A Late-Blooming Rose: A Montana Sky Series Novel

by Debra Holland

  He picked up a pile of books from another stool, set them on the floor, and sank down across from her, his expression beseeching. “And…selfishly, I wanted to escape, too. Under normal circumstances, I’d enjoy the wedding, seeing friends and acquaintances and making new ones. But right now, I don’t feel I’m living in normal circumstances. A little over two weeks ago, we lived with dread, wondering if our posse survived and the outlaws were captured. Less than three weeks ago, Deputy Rhoda was killed. In spite of my initial relief of having the posse home safely and the money returned, I haven’t yet shaken off carrying around that burden. The fear. The guilt. The heaviness in my heart.”

  As he spoke, Andre’s usual confident, charming demeanor changed, his expression becoming uncharacteristically sober, his hazel eyes dark and weary. He sighed. “I’m not yet ready to celebrate. If the wedding took place in a couple more weeks, or even better a few months, things would be different. I would be different. At least I hope so. I’m changed, of course. I suspect everyone in Sweetwater Springs is.”

  His words and weary countenance stirred Rose’s empathy. She reached out and touched his arm. “How could you not be changed from going through such a horrible experience, Andre?”

  “Just now, I think…just right now…I need quiet and books…and the companionship of a good friend. Perhaps that will be the case for a while. Can you understand?”

  For a moment, Rose studied his dear face, seeing in the shadows of his eyes the emotional burden he’d described. “I can understand. More than understand. I need those things, too.” She bit her lip and then sighed. A feeling of acceptance, almost a kind of peace, settled over her.

  She reached out and clasped his hand. “I’m glad we can be good friends again, Andre.”

  Somehow, I’ll find a way to forgive you.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  After returning from the Flanigans and missing what Delia described as a beautiful wedding, Rose and Andre settled into a comfortable partnership. They made visits to individuals and families known to have money, lots of books, or both, to encourage people to donate to the library. Although house calls weren’t her forte, being with charming Andre eased the discomfort and kept the focus on him, not her.

  Cold weather descended. With Brian Bly healed, Cora returned home in time for Thanksgiving. Although her niece seemed in high spirits, something about her demeanor had changed, although Rose couldn’t put her finger on what. But since Cora didn’t confide in her, Rose could only watch and hope the young woman would eventually open up and also make good decisions.

  The day before Christmas Eve, the temperature registered three degrees above freezing, and everyone battened down inside the house, only leaving when necessary. Dark clouds held snow that wouldn’t fall, and the sun, when the pale orb bothered to appear, ran a shallow arc across the sky.

  Just before dusk, the clouds dropped lower, shutting out the light. Then came the snow, falling all night to blanket the town in frozen white. In the morning, fat, lazy flakes floated on the wind to the pristine ground, adding an inch an hour.

  The snowfall tapered off midmorning, leaving a pristine winter wonderland, unlike anything she’d ever seen. The wind died down and the temperature rose slightly.

  Rose moved from room to room to admire the different landscape views before settling in the parlor, imagining she’d ended up in the land of the Snow Queen from Hans Christian Anderson’s book, although without any of the evil mirror splinters.

  A fir tree covered with silver tinsel, blown glass ornaments, and marzipan candies dominated the large room. Pine boughs lined the windows and the fireplace mantel, with glass angels and gold stars tucked among the branches.

  With a fire crackling in the fireplace, a glass of eggnog and plate of gingerbread on the table next to her, and the scent of pine in the air, Rose contentedly read The Birds’ Christmas Carole, sometimes looking up to watch the view outside the window.

  Andre entered the parlor and walked over to her chair. “The day you arrived, I promised you a spin behind the Falabellas. We haven’t yet taken that drive, so today, I want to take you on a short sleigh ride with the little horses. The next two people I’d like to visit are Dale Marsden and Hester Smith, who live here in town.”

  Rose had seen that tiny sled in the stable and, as relaxed as she now was with Andre, she wasn’t about to huddle with him in such a cozy space. “That’s not necessary, Andre. The day is fine enough to walk.” If one ignores the freezing chill and the foot or more of snow on the ground.

