Black Rose (28 page)

She walked back in, sat across from Mitch. “Is this where you stopped?” he asked her.

“I needed to absorb it, I guess. How cruel he was to her. She wasn’t an admirable woman, not from what I’ve read in her own diaries. Selfish, self-absorbed, petty. But she deserved better than this. You haven’t given me a son, so I’ll get one elsewhere. Accept it, or leave. She accepted.”

“You don’t know that yet.”

“We know.” She shook her head. “We’ll read the rest, but we know.”

“I can go through this, and the others, later. Myself.”

“No, let’s do it now. It’s my legacy, after all. See what you can find, will you? I’m going down to make coffee.”

When she came back, she noted he’d gotten his reading glasses. He looked like a rumpled scholar, she thought, pulling an all-nighter. Shirtless, jeans unbuttoned, hair mussed.

That same tenderness floated over her, like a balm over the ache in her heart.

“I’m glad you were here when I found this.” She set the tray down, then leaned over, kissed the top of his head. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“There’s more.” He reached up for her hands. “Do you want me to summarize?”

“No, read her words. I want to hear her words.”

“There’s snippets here and there, her thoughts on this worked into daily entries. Her humiliation and the rage under it. She made him pay in the only way she knew, by spending his money lavishly, by shutting him out of her bed, taking trips.”

“A stronger woman would have thumbed her nose,” she said, pouring coffee, “taken her children and left him. But she didn’t.”

“No, she didn’t. Times were different for women then.”

“The times may have been different, but right’s still right.”

She set down his coffee, and this time sat beside him. “Read it, Mitch. I want to know.”

“He brought the bastard home, with some trollop of a wet nurse he brought in from one of his country holdings. Not the mother, he says, who remains in the house in town where he keeps her. He has his son at last, a squalling thing wrapped in a blanket. I did not look at it, and will not. I know only that he has paid the doctor to keep him quiet, and that I am required to continue to remain in the house, receiving no callers for another few days.

“He has brought this thing home in the dead of night, so the servants will believe I delivered it. Or will pretend to believe it. He has named it. Reginald Edward Harper, Jr.”

“My grandfather,” Roz murmured. “Poor little boy. He grew to be a fine man. A kind of miracle, I suppose, given his beginnings. Is there anything on his mother?”

“Not in this book, though I’ll go through it more carefully.”

“There will be more, in one of the other journals. She died here, Amelia did. At some point Beatrice must have seen or spoken with her, or dealt with her in some way.”

“I’ll start looking now.”

“No.” Tired, she rubbed at her eyes. “No, there’s a wedding today. Today is for joy and fresh starts, not for grief and old secrets. We know enough for today.”

“Rosalind, this in no way changes who you are.”

“No, it doesn’t. Of course it doesn’t. But it makes me think, that for people like this . . . for people like Reginald and Beatrice, marriage was a practicality. Social standing,
breeding, family backgrounds. Maybe there was some affection, or some attraction, but at its core, it was business. The business of maintaining families at a certain level. And children were just tools to accomplish that. How sad for them, and how tragic for the children. But today . . .”

She drew a deep breath. “Today we’re seeing it shouldn’t be that way. We’re going to watch two people who love each other make promises, make a marriage, cement a family. I’m glad you’re here, Mitch, and I’m glad we found this today. Because this wedding is just what I need now.”

I
T WAS THE
perfect day for it, tailor-made with candy-blue skies and balmy air scented with flowers. The gardens Logan and Stella had made bloomed in a lovely array of color and shape.

There were chairs set up on the lawn, covered with pale peach drapes and forming an aisle where Stella would walk on her father’s arm, toward Logan and her sons.

Roz turned from the window to watch Jolene fuss with the flowers in Stella’s hair.

“You make a picture,” she said. “Both of you.”

“I’m going to start crying again.” Jolene waved a hand in front of her face. “I can’t count how many times I’ve repaired my makeup. I’m going to run out just for a minute, honey, check on your daddy.”

“Okay.” Stella waited until Jolene scurried out. “I was going to be mad and upset that my mother refused to come. Too much trouble to make the trip—not like it’s my first time—and she wasn’t going to sit around in the same space as
that
woman, which she continues to call Jolene even after all these years.”

“Her loss, isn’t it?”

“It is—and my gain, really. It’s Jolene I want today
anyway. And you, and Hayley.” Stella lifted her hand to touch the sapphires in her ears. “They’re so perfect.”

“They do the trick. Look at you.” Feeling a little misty herself, Roz stepped closer to study her friend.

