A Rose Blooms Twice

by Vikki Kestell

  Roger coughed politely. “Believe me; I have just lost my only family in this tragic affair. I feel, and my dear wife, Julia, feels, deeply, deeply, about Rose’s condition. It is precisely the unsure state of things that brings me here—but may I introduce Mr. T.H. Carton of Carton, Simmons and Northbrooke, our family and Rose’s attorney. He has some timely information that will concern us all. Mr. Carton?”

  Mr. Carton was a mild, honest man whose family’s law firm had served the Brownlees for three generations. His father before him was counsel to the Brownlees. Mr. Carton disliked this sprig of the family tree and his task this evening, but he began gamely.

  “Mrs. Blake, Mr. Blake, I offer my condolences on your losses and my sincere hope for Mrs. Brownlee’s complete recovery.” He stroked his short, brown beard nervously. “However, hmm, as you know, when the former, that is the elder Mr. Brownlee passed on, the Brownlee estate home was entailed to his older son, James. This included the grounds and furnishings. Some business holdings were attached also. The estate was to pass in time to young Master Brownlee, er, Jeffrey?”

  Tom’s jaw tightened and Mr. Carton became visibly uncomfortable, shifting his portly figure in his chair. However, he continued.

  “Both Mr. James and Master Jeffrey being deceased, the will stipulates that the estate and estate holdings will revert back to the second son of the elder Mr. Brownlee, that is Mr. Roger Brownlee, here.”

  He stopped, smiling tentatively as if hoping that all were perfectly clear and he might be dismissed.

  “Go on, Mr. Carton,” Roger prodded tightly, “as we discussed on our way here.”

  “Ah yes, sir, of course, sir.” Mr. Carton was perspiring in discomfort. “What we need to clarify tonight, of course, is that at the death of Mr. Brownlee (that is, James) and his son, Jeffrey, the Brownlee home and accompanying holdings (he swallowed here) became the property of Mr. Roger Brownlee, and—”

  Tom’s roar of indignation quenched Mr. Carton. “Do you mean to come here and tell me that my sister is now turned out of her home? That she is left with nothing?” Tom was on his feet. “This is outrageous! —Now, Mother, dear, don’t cry, please, dear, we’ll not put up with this, naturally!” Silent tears were sliding down the lady’s cheeks, and Tom’s hand reached down to cover her quavering one. “Mr. Carton, I cannot believe the effrontery of your coming here at this time and on such a mission! Why—”

  “Now, Tom, don’t jump to conclusions.” Roger’s voice and manner were smooth and conciliatory. “Do sit down and hear old Carton out. There’s a very pressing reason for this right now, and you’ll feel better, I’m sure, when you understand our concerns. Now, Mr. Carton, please continue.”

  “Yes, sir. I do apologize, madam, for distressing you—please do forgive me and allow me a few more minutes. Just a few explanations will suffice. As I was saying, the estate reverts to Mr. Roger here. There is, however, a goodly sum belonging to Mr. James which becomes his wife’s. Also his personal business holdings separate from the estate. Oh, no, she’ll not be in any financial difficulty, I assure you, and we can see to the details of her property at your convenience, certainly. Which brings me to the primary, ah, purpose of this evening, which concerns the various business holdings I’ve mentioned.”

  Mr. Carton used his already moist silk kerchief on his upper lip again. “You see, for these past few weeks, the businesses have had no active supervision, and we feel this must be remedied immediately. For that reason and ah, personal considerations, Mr. Roger moved to take possession of the estate as of today. This of course includes the house and grounds. Because the future ability of Mrs. Rose to manage her affairs is in question, Mr. Roger suggests it would be prudent for him to oversee her finances and investments at this time, also. At any rate, Mrs. Brownlee’s personal effects, those of her family, and the furnishings and household items separate from the estate will be packed and shipped to you for their care in the next few days.” Mr. Carton wiped his gleaming face and hands with his kerchief and concluded hopefully, “Does that cover everything, Mr. Brownlee?”

