . ”

  “She already has your heart.” She sucked her lips in more and looked up. “I have never met another woman who shared the same interests as me. I thought I was an abomination, until I met you and realized whenever I was staring, you were staring back.” She sniffed, pulling her hand from Jo's grasp. “I will help you with the garden, I promise, but I need a few days to lick my wounds. You understand, don't you?”

  “Of course I do.” She squeezed Hattie's hand before pulling her in to kiss
her cheek. “You really are a great friend, Hattie, and anyone would be lucky to have you as their beloved.”

  Hattie nodded stiffly and pulled her hand out of Jo's grasp, sniffing quietly again before moving through the garden and back towards the woods as quickly as she could.

  Jo watched her leave with a feeling of sadness deep in her stomach. She had wanted to try being involved with Hattie, but it was probably for the best that that opportunity was doused before it erupted into a full blaze. Hattie was right; her heart did belong to another, and even if Mrs. Anderson never returned her feelings, she had to at least talk this over with her.

  Boy was that a discussion Jo was not looking forward to having.

  14

  Several hours went by before Jo worked up the courage to go back into the house. Normally, Mrs. Anderson would open the blinds to take in the afternoon sun around one or two, but as the sun moved across the sky and began to sink down between the trees, the curtains remained closed. It made Jo nervous, but she also understood why she was keeping the temptation to watch Jo at bay.

  Jo kept away her own temptation to look at the window away by putting all her attention on the flowers. She kneeled in front of the worst of the covered statues (the third one she had done since Hattie had left) and began to pull at the weeds. She wrapped her fingers around the prickly leaves and pulled them off the vines, throwing them in a pile next to her feet before doing the same thing to the vines themselves.

  Eventually, when her fingers had begun to bleed from the rough stems and four of the statues were clear, Jo tossed the last weed to the side and stood up. If things had been normal with Mrs. Anderson, she would have gone up to the woman’s room to talk until it was time to sup, but tonight, Jo planned on just going to the kitchen. Dessie had likely already started to make supper (the three of them were rotating who cooked, and tonight it was the brunette's turn), but Jo didn't mind helping if it meant she had more time to mull over what she was going to say to Mrs. Anderson. She knew she was likely making things worse, not confronting the situation head-on, but the butterflies in her belly were causing her more anxiety than she could ever remember experiencing.

  She made her way back up to the house, wiping her palms on her skirt and trying to keep herself from sinking down into the slightly-damp dirt. She couldn’t but glance up at the window as she traveled up the path, her throat beginning to feel tight and the corners of her eyes stinging. She was beginning to feel rather idiotic for putting the tender friendship between Mrs. Anderson and herself in jeopardy simply because of a moment of lust. Yes, Hattie was beautiful, but the feelings Jo felt around her couldn’t compare to how full her heart was with love for Mrs. Anderson. Jo tried to shake the thoughts away and act normal as she pushed the door open and stepped inside, stomping her black-leather boots on the entryway rug before going toward the kitchen. It wouldn’t do her any good for Dessie or Susanna to pick up on her melancholia and make the situation worse if Jo could smooth things over herself. She just needed to make it to the kitchen without getting distracted.

  When Jo heard an unusual sound coming from the parlour, however, that plan went out the window faster than an escaped bird on a stormy day. She stopped outside the doorway and looked in, trying to be inconspicuous in case the inhabitant was Mrs. Anderson. Her eyes shot open when she saw that it was Susanna sitting on the sofa with her arms crossed over her chest and tears streaming down her cheeks, her eyes swollen and rimmed with red. She was clutching a tattered piece of parchment in her hand, and her thumbs were so darkly splattered with ink that Jo could see the stains clear across the room.

  Jo went over to the sofa and sat down beside her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and kissing the top of her head in comfort. “Dear cousin, what is it? What is the matter?” She glanced down at the parchment to try and read what it said, but it had smudged too greatly from Susanna's fallen tears for anything to be legible.

  Regardless, Susanna tossed the letter into Jo’s lap and covered her face with her hands, letting out a loud sob. Her shoulders were shaking and her hands were trembling, and it was all Jo could do to make out what her cousin was saying. It was a challenge, though, and no matter how hard she strained her ears, listening seemed impossible.

  The only word she could make out, and the one that Susanna kept repeating, was “Dessie,” although the meaning behind her name was unclear. Jo had seen Dessie before she had gone to town, so it seemed very unlikely that something had managed to happen to her on just a few short hours, especially not something that warranted a letter. “What about Dessie, Susanna? What happened? What's wrong?”