  “The day is fine enough to drive,” he corrected. “Snow packs the streets. People are out in sleighs. Haven’t you heard the bells as each one goes by?”

  She had heard them and wished for a sleigh ride—but in the big double-seater sleigh—where she wasn’t squished next to Andre.

  “Mr. Marsden and Miss Smith are neighbors, on a street with big parcels of land. They’re about my age, and both have the most beautiful gardens. I believe there’s a bit of rivalry between them over their yards. Too bad everything’s covered in white, so you won’t see anything but trees and bushes poking through the snow.”

  “I’ll enjoy seeing the gardens in the spring and summer.” She stood as if to leave the parlor.

  “Once after church, I tried to engage Miss Smith in a discussion of roses, but she stuttered and fluttered and skittered off. You’d think I had leprosy or something equally horrid.”

  Rose laughed at his puzzled expression. “Then why are we calling on her?”

  “I’ve heard she’s a book lover.”

  “And you’re hoping my presence will make a difference?” she teased.

  He flashed his charming smile. “Haven’t you noticed yet? I’m always counting on you to make a difference.”

  Her heart did some stuttering and fluttering of its own, and since she certainly couldn’t skitter out of the room, Rose remained silent lest she stuttered over any response she uttered. Then she wished she could give in and share her silly thoughts. Years ago, they’d enjoyed playing word games.

  Andre glanced down and cocked an eyebrow, obviously expecting her to respond. “Rose?”

  She just shook her head and took some deep breaths until she felt level again. “Perhaps we shouldn’t visit Miss Smith until I’m introduced to her elsewhere. I don’t want her to feel cornered in her own home. I’ll ask Delia to do the honors after church this Sunday.”

  “Then we’ll visit Mr. Marsden today. He, at least, I have spoken to. We’ve had several gardening discussions, and I’ve even given him a tour of the conservatory and showed him the plans for the park.”

  Rose glanced out the window. After several days of being homebound, the idea of getting outside appealed to her. “Oh, very well.” She gave in with bad grace.

  “Dress warmly,” he cautioned.

  She lifted her eyebrows. “You think I don’t know that?”

  He raised a hand in placation. “Allow me a protective impulse.”

  I know where that behavior leads.

  Not long after, the two were nestled inside the tiny sleigh, pulled by the two black Falabellas that Andre had bought for Micah.

  The snowfall transformed the landscape along the street that she’d come to know well. Tree branches were frilled with white. Dry snow squeaked underneath the runners. Cold stung her nose and cheeks, but the hot bricks at her feet and heavy fur blanket kept her warm. Footsteps, hoof prints, and a few lines of sled-runners marred the smooth run of the empty road.

  Leaning sideways to look more closely, Rose saw the tracks of birds and animals, probably up and about their business before the humans ventured outside. “It’s so quiet,” she said in a soft voice. “I mean, after living in the cacophony of New York, Sweetwater Springs is already quiet. But this is different—a hush over the land.”

  “Snow muffles a lot of the sounds. I find this winter wonderland soothing.”

  Andre’s voice was low, too, and she wondered if the beauty and peace of the setting
was having the same effect on him.

  A red cardinal, perched on the branch of a pine tree, ruffled its feathers, sending snow showering just as the sled passed underneath. Droplets spattered Rose’s cheeks, and she laughed behind her scarf and shook her head to dislodge them.

  Toward them came a shiny black sleigh pulled by a showy white horse. Both the driver and his female passenger waved, and then the man slowed his horse to a stop until the sleds were even.

  Andre halted the Falabellas.

  The driver looked down from his higher perch. “Lovely day for a sleigh ride, Mr. Bellaire. Amazing that those tiny fellas can pull the two of you.”

  “Indeed, Mr. Masters,” Andre said in a jovial tone. “But we’re only going a short ways.”

  “We haven’t had a chance to meet your guest, but we’ve heard who she is. Miss Collier, this is my lovely bride, Marian.”

  The woman had a heart-shaped face and translucent blue eyes. She blushed, smiled, and then leaned across her husband’s lap to talk to them. “Lovely to meet you, Miss Collier. Our wedding was ten months ago, so I don’t think I qualify as a bride anymore.” She straightened.

