Page 22 of A Late-Blooming Rose
Joshua’s jaw clenched, before he steeply exhaled. “I don’t want to worry you. I think she and the baby will be fine, provided we take some precautions.”
Andre took a slow breath and lowered his hands to his lap. Hedidwant to object. He wanted to thrust himself from the chair, stride around the room, and let out a string of profanities. Maybe kick something. He wanted to curse his weak body, rail at the gang of marauders.
What was I even thinking, secretly daydreaming about courting Rose? I’m old, broken—in no shape to protect her or help her experience her dreams of traveling and exploring the world.
He stood, strode to the window, and looked out at the darkness. Rain streaked down the glass—the weather reflecting his mood.
Andre turned with a wry smile. “You don’t think Delia will fret about me if I’m home?”
“She might feel some concern. But Delia knows you’re in good hands with Rufus and Tilda.”
True.Andre walked back to his chair and sat down heavily, feeling ancient.
He looked at his son-in-law, saw new lines around the man’s eyes and the weight of thesedifficulties, as Joshua put it, pressing on the minister’s shoulders. Although the younger man shared duties with his father here in town, he was also the minister for Morgan’s Crossing, who’d lost one of their own.
To Joshua, Dolf Rodda wasn’t a mere acquaintance but a member of his congregation. In spite of the low spirits he must share with everyone else, he had the heavy responsibility of trying to provide comfort for those frightened and grieving.
Plus, worry about his parents, usually the bedrock of Sweetwater Springs—who were both shaken by the murder—had taken an obvious toll. The elder Reverend and Mrs. Norton showed their ages.
Andre could certainly relieve his son-in-law of one burden. “I have things to take care of…specifically, some changes to the plans for the library I’ve wanted to sketch out.”
Joshua nodded. “Micah should stay home. He’s too young to face…to cope with all the pain and anger he’ll see around him.”
“Your son has a well-developed sense of responsibility for his age. He won’t like being kept at home.”
A sudden smile broke out on Joshua’s face. “You couldn’t have given me a greater compliment. When we returned from Africa, I despaired of him. Micah was so angry and resentful. Missing his friends. Blaming me. Getting into mischief. Now, we are close, he does well in school, shows—as you said—a well-developed sense of responsibility. Much of those changes are due to you, Andre. I suppose I’ve said so in various ways before, but I’ve not completely expressed my gratitude.”
“Well, then,” Andre said in a jocular tone. “Micah can take responsibility for keeping his aging grandfather company. It’s about time I give him another chess lesson, don’t you think? I can work on the library plans another time.”
* * *
Waiting at Grand Central Station with Cora, Rose wished she could feel the same excitement as her niece. The young woman practically bubbled over with high spirits, chattering away with abandon about the trip, pointing out interesting passengers who rushed by, or speculated what might be in some odd-shaped crates porters wheeled by in rickety hand carts.
Instead, Rose could barely pay attention to the girl. Her throat was tight with grief, and dread weighed heavy on her chest. She hated being among a bustling crowd without any quiet place to eventually retreat to and recover her equilibrium.
She was about to say farewell to her home, her friends, the library patrons, the graves of her parents and brother and late sister-in-law, and the two sisters who’d died in infancy—buried in the small cemetery of their church. She’d bade them good-bye yesterday, leaving flowers, and hoping John or his family would continue to do the same.
As for her nephew, before she left New York, Rose visited John one last time to bid good-bye to him and his family. While she held some love for the younger children, her feelings for them were tempered by their unruly behavior. The two boys and a girl unfortunately took after their mother, both in personality—spoiled, indolent, and quarrelsome, and in looks—plump and nondescript. While Rose was there, his wife refused to leave her bedroom, claiming, John said, to be too unwell for company.
Rose wasn’t sorry to miss seeing the woman. Not for the first time, she reflected on how grief, loneliness, and the need of a caretaker for his motherless child led a new widower to make a hasty and ill-conceived marriage to a woman he barely knew. She’d seen far too many men make the same mistake. However, John wasn’t the only one paying for his error in judgment. The rest of the family also suffered from his choice.
She glanced over at their stack of luggage—trunks, boxes, and crates of books for the library in Sweetwater Springs waiting for a porter to load them. Not sure what they’d find in the small town’s stores, both of them shopped for clothes and other items they’d thought necessary to bring, woolens and winter garb, while also shedding themselves of possessions that weren’t worth the expense and effort of hauling half way across the country. She didn’t like paying the overage baggage fees but figured their possessions were worth the extra expenditure.
With a whistle and steam from the brakes, the train pulled in. The passengers around them pressed forward.
A sense of trepidation and uncertainty filled her.
Rose leaned to pick up their satchels, containing all they’d need for the trip, and handed one to Cora. She stepped back to dodge a man rudely cutting between them, leaving the smell of stale tobacco in his wake, and hoped the cad wasn’t sitting anywhere near them.
Cora’s eyes sparkled. “Here we go. Off on an adventure!”
For her niece’s sake, Rose forced a smile. “Adventure, indeed.”
I’ve made my choice. There’s no going back now.
* * *
Andre stood on the train platform with Delia, waiting for Rose and Cora to arrive. He’d never felt so nervous in his life. He had to force himself to stillness and take slow breaths, when he wanted to pace and work off his nervous energy.