  “Yes, thank you, Mr. Carton. Let me say, Tom, that you are young and perhaps think I am callous in my handling of your sister’s affairs, but business waits for no man, and we mustn’t let sentiment keep us from doing what will ensure her future wellbeing, must we? In any event, that concludes our visit. I bid you both good day, and extend my sincere hope for Rose’s rapid recovery.” He smiled obligingly again and ushered Mr. Carton to the door.

  “Mr. Brownlee!” Tom’s voice held a measure of dignity beyond his experience. “The Blake attorneys will be in touch with you at the first possible moment. No doubt we cannot curtail the transfer of the estate, even in this indecorous and most irreverent manner. But my sister’s inheritance from her husband will never be administered by you. We will take the proper steps to secure that immediately. And I will take this opportunity to say that your brother would be ashamed to see how you treat his wife today. Good day. Good day, Mr. Carton.”

  Rose’s clothing had arrived next day, the first in a long line of boxes and dray loads of her belongings. Tom, accompanied by two attorneys from their own firm, had toured the Brownlee house (under Roger’s close scrutiny) to ensure that Rose’s interests were protected. The two law offices had consulted the provisions of the will concerning the estate and reviewed James’ personal assets and holdings, transferring temporary control of them to Tom until Rose was able to make her wishes known. In all of this, Tom had stood in the gap for her, shedding much of the happy-go-lucky attitude of a young man and growing wiser under the responsibility.

  Rose’s physical recovery was rapid after the shock of the tragic disclosures, so Dr. Cray encouraged her to sit up in a chair whenever awake and to begin walking on a regular basis, increasing the length of the walks each successive day. Friends and neighbors called, expressing love and sympathy. Rose received them calmly and graciously, but remained somewhat detached. She made no effort to respond to callers or return visits. Emotionally she seemed to still be just semiconscious. She kept to her rooms except for meals and to receive visitors. Most of her grieving was done in private, but she could not altogether hide the vestiges of secret tears and the fact that her cheeks grew thinner. Those watching ached for the hurting heart she hid.

  February drew to a close, and the cold remained unabated. Often Rose stood at the windows gazing in the direction of the river. On such a day Pastor Greenstreet called. The two sat in the parlor exchanging trivialities the way people do. Then for a time the conversation lagged, and Rose walked to the view of the river, gazing out with troubled, tear-filled eyes.

  “Reverend,” she burst out, “why did God allow this to happen to James, to my children—to me?” Anger broke the surface now and words, bitter words, came out in torrents. “How can I believe in a God who drowns little children! He’s supposed to be all-powerful, so why did he do this? I don’t think we were terrible people—Clara, my baby, never even had the chance to be a sinner. She didn’t deserve—Oh, God! Did I do something wrong, and that’s why I am still alive? For it’s far greater punishment to be left alive, left alone, than to be dead—oh! I am so alone! Can I hate God for this, Pastor? I feel that I must, for he is become my worst enemy . . . Oh, why?”

  “Dear, dear child,” the old man murmured, putting a gentle hand on her heaving shoulders. Her head was bowed in her hands, desolation pouring from her broken spirit. Pastor Greenstreet felt quite inadequate at that moment as most do in tragedy. He was, besides, a quiet, reserved man of the cloth. He’d attended his seminary, worked hard at earning his superiors’ approval, and earnestly tried to please and serve his congregation, as he wanted to help now. He was ashamed to admit in his heart to have no answer that really satisfied. Why, indeed? But feeling duty bound to repeat the answers he’d been taught, he attempted to put a good face on it.

  “Mrs. Brownlee, my dear, we can’t know what purpose this loss serves in God’s plan. Surely he has a reason for allowing
this and, if we are willing to say ‘Thy will be done,’ why, someday, in God’s time, we will understand. In the meantime, you must ask God for patience to help bear this sorrow and to accept the changes in your circumstances.”

  “No! I will not accept it!” Rose’s anger burst out again, her voice harsh and strained. “I’ve always been taught that God loves us. This is not love—I would never do this to my child!” Rose pushed back the distressed gentleman. “No! Either there is a real answer that shows me God truly does care or . . .” At this Rose recognized the seriousness of all she said but finished firmly, “or I will never believe in him again.”

