Page 43 of A Late-Blooming Rose
With a laugh and a wave, Delia moved on.
Still smiling, Rose walked closer to the two young women, slowing when she could hear their conversation, not sure if she should interrupt their budding friendship.
“How lucky you are to live with Mr. Bellaire.” Elsie’s eyes were wide and guileless. “Isn’t he a darling man? Such a charmer.”
Rose stiffened and stopped, her smile falling away.
“He’s so fun. I adore him.” Cora looked over, saw Rose’s disapproving expression, and tossed her head.
Vowing to make time for that serious talk about the dangers of certain older men, Rose turned. She watched opera singer Sophia Maxwell, clad in a pale pink gown with violet embroidered trim that eclipsed even Delia’s outfit, glide into the room and garner everyone’s attention. A small, violet-feathered fascinator clung to her short, dark curls. A big, round amethyst in the center matched the ones around her neck and wrists and in her ears.
With a graceful hand movement, the Songbird made excuses for her sister Lily, who’d stayed home with a sick baby.
Rose frowned, disappointed not to meet the illustrator.Oh, well, there will be other opportunities.
Sophia accepted a cup of tea—no sugar or cream—and began to hold court among the ladies who approached her.
Before church, upon setting eyes on the beautiful opera singer, Rose had taken an immediate dislike to her, for the woman clung to Andre’s arm, displaying too much lush bosom—especially for a Sunday. Her laughter rang out like bells, eliciting chuckles from Andre.
Even scolding herself for such ill-natured sentiments didn’t do anything except make Rose feel guilty. Deep down in a place she didn’t want to acknowledge, she envied the woman.I’m sure when I become acquainted with Miss Maxwell, I’ll feel differently.
Not quite ready to do so, Rose lingered between two clusters of women, wondering if she should brave the one containing Mrs. Cobb and work on convincing the shopkeeper of the benefits of reading, or instead join the group around Edith Grayson and Maggie Baxter, talking about the fast-approaching Baxter-Livingston wedding.
Before Rose could make up her mind, two women in expensive outfits approached. One was lovely, blonde, and blue-eyed. The other had brown hair and eyes, and plump, plain features. Although she tried, their names slid away from her grasp.
As if reading her mind, the blonde held out a hand. “Don’t even try to remember us, Miss Collier. There are far too many ladies here to keep track of. I’m Elizabeth Sanders, and this is Pamela Carter. Please use our given names, for you’ll find we aren’t very formal in Sweetwater Springs.”
Now Rose’s list came to her rescue.Elizabeth Sanders is the one who married a cowboy younger than herself and has one daughter. Pamela Carter married into one of Sweetwater Spring’s founding families. Both are originally from Boston.
The women’s warm smiles made Rose feel welcomed into their feminine community, and the tightness in her chest loosened. “Then I’m Rose.” She paused, reconsidering. “Except when I’ll be working at the library.”
“Of course,” Elizabeth said in a teasing tone. “There you must display a starchy air of dignity.”
They all chuckled.
“If you’re having a hard time remembering everyone, you wouldn’t think too many ladies attending this tea party is a blessing.” Pamela pushed a stray tendril of hair behind her ear. “Our social scene has considerably grown since my arrival here in 1883. Women, especially unmarried women, were scarce back then, which is why my husband John traveled to Boston to find a wife.”
Elizabeth’s lips turned up, and she leaned to touch shoulders with her friend. “And why five years ago, I came out to visit my dear friend, not looking for a husband at all, but found myself falling in love with Nick.”
“Men still considerably outnumber women,” Pamela added, glancing over at Cora and Elsie. “Perhaps your niece….”
Thinking of Cora’s attitude toward marriage, Rose almost laughed. “I’m not ready to part with her just yet.”
Pamela reached out to touch Rose’s sleeve. “By the way, Miss Collier, I wanted to discuss something with you. My husband’s grandparents were among the first settlers in the area, and they drove all the way from Boston in a covered wagon. No train in those days. His grandmother kept extensive diaries about her life—five volumes in all. I’ve found them quite interesting. I’ve talked with my husband, and John agrees that instead of keeping them to ourselves, we should donate them to the library. What do you think?”
Rose’s thoughts raced.What historical treasures those diaries must be.“I’d love that. We could have a shelf of pioneer memoirs. Do you know if anyone else has kept accounts of his or her life and would like to donate them?”
Pamela flushed. “I keep a diary, of course, although I’m not good about writing every day. But I’d hardly want my diaries available for public consumption.”
Rose gave her an understanding smile. “The library will be here for a long time. Someday, perhaps your adult grandchildren will donate your diaries to the library.”
“Well…” Pamela pursed her lips. “I suppose after I’m dead, what I’ve written won’t matter. It’s not as if anything scandalous has happened to me. There are some…intimatepassages. Nothing too improper, though.” She nodded, causing some tendrils to slip around her face. “Yes, when I’m dead and gone, the library can have them. I’ll put a clause in my will.” She held up her hands. “Not that I have a will. But I suppose John and I should.” She looked at her friend. “What about you, Beth?”
“I do keep diaries and have a will,” Elizabeth told Rose. “Nick insisted upon having agreements in place before we married to protect me and our children. But I can surely add an additional clause for donating my diaries. Maybe something like thirty years after my death.”
Her forehead scrunched. “Nick stores a trunk in the attic containing his parents’ belongings. They died when he was thirteen, and he went to live with John. I’ll look through the contents to see if either of his parents left anything the library can use.”
Rose exhaled in delight. “I’ll keep my fingers crossed.”
