“I mean, I’m still without a job,” Rose said. “You’ll have to let me go now that...now that you know.”
“Why would I want to let you go?” Jonah asked.
Rose looked away from him again. This is what she had feared. She couldn’t let him keep her on.
“I’m not married, Jonah,” she said. “In a month, maybe less, my...condition will become apparent. People will talk, there will be gossip. You’ll lose a lot of your business.”
“I don’t care,” Jonah said. “I’m not going to toss you out.”
Once again, under any other circumstances, she might have smiled. She might have felt the butterflies in her stomach begin to swarm delightedly throughout her stomach at the thought that this kind, wonderful man cared enough to keep her on.
But, she knew she couldn’t accept his offer, no matter how kind it was.
“I couldn't do that to you,” she said finally. “If it gets bad enough, you could lose the store. I know how much it means to you.”
A silence stretched between them again. Rose felt a pain in her stomach once again. It was different than the churning she had known earlier. Different even than the kicks and turns of the baby. This was an empty sort of ache that she could only associate with heartbreak.
She felt the tears well up again and swallowed them back. She did not think she could bear to cry in front of him.
“What if…” Jonah began slowly. “you were married.”
This time, it was Rose’s eyes that widened in surprise as she jerked her head up and stared at Jonah.
“What do you mean?” she asked. He was looking back at her and she kept searching his expression for some sign that this was a joke. That he didn’t really mean what he had said. He looked every bit as sincere as he ever had.
“Rose O'Neil,” he said. “Will you marry me?”
Her breath caught in her throat and she suddenly found herself unable to speak. Her jaw had dropped and she blinked twice, trying her best to come to terms with what Jonah had just said.
“Are you...are you sure?” she asked. “I don’t want you to do this just because-”
“I’m not,” he said firmly. “I don’t want to marry you because I feel sorry for you.”
It was as though he had looked into her innermost thoughts and read her mind.
“I love you, Rose,” he said. “I’ve known that for a long while now. I couldn’t bear the thought of you not being here.”
Rose’s heart began to pound in her chest and her first instinct was to laugh, to smile, to scream out yes! But, then she remembered that nothing would change. Not really. Even if they were to get married tomorrow, they would still face obstacles.
“There will still be gossip, Jonah,” she said. “When people realize I have a baby on the way, they will talk. Some might turn their backs on you.”
“Let them,” he said. He leaned over on the bed and placed his hands over hers. “I don’t care what they say. I just don’t want to lose you.”
Now, there was no possible way for Rose to stop the smile from spreading across her face. She knew that their situation had not changed. Not really. She knew that the road ahead would not be an easy one. There would be challenges, but she realized that she felt exactly as Jonah did. All the gossip and whispers and challenges in the world would be worth it as long as she could stay with Jonah.
When he saw her smile he gave her a half-smile of his own looking hopefully optimistic. She realized he was waiting for her answer.
“Yes,” she said happily. “I will marry you.”
His eyes widened and suddenly he let out a buoyant laugh. The loudest Rose and ever heard from him. He jerked forward, and a moment later Rose found herself wrapped in a warm strong hug.
“It won’t be easy,” she said when they finally pulled apart, their faces closer together than they had ever been before.
“Nothing ever is,” he answered quietly. He lifted his hand and, for the second time that day, gently touched her cheek. “I know this will be worth it.”
And, as Jonah moved his lips forward to meet with hers, Rose knew that it would be.
*****
Epilogue
Five months later, Rose lay in the main bed of the small house she shared with her husband exhausted. She turned her hazy eyes to Jonah by her side. He squeezed her hand as he focused on Dr. Gregson holding a small bundle at the edge of the bed.
Through a tired haze, she saw the doctor wipe the bundle with a towel. A moment later, a baby’s cry filled her ears. And, even though Rose felt as though no muscle in her body was able to move, she could not help a huge grin from spreading across her face at the sound.
“You have a boy,” Dr. Gregson said. Rose heard Jonah let out a loud buoyant laugh.
“A son!” he said turning to Rose and beaming at her. “Rose, we have a son!”
She smiled back at him amazed by this man. It was miraculous, really that he was here. That he was holding her left hand while a golden ring he had placed there five months before shined in the light.
Ever since their marriage, he had treated the child growing inside Rose as though it were his own. The excitement he felt now that the child was here was palpable. Infectious.
Even the nurse standing beside Dr. Gregson smiled happily as she wrapped the baby in a blue blanket and laid him in Rose’s arms.
“Here you are, Mrs. Henderson,” she said. “A beautiful healthy baby boy.”
Rose looked down at the red-faced child who scrunched his face and blinked up at her. Rose saw her own eyes stare back from the tiny wrinkled face and felt a flutter in her chest. Tears welled up in her eyes as she reached her hand over to her baby’s and allowed his tiny hand complete with five perfect fingers wrap around her pinky.
“How does he look?” Jonah asked.
He’s perfect. Is what Rose fully intended to say. But, the lump in her throat kept her from speaking. Instead, she turned to her husband and smiled as she put the baby in his arms so that he could see for himself.