  Mr. Masters glazed down at his wife, his expression full of love. “You’ll always be my bride.”

  Watching them made Rose feel a deep ache of envy. I want a relationship like they have! She glanced at Andre, but he was staring at the couple. She bit her lip. I must stop hoping. I’m only hurting myself.

  Mrs. Masters leaned forward again. “Miss Collier, I’ve heard you’re soliciting books for the library.”

  Rose brought her mind back to business and nodded.

  “Indeed, we are.”

  “Put us down for five.” Mr. Masters transferred the reins back into both hands. “Whatever ones you need. When the time comes, I’ll order them or give you the money and you can place the order, whichever works better. Now, we must drive on. Our grandson is skating at the pond, and we need to pick him up.” He flicked the reins.

  “Most generous,” Rose said with a smile. “Thank you.”

  With a blithe wave from Mrs. Masters, the other sled moved on.

  Rose expected Andre to do likewise, but he kept his hands still on the reins. “What?”

  “A year ago, Elias Masters was called the Miser of Sweetwater Springs, and Marian Hutchinson was a widow, struggling to bring up a grandson after the death of her only daughter and son-in-law. Story was…Elias courted her many years ago, until they had a fierce quarrel, and she up and married someone else. Now look at them.” Andre shook his head and finally glanced at her. “Guess some lucky people get second chances.” His tone suggested he and Rose weren’t so lucky.

  His attitude is too cavalier. Resentment began to boil inside her. Rose lifted her chin, indicating the street. “We’d best be going,” she said in clipped tones.

  Rose wanted to say more, to spill out every angry thought she’d had for almost a quarter of a century. She clenched her hands tightly together, lest she begin screaming like a banshee. The town would think their librarian had lost her mind, and she’d speedily become their former librarian.

  He hesitated and then flicked the reins, his jaw tense. The Falabellas started forward.

  Rose stared out to the right, unseeing of the street they passed.

  Andre pulled up in front of a house with a large front yard surrounded by a picket fence. Smoke puffed from the chimney. He set the brake and tied off the reins.

  Before he could come around to help her, she scrambled out from the sled and, back stiff, marched to the gate, her boots padding in the snow.

  The brick path to the front door was shoveled clean. Not wanting to slip on the icy surface, she slowed to keep her balance, giving Andre time to catch up and take her elbow to help her up the steps to the porch, where he knocked on the door of the square vestibule.

  They waited in silence for several long moments. Just as Rose wondered if the owner was napping, a stoop-shouldered man opened the outer door.

  “Mr. Bellaire,” the man said with a startled expression. He glanced at Rose and then looked away.

  “Mr. Marsden. Please pardon the intrusion. I’ve brought our new librarian, Miss Collier, to visit. I thought you’d like to meet her.”

  Still upset with Andre, Rose was sure her smile appeared brittle.

  But that didn’t matter since the man still couldn’t seem to meet her eyes. “Come in out of the cold.” He opened the inner door to the house and moved aside to allow them to enter.

  They took a few steps into the parlor, which, while large and nicely furnished, had an unlived-in look, and no fire burned in the round stove situated in the corner, nor in the fireplace.

  Rose had no desire to sit in the cold room and wished she’d never come.

  Mr. Marsden suddenly stopped, turned, and gave Andre a helpless look. “Uh….”

  “Perhaps the kitchen?” Rose suggested.

  The man gave an eager nod, started to turn, and then paused. “The parlor is more comfortable.”

  “On a winter day like this one, I think we’ll settle for warmth over comfort.” Rose tried to keep her tone friendly instead of ironic.

  Andre touched the small of Rose’s back, to usher her forward.

  To move away from his hand, she walked with quick steps, following Mr. Marsden’s shuffling gait.

  The kitchen was large and warm. The man obviously lived in the room, for a daybed stood against the wall near the big black stove, and a worn leather chair sat on the other side, next to a table with a lit lamp. A book lay closed on the chair, a bookmark sticking out the top. From the flowers on the cover, Rose suspected a gardening book. A quick glance showed her that the hutch held mismatched dishes as well as books.