  It took a few forced breaths before Susanna could articulate her agony. “She's gone. She left,” she eventually gasped, letting out another sob. She took a few more deep breaths and tried to calm herself before she continued with her tale. “I was working up in our room on finishing the quit I was making for Mrs. Anderson's birthday when Dessie came in and told me that she was feeling sick and that she was going to go for a walk. I figured she would only be gone a few hours, so went down to the kitchen to see what I could do to help her around four, but she was nowhere to be found. I went to check the closet to see if I heard wrong, but it wasn’t just her winter coat and shoes that were gone—all of her boots and shawls are missing.” Susanna bit her lip and tangled her fingers in her hair, pulling at it as she whimpered. “Something in me just told me to go into my old room.” She waved her hand at the letter again, the breeze causing it to fall to the floor. Neither girl moved to pick it up. “I found that on the floor by the dresser.”

  Even with the blurred words, Jo could make out a few phrases that must have been the downfall of Susanna's heart. I cannot keep living like this. I must move on to find my happiness . . . I'm sorry. I must leave.

  Jo let out a long breath, her chest constricting as she imagined how she would feel if she was in Susanna’s position. It also made her wonder if Mrs. Anderson was feeling that same hollow ache towards Jo and their own relationship.

  Suddenly, Jo needed to get out of the room. She needed to be there for her cousin, but she also needed to get some space to herself to pull herself out of her funk. She would be no use to anyone if she kept worrying about her mistake, especially when it was clear that the household depended on her tonight to get things done. Mrs. Anderson and Susanna might both be dealing with issues, but they still needed to sup. She was beginning to get angry at Dessie’s sudden departure, too, and of she let that emotion mix with her worry, then nothing would get done before suppertime.

  Jo leaned over and pressed a kiss to her cousin's temple before straightening back up and pushing herself to her feet. “I shall go and cook Mrs. Anderson's supper myself. You go up to your room and rest. I will be up with your supper shortly.”

  Susanna sniffed wetly and nodded. “All right, Joanna. Thank you.” She, too, stood. She followed Jo out of the room, turning right when Jo went left. Jo didn’t say anything else to her, but she could hear Susanna sniffling and letting out breathy sobs nearly the entire walk to the kitchen, the other girl’s breaths echoing off the stone walls of the furniture-barren rooms and hallways.

  Jo tried to keep the sound out of her head, choosing instead to focus all her energy and anger into getting the ingredients for supper prepared. Cooking had always been one of the best ways for her to get her energy out. She ground her teeth and drove her anger into the biscuit dough beneath her fists, leaning forward and kneading it with her knuckles as she worked it out and made it thin. She tossed it into a tin and beat it with her fingers until it was pinched against the edges. She chopped the vegetables and chicken into small, cube-shaped bits before tossing them into the dough hard enough for them to bounce, not caring when several of the cubes bounced too hard and landed on the floor rather than in the tin.

  Once Jo had finished putting the pie together, her anger vanished in time with the surging of the woodstove. She put the pie in the oven and shut the door tightly before collapsing down in front o
f the counter, her knees suddenly unable to support the weight of her body as the reality of what had happened crashing down on her at once.

  Mrs. Anderson had seen her kissing Hattie.

  Well, not “kissing” so much as a single peck, but it was still well over the realms of what she had wanted Mrs. Anderson to know about, especially if it strained their relationship for more than a few days. Things may have been rough with the woman at first, but now that things had settled down, she wasn't sure that she could go back to the way things were before. Even if Mrs. Anderson didn't return the feelings of love and veneration Jo had for her, her friendship was enough to keep Jo going.

  A tear worked its way down Jo's cheek while several others worked to push their way out, but Jo blinked rapidly and tilted her face upwards to keep the tears from falling. Her eyes began to burn and sting, but the tears stayed where they were.

  Jo was pulled from her melancholia by the smell of the meat pie filling the air. She grabbed a white potholder that had Mrs. Anderson's initials embroidered in baby-blue in the corner, and took the pie tin out from the stove. It smelled wonderful, and the crust was a near-perfect golden-brown. It was most definitely the best pot pie Jo had ever made, but even that wasn't enough to settle the waves of anxiety rocking her heart.

  She cut the pie into quarters and put the slices onto three individual plates, taking care to pile the carrots and peas high on Mrs. Anderson's plate and placing only few on Susanna's. She mixed Mrs. Anderson's medicine in with the gravy and poured it over the pie, using the tip of her finger to mix it in with the vegetables so that the gritty texture would be less noticeable.

  Once the white powder had mostly dissolved, Jo pushed Susanna's and her plates to the side before beginning her trek upstairs. She climbed the stairs slowly, her palms growing more and more sweaty and her legs trembling more and more the closer she got to Mrs. Anderson's room. She swallowed hard and tried to calm herself down, but with each step came new possibilities of how the woman was going to treat her.