Rose watched an awed smile spread across his face as he ran his hand over the baby’s tiny bald head.
“He’s beautiful,” Jonah whispered.
“We’ll give you two sometime alone,” Dr. Gregson said. Rose jumped when he spoke. Truthfully, she had nearly forgotten that Dr. Gregson and his nurse were in the room at all.
“I’m sure Mrs. Henderson needs her rest,” the doctor continued.
“Thank you, Doctor,” Jonah answered.
Doctor Gregson nodded in farewell and ushered the nurse out of the room, closing the door behind them.
“What should we call him?” Jonah asked once he was certain they were gone. Rose hesitated before telling him what she’d decided.
“I was thinking,” she said, “I would like to name him after you.”
His smile faded slightly and he gave her a shocked expression.
“Rose...are you sure?” he asked.
“Positive,” she said. “I want my son to have his father’s name.”
A slow smile spread over his face as he moved the baby back into his mother’s arms. As he did, he leaned over and placed a gentle kiss on Rose’s lips.
As Rose closed her eyes she knew, no matter what happened to her, no matter what came next, she would always have Jonah to stand by her side. And that made all the difference in the world.
THE END
Bonus Story 17 of 20
The Magnolia
My life prior to that evening had been remarkably quiet. There had been no great accomplishments, nor had there been any sort of significant events. It was pleasant, of course, but after that one particular night in late June at the estate of my dear friend Mr. Burk, nothing was ever the same.
“Mother certainly enjoys these parties, does she not?” said Mr. Burk.
I smiled at him. “Surely it is for the entertainment of her guests more than for herself?”
Mr. Burk’s blue eyes glared at me, his auburn hair like fire in the
candlelight, but he smiled all the same. “Mr. Colborne, you are quite the jester,” he said. He sighed in exasperation. “Honestly, I am glad for this side of the house where we can remove ourselves from all of the festivities and have a moment’s peace.”
I nodded. “It is indeed a small kind of comfort.”
He pulled a glass carafe from the walnut table behind himself, as well as two crystal flutes, each adorned with varying gems. He opened the carafe, full nearly to the brim with a rich, red wine, and began to pour it into the glasses.
“So how is my friend Lord Colborne, the Earl as of late?”
I glanced up at him from my place on the green velvet settee. I ran my hands through my dark hair, and flattened the top where it tended to stand up in every direction. “Oh, all is well, I suppose. Nothing new to speak of.”
Mr. Burk brought me a glass.
“My father acquired this wine on his trip away to Italy last summer. It’s been saved for nights such as these.” He smiled. “He certainly is knowledgeable.”
I brought the glass to my nose and inhaled the sweet aroma. The flavor was pleasing to the palate as well. “This is quite delicious.” I swirled my glass in my hand. “It’s been far too long since I have been to Italy.”
Mr. Burk reclined on the corresponding green settee just across from me, and smiled in return. “Ah, yes. Do you remember our first summer there?”
Sunlight, flowing hills, and tall whitewashed buildings and statues flickered across my mind. “I do indeed. I remember how beautiful the art was there.” I hesitated before I continued speaking.
“Have I told you I have begun to develop a deeper appreciation for art?”
“Have you now?” Mr. Burk replied.
“There’s just something about it that I can relate to. And I am finding it to be with any piece, any medium,” I said with a sigh. “I so often feel deprived of ordinary interactions with people, and art somehow makes me feel connected, in a small way. I’m not sure I can describe it accurately.” I looked down at my glass. “A new hobby, if you will.”
“Well, then I have something that might interest you,” Mr. Burk said. He set down his glass and rose to his feet. He crossed the room to a set of doors that led from the drawing room. “Come, let me show you the newest addition to my own collection.”
“And of course you mean your mother’s collection, yes?”
He glared at me, but a wry smile escaped before he turned his back to me. I followed him to the other room.
He turned around and faced the wall that we came through and gestured to an ornately framed painting.
“There you are,” he said, smiling proudly as if he had completed the work with his own hands.
The painting appeared ordinary at first glance, but as I looked at it more closely, I found myself taken aback. It was of a garden, flowers in full bloom and a sky which told of a warm spring afternoon. But as beautiful as the colors were and the strokes that had been applied, the primary object of the painting is what was most breathtaking.
A young woman with her back to the artist, a large, white wide-brimmed hat on her head, her face just out of sight, as if the viewer had just only missed her. The light blue of her dress reminded me of a bundle of forget-me-nots, and her hair was nearly as dark as ink.
“She looks so real,” I said finally.
Mr. Burk stood with his hands on his hips and nodded. “Indeed. That’s what captivated me the most about it as well.”
I blinked. There was a rush like I had never felt deep inside me. It was almost as if I had to know this woman in this painting. To where was she going? With whom had she been? And my desire to see her face was unlike any desire I had known from a painting before.
“The artist calls himself the Magnolia.”
“That’s an interesting choice of name,” I replied, still fixated upon the piece. I took a step closer to it. Distance made no difference with this particular piece. It still appeared as if I could reach into the painting and touch her hand.
“This is very well done indeed.”