  Mr. Marsden moved to the round table and pulled out a chair for Rose.

  She smiled—again stiffly—and sat down.

  The man still didn’t meet her eyes.

  Andre claimed another chair.

  Mr. Marsden didn’t think to offer them tea. He seemed unused to company, flicking a look at her and then down at his hands. His eyes were his best feature—big and blue and darkly lashed.

  Why, he’s shy, Rose realized. Painfully shy. She could certainly understand his difficulty. The realization distracted her enough from her own inner conflict about Andre. She wanted to set the man at ease. “I see you’re reading, Mr. Marsden. Is that a gardening book? I’m hoping the library will offer a nice selection.”

  He jumped to his feet and scurried over to the chair, picking up the book, and then handing her the volume.

  She read the title, Les Liliacees, and opened the book about a third of the way, to an illustration of Strelitzia Reginae. “I’m familiar with this one. I believe this is considered Pierre-Joseph Redoute’s masterpiece.” She tapped the page. “Doesn’t this have the loveliest drawings and descriptions of the flowers from Empress Josephine’s estate at Malmaison? This Bird of Paradise looks so exotic.”

  For the first time, Mr. Marsden’s gaze lingered on Rose’s face. “My favorite part.” He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “I like to plan what I’ll plant in the spring. Bird of Paradise won’t grow here, of course. Too bad, that.”

  This time Rose’s smile felt genuine. “Winter is a time for dreaming.”

  His eyes lit with the zeal of a true horticulturist. “Why, yes. You understand.”

  Andre cleared his throat.

  Rose ignored his attempt to get her attention. “In New York, I’ve listened to many enthusiastic outpourings from library patrons eager to talk over gardening books and plants. Their yards might be small, but many make the most of what they have.”

  Mr. Marsden nodded. “I consider myself fortunate to be surrounded by natural beauty.”

  Although a little surprised by Andre’s lack of participation—after all, he was the one with the conservatory and park plans—she continued engaging their reticent host in conversation, enjoying watching him bloom like one of his shy plants receiving sunshine
.

  Andre laid a hand on the table. “Perhaps you’ve heard,” he said in a gruff tone. “We are soliciting donations of books for the library.”

  Mr. Marsden clutched Les Liliacees to his chest, his gaze flying to the buffet, an anguished expression on his face—the thought of parting with his treasures obviously too great to bear.

  Rose wanted to laugh and, at the same time, kick Andre under the table for his blunt approach to the shy man. She did neither, not wanting to hurt Mr. Marsden’s feelings. Andre’s, though, were an entirely different matter. “You don’t have to donate your own books,” she said gently. “The other possibility is to donate money for books or to order new copies of your favorites to donate.”

  “I can do that.” Mr. Marsden’s head bobbed. He tapped the book still held tightly to his chest. “This one. Good to have a copy for others to read.”

  Rose smiled at him. “And dream away the winter.”

  His brow crinkled. “Better order two. One won’t be enough.”

  “I believe you’re right.”

  “Bill me.” He glanced out the window for a moment, squared his shoulders, and then looked back at Rose. “Also order one called Language of Flowers. It’s a book for children by Kate Greenaway. I think they’ll find the colored illustrations and poems interesting.”

  “Oh, yes! That book is charming. Perhaps adults will enjoy the poems and illustrations, too.” Rose caught Mr. Marsden’s gaze. “Thank you.” She glanced at the hutch. “Perhaps, at another time I can look through your other books. I’m used to a city library, and I’m sure there’s more need for horticulture books here in Sweetwater Springs. I need to know which ones to order. Maybe you can advise me.”

  “Rose,” Mr. Marsden said in a tone of wonder. “If I’d had daughters, I’d have given them all flower names. Your parents chose well.”

  Andre suddenly stood. “Best not keep the Falabellas waiting in the cold. We should go.” His words were clipped, with barely any drawl at all.

  Although Rose wanted to shoot him an annoyed look, she kept her gaze on Mr. Marsden and pinned her smile in place.