  The door closed with a jolt as she quitted the room.

  Later that night, winter winds beat at the house, shaking shutters and hurling frozen snow through the dark sky. Rose tossed in her bed trying to harden her heart against God. The rage was spent temporarily, and over and over her mind cried out, “Why? Oh, God, why?”

  A conversation she’d once had with James came to mind. They’d often talked early in their marriage of their hopes and dreams. To Rose’s naive thinking, James could only succeed at what he tried. His business was going through a difficult time just then, however, and he surprised her by confessing unexpectedly that evening, “I know that if I do my part—to the best of my ability—God will do his part.”

  She had questioned eagerly, “What do you mean by ‘God’s part’? What will he do?”

  Now James was surprised. “Why, Rose! I thought you knew. Whatever he says in his book, of course.” He took her soft hand in his, gazing with his steady hazel eyes into hers. “And my part is there, too, darling. Everything the Lord wants of me. That includes taking care of you and loving you truly all my life. I know that from the Bible, because my mother raised me to live by it, to live to please God. ‘The Bible has all the answers to life,’ she always said when I was young. She’s been gone so long; I believe I’d forgotten much of what she told me. But I remember now. I’m trying to live that way, and if we have any question too big for us, why, surely we can find our solution there, too.”

  It wasn’t “acceptable” to talk about God in such an open way in the society they moved in. Rose had grown up never even thinking seriously about eternal consequences. She had been raised to understand that if she lived a “good” life, was a proper wife and mother, and attended church faithfully, that heaven was her due. This other side of James affected her deeply, but they had never opened up to each other like that again. Instead, faithful to church and to charity, and single-minded to each other in marriage, they had gone on—until that January night.

  Now, lying alone in the dark, Rose rethought, The Bible has all the answers to life . . .

  Surely if it did, it would be easy to understand God. Why, everyone could. Rose stumbled out of her bed in her haste and fumbled to light her lamp. All her things were in boxes, in several rooms in the house. How would she ever find a Bible? Instead, Rose fled silently downstairs to the library. On a shelf she found several Bibles, none of them used or worn. Perhaps no one knows because they’ve never really read it? she wondered. But Pastor Greenstreet would have read it, wouldn’t he? Creeping back to bed, she drew the covers up and expectantly opened the book. Page after page she scanned, recalling names and books from Sunday school days, but it didn’t take long to discover in frustration that finding the exact piece of information she was looking for would not be easy.

  “Begin at the beginning,” she scolded herself. Genesis 1:1 was familiar, and she kept reading, forcing her eyes to stay open through the long hours of night and keeping watch for the answer she needed. Somewhere after Moses went up on the mount to meet with God, Rose’s eyes closed, and the book slipped slowly from her fingers to her chest. Slumber was heavy on her in the dawn hours. Too many restless, tormented nights had cheated her of deep, recuperative sleep. The human body will bypass emotion when neglected too long though, so when breakfast time came and Rose did not appear, kind Mrs. Blake crept into her daughter’s bedroom and, finding the sleeper in peace, left her so for her own good.

  Strong sunlight falling on her finally aroused Rose. The storm of the night had blown the sky free of clouds and, although the temperature outside remained cold, glorious sunshine warmed her room. It was past lunchtime, so Rose hurried to climb out of bed. In her haste she threw back the covers, and the Bible, tossed by her impatient tug, fell to the floor where Rose stood. It lay open, and she quickly retrieved it, smoothing the bent pages back. Her glance fell on the text. Tears started to her eyes. What did it say? Eagerly she scanned it again—and again! Oh, blessed hope! Was this a message to her? The passage read:

  But if from thence thou shalt seek the Lord thy God, thou shalt find him,

  if thou seek him with all thy heart and with all thy soul.

  All her heart and soul! Is that what was required to find God? Amazed, she read on:

  When thou art in tribulation,

  and all these things are come upon thee,

  even in the latter days;

  If thou turn to the Lord thy God, and shalt be obedient unto his voice;

  (for the Lord thy God is a merciful God)

  He will not forsake thee, neither destroy thee,

  nor forget the covenant of thy fathers which he sware unto them.