Mr. Burk nodded. “Mother noticed this piece at Lady Kendall’s ball just last week. Apparently this artist is becoming rather popular with the nobles. So much so that I heard that the Duke has his own Magnolia locked in a room to which only he has the key.”
“Truly?” I asked.
Mr. Burk nodded. “I suppose it could be an exaggerated rumor. But the truth is that this artist has a gift I’ve never seen before.” Then he turned to me.
“Mother insists that I take her to London this week to see if we can find any other paintings by this Magnolia. Would you care to accompany us?”
I felt excitement rush over me. “I would be most delighted to join you. I will make the most of my time with you. Perhaps we can pay a visit to some of our friends living there as well.”
“That would be absolutely marvelous.”
*****
In two days’ time, we set off for London. We all were certain it would be busy, as it was a remarkably warm summer, and there had been little rain. There was much to do in town, and I felt a certain elation at being able to travel once more. London was engaging and interesting. I very dearly hoped that I might be able to find some more paintings by the Magnolia; I wished to add to my own collection as well.
It was unseasonably warm our first afternoon in the city. Ladies with their lace fans and gentlemen with light jackets walked to and fro up the streets, and it seemed as if every street corner offered drinks of all kinds to passersby.
“I believe there is a fellow on the eastern side of town who is selling some of the Magnolia’s pieces,” Lady Burk said as she pointed down the street.
The elder Mr. Burk nodded his head. “Indeed, my dear. We’ll get you there soon enough.”
I attempted to keep myself as quiet about the matter as possible. I, too, was excited to see more of these pieces for myself.
Sure enough, situated beside a small pub on the corner of the street was a man in a green tunic who gestured to several easels on the sidewalk. Even from where we were, the paintings were everything I had hoped they would be; colorful, detailed, and so lifelike it was as though I was looking through a window.
“Oh, my heavens!” Lady Burk exclaimed, her hand over her heart.
We crossed the street to the man in the tunic. He called out to various people, encouraging them to stop and look at the paintings. And he had no problems attracting attention to them. We could hardly see the pieces as we grew closer, as so many people drifted around to each of them. There were many exclamations of surprise and delight at the work.
As Lady Burk and her husband made their way to speak with the seller, the younger Mr. Burk and I moved to a piece at the very end of the queue. It was of a riverbed, the water as clear as glass. There were white water lilies and cattails, and even a small, orange fox who had come to take a drink.
It was astounding, and I could almost hear the babbling water as it rushed over the smooth rocks and the sand.
“It’s quite nearly refreshing to stare at such a piece, is it not?” Mr. Burk asked, a wide grin on his face.
“It is indeed. I can almost taste the pureness of the stream,” I added.
Out of the corner of my eye, a captivating shade of blue caught my eye. I turned to see and almost gasped as I saw a young woman in a blue dress and a white hat. Her hair was as dark as a raven’s wing, and she was turned away from me.
Mr. Burk saw her as well. “She must be a specter; stepped out of the painting from my very home!”
I felt as if I couldn’t breathe. She did indeed look as if she were the very woman from the painting which had enchanted me so much. I took a step towards her, unsure of what I might do, unsure of what I hoped to find.
As I came up behind her, she turned around to face me.
And I felt the breath catch in my chest.
Her eyes were like the fresh grass of spring, when color seemed new and brighter than any time the rest of the ye
ar. Her nose was small and slim, her cheeks rosy and round. She smiled at me, and it was all I had hoped it might be.
“Come to take in the sights of this fabled Magnolia as well, have you, sir?”
I cleared my throat and looked about, suddenly feeling very foolish for approaching her the way I had. “Indeed, miss. Quite a spectacle, is it not?”
She smirked, and turned to look at the crowd that surrounded the paintings. Her hat hid her face from my view once more. It frustrated me more than I cared to admit.
“It certainly is,” she said. She gestured over to a painting beside the man who sold them. “What do you think of that one?”
I studied it for a moment. I had not seen it as we approached. It was beautiful all the same. A field with rolling hills and sheep dotted along the countryside, with the sun low in the sky. The grass appeared to rustle in the breeze. I could almost feel the cool air on my face, almost smell the muddy ground.
“It’s astounding,” I admitted freely. “I have never seen an artist with such skill, and I have seen many.”
She turned back to face me. “Oh? How intriguing.”
“And what do you think of it, miss?” I asked in return.
She stared at the piece for a moment or two, her lips pressed tightly together. “I suppose it is decent.”
Decent? I thought. Is this woman blind?
“The colors are well done,” she admitted. “And the texture is appealing.” She tapped her chin with a white lace gloved hand. “But it is just a painting, after all.”
I gaped. “My lady, certainly you jest.”
“There you are,” I heard. We looked over and saw Mr. Burk as he made his way through the crowd. “You walked away and then a swarm of people came to see the paintings, and I couldn’t find my way through to you,” he added. He tipped his hat to the lady beside me. “Afternoon, milady.”
She nodded her head in reply.
“Please excuse me for saying this, but you have a great likeness to a woman in a Magnolia that I have.”
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