Page 72 of A Late-Blooming Rose
Andre stomped toward the bush and viciously chopped off the nearest stem and then another and another. They fell to the ground, exposing a red rose, petals slightly unfolded, revealing the promise of the fullness to come.
In disbelief, Andre froze, blinked to clear his sight, and then blinked again. But the rose remained real, pristine in scarlet beauty.
Stunned, Andre sank into the nearest chair and let out a shaky breath. Bowing his head, he clasped both hands around the shears and prayed to the Christ Child humbly born this night, destined to live a short life and die a horrible death out of love for all humanity.
He asked for forgiveness. He asked for guidance. He asked for the fortitude to love in the face of death.
In a rush of realization, the answer came to Andre. As he’d mistakenly done in the past, he’d tried toprotectRose from future pain. But what he’d really done and still continued to do was deny her love—his love—as well as the love and security of a family.
Even if I die the day after the wedding, she’ll have Delia and Joshua, Micah, the baby, the Nortons, to surround her and hold her up with their love. I can provide her with that future. I can also leave her financially secure, so her work becomes a choice, not a necessity.
Opening his eyes, Andre stood and moved to the bush, carefully cutting off the crimson rose and bringing the bloom to his nose to inhale the sweet scent. With deep reverence, he sent up a prayer of thanksgiving and snipped off any thorns from the stem.
No rose is without a thorn, he thought the French proverb.But I will protect my dear Rose’s tender fingers.
Suddenly, he remembered what resided in his bedroom safe, and, taking the flower with him, he left the room and hurried down the hallway. He slowed at the foot of the staircase.No sense climbing like a mad man and making myself too breathless to speak to Rose. Or worse, giving myself a heart attack.
Once in his room, Andre pushed the button for the electric light and moved to his safe, inset behind a painting on the wall. Ever since the bank robbery, he’d kept the safe locked and the key on his pocket watch chain.
Setting the rose on the bed, he pulled the watch from his vest pocket, using the key to unlock the safe. Reaching inside, he felt around in the back for a small wooden box, the corners rounded and smooth. Opening the box, he glanced down at the square emerald, surrounded with diamonds, bought twenty-two years earlier.
He removed the engagement ring, remembering the hope and excitement of that young man. Now he was older, wiser, a little beaten by life, but no less excited and hopeful.
Plucking out the ring and placing it and his watch in his vest pocket, Andre tossed the box back into the safe and scooped up the flower. He didn’t bother to shut and lock the safe. He was a man with a mission, and he wouldn’t waste a minute in getting to Rose.
Once downstairs, Andre looked for her in his study. The light remained on, but she wasn’t there. With an anxious tug in his stomach, he wondered if she’d left and gone to the Christmas party.She’ll be vulnerable to Dale Marsden or another suitor.
His heart leapt into his throat, and he raced to the coat closet. At the sight of her coat and scarf hanging where they belonged, he collapsed in relief against the wall.Thank goodness.
Andre took a deep breath and fought to slow his heart into its proper pace. Then, to be on the safe side so she couldn’t sneak by him and escape, one-handedly he grabbed Rose’s coat and stuffed it into the corner behind the shabby outerwear used for gardening on cold days. Knowing how ridiculous he acted didn’t stop him from fluffing some of the other garments to hide her coat.
Then he went to track down Rose, hoping he wouldn’t have to beard her in her bedroom. At least she couldn’t lock him out.
He followed the glow of a fire and walked into the parlor, inhaling the fragrance of pine from the Christmas tree, and saw Rose sitting in the wingchair nearest the fireplace, her head turned toward the flames. Her body looked as if she was formed of ice.
Have I ruined everything?
He wanted to go to her and press kisses along the pale curve of her neck. But he stopped a few feet away, the flower held out of sight. “I can’t give you a long married life, Rose.”
She didn’t raise her head. “I thought we weren’t supposed to speak of this topic.” Her voice was cold.
“I can’t give you a long marriage,” he repeated.
Rose raised her head, her gaze chill, and slid him a sidelong glance. “But you could have given me a family—yourfamily,” she said quietly. “I see how you love Micah, and he’s not your blood. You said so yourself.”
“So I did.” With bated breath, he willed her to look at him, wanting her to give him hope. As the long seconds passed, his hope began to wane, replaced by familiar despair.
Rose finally turned to directly meet his eyes, but her expression didn’t warm. “I love him, too, and Delia and Joshua, and his wonderful parents. I might have been the baby’s grandmother, whether or not you were around.” Her mouth firmed.
He had a sudden flash of the future, of her playing with baby Andrea, and he fiercely longed to see the reality.
“I wanted you to be Cora’s great-uncle.”
“Do you realize if we wed, when Cora has babies, I’d be a great-great uncle?” he quipped.
“I thought you weren’t living that long,” she accused, the coldness finally leaving her face.
Andre sat on the sofa across from her and brought the rose from behind his back. “I’m a stubborn old fool, Rose. But God has taken pity on my stubbornness and my foolishness and given me a sign of His grace.” He held the flower out to her. “Do you remember the bush in my conservatory that I was tempted to dig up? The one you told me to be patient with. This—” he shook the rose “—thisbloomed tonight. I swear, when I looked a few days ago, no bud was in sight.”