  Rose stood full in the sunshine, far away in her thoughts. Half of what she read made no sense at all, but those few words had kindled a small hope inside.

  “O God,” she prayed. “I want to know and understand you. I don’t know how, but your Bible says to seek you with all my heart and soul. How do I do that? If I try, do you mean that you won’t hide from me or hurt me? Is that what it means? Please help me, for I’ve been blaming you, and I don’t know what to feel about that.” Over and over she read the three verses until they were committed to memory. Carefully she wrote down the reference, Deuteronomy 4:29–31.

  Pacing the distance of her room, still deep in thought, she reached a decision. By her bed, on her knees, she made a pledge. “Lord, I will seek You. I only know to read the Bible and go to church. Somehow I don’t know if church will help me find you. I’ve gone there all my life and it never did. But I do promise that I will seek you with all my heart and soul.”

  Rising quickly, she went down to find something to eat.

  Chapter 4

  Next Sunday Rose attended church for the first time since the accident. Many people greeted her warmly, but some avoided her. Maybe they were afraid to come too close to death or sorrow. Rose could only assume. Their behavior made her suddenly realize how wasted she must appear, but she was oddly unconcerned about it herself. Today she had more important things on her mind.

  During the singing she listened studiously to the words, trying to draw upon them for help. All were lovely to be heard, but Rose couldn’t grasp any meaningful message in them. A woman soloist stood behind a screen during communion and delivered a technically perfect song. Rose listened with her eyes closed—yet nothing touched her on the inside. Almost in tears of discouragement, she repeated “her” three verses under her breath. Instantly a feeling of hope welled up within. “Thank you, Lord,” she breathed. “I haven’t forgotten. All my heart and soul.”

  At last Pastor Greenstreet stood to deliver his sermon. For his text he chose St. John, chapter 10. Rose fumbled in her Bible to find it, turning pages back and forth in haste. Her mother glanced at her curiously and Rose, having at that moment found the right book, decorously turned to the tenth chapter as Pastor Greenstreet commenced reading:

  Verily, verily, I say unto you,

  he that entereth not by the door into the sheepfold,

  but climbeth up some other way, the same is a thief and a robber.

  But he that entereth in by the door is the shepherd of the sheep.

  To him the porter openeth; and the sheep hear his voice:

  and he calleth his own sheep by name, and leadeth them out.

  And when he putteth forth his own sheep, he goeth bef
ore them,

  and the sheep follow him: for they know his voice.

  And a stranger they will not follow, but will flee from him:

  for they know not the voice of strangers.

  “Let us pray! Our gracious heavenly Father, we thank you for this opportunity to join together as fellow pilgrims on this earth, looking to the time we may see you, if in your kindness we are counted worthy to be called one of your sheep. We ask that you make us truly worthy, in the name of your Son, amen.”

  “Today’s scripture reading reminds us that each of us must come into the sheepfold to be received by God. The sheepfold represents the church today, and there is a door to enter that sheepfold, which, of course, is Holy Baptism. Those who have been born into Christian homes have been given a blessing indeed by the example of their parents and families. In America today, the church flourishes as fathers and mothers train their little boys and girls in the rudiments of church membership. Not all peoples have such benefits, as those who labor abroad in foreign fields can so ably tell us.”

  “Many, many, are like those who climb up another way—like a thief and a robber. They worship strange gods and participate in idolatrous ceremonies not even realizing how far from the fold they are. And yet the passage reads, And the sheep hear his voice: and he calleth his own sheep by name, and leadeth them out. Today, although many preach in those Godless lands, few are led out—because few know his voice. I can only conclude that few are his own sheep. Therefore we ought to give great thanks to God Almighty who has chosen us, yea, ordained us, that we should be called ‘the sheep of his pasture; the work of his hand.’ Let us stand and close with hymn number 319.”

  Rose stood with the congregation and sang along with the choir, but something in her heart was dismayed by the message. For so long she had never heard God’s voice—and she had been a “church member” all her life! Surely there was more to being a Christian than being born into or joining a Christian church?