The dress was simple, a pale, pale blue with narrow straps, a straight bodice and a long skirt with a slight bell. There were two dahlias pinned in her curling red hair. One white, one blue. And her face was luminous, as a bride’s was meant to be.

“I feel absolutely beautiful.”

“You should. You are. I’m so happy for you.”

“I’m not nervous anymore, not even a little jump in the belly.” Stella pressed a hand to it as she blinked tears back. “I think about Kevin, my first wedding, the years we had together, the children we made together. And I know, in my heart, I know he’s okay with this. Logan’s a good man.”

“A very good man.”

“I made him wait almost a year.” She let out a laughing breath. “Time’s up. Roz, thank you for all you’ve done.”

“You’re welcome. Ready to get married?”

“I’m absolutely ready.”

It was sweet, Roz thought, and it was lovely. The man and woman, the young boys, coming together in the gardens of the home they’d share. Logan, big and strong and handsome in his suit, Stella, bright and beautiful in her bride dress, and the children grinning even when Logan kissed the bride.

The guests broke into spontaneous applause as Logan swept Stella off her feet and spun her in a circle. And Harper topped off the moment by popping the first bottle of champagne.

“I don’t know when I’ve seen a happier couple,” Mitch commented, and tapped his glass to Roz’s. “Or a prettier family. You do good work.”

“I didn’t do anything.”

“It’s like a family tree. These two come from one of
your branches. May not be blood, but it comes to the same. It’s their connection to you that brought them together. They did the rest, but the connection started it.”

“That’s a nice thought. I’ll take it.” She lifted her glass, sipped. “There’s something I want to talk to you about a little later. I wanted to wait to bring it up until after Stella had her day. A wedding day, by rights, belongs to the bride.”

“What’s it about?”

“I guess you could say it’s about connections.” She rose on her toes to kiss him. “We’ll talk about it after we go home. Fact is, I’ve got to run back real quick. With all this commotion I forgot the special bottle of champagne I have back home for the bride and groom and their wedding night.”

“I can run get it.”

“No, it’ll be quicker if I do. I’ll be back in fifteen minutes.”

As she got to the car, she stopped as Hayley called her.

“Roz! Hold up. Is it okay if we ride with you?” A little breathless, she stopped at the car with a crying Lily in her arms. “I’ve got a cranky girl here, needs a little nap. But she won’t go down. Car ride’ll do the trick. We can take mine, it has the car seat.”

“Sure. It’s going to be a quick run, though.”

“That’s all right.” She walked to her own car, battled an objecting Lily into the seat. “Rides always calm her down, and if she goes to sleep, I can just sit out here with her until she wakes up. Then we’ll both have a better time at the party.”

As advertised, the crying stopped, and Lily’s head began to droop before they were down the lane to the main road.

“Works like a charm,” Hayley said.

“Always did with mine, too. She looks so sweet in her pink party dress.”

“Everything looked so beautiful. If I ever get married,
I want it to be just like that. Springtime, flowers, friends, shiny faces. I always thought I wanted a big church extravaganza, but this was so romantic.”

“Just right for them. It’s nice to—Slow down. Stop the car!”

“What? What’s the . . . oh, my God.”

They looked over at In the Garden. Roz had closed for the day so everyone could enjoy the wedding. But someone, she could see, had been there. Someone, she thought, still was.

Several of her outdoor displays were overturned, and a car was parked sideways, crushing one of her beds.

“Call the police,” Roz snapped and was already out of the car. “You and the baby get out of here now. Go back to Logan’s right now.”

“Don’t. Don’t go in there now.”

“This is my place.” And she was already running.

Her flowers, she thought. Plants she’d started from seed or cutting, babied along, nurtured and loved. Destroyed, beaten down, ripped to pieces.

Innocent, she thought as she took only a moment to grieve for the loss and waste. Innocent beauty crushed to nothing.

There would be payment made.

She heard glass shatter, and charged around the back of the main building. She saw Bryce, swinging a baseball bat at another window.

“You son of a bitch.”

He whirled. She saw the shock first, then the rage. “Thought you were busy today. Figured I’d be done before you came by.”

“You figured wrong.”

“Doesn’t matter a damn.” He slammed the bat into the next window. “Time you learned a lesson. You think you can humiliate me in public? Set the cops on me?”

“You humiliated yourself, and if you don’t put that down and get the hell off my property, I’m going to do more than set the cops on you.”

“Such as? Just you and me now, isn’t it?” He slapped the bat against his palm, took a step toward her. “Do you know what you cost me?”

“I’ve got a general idea, and it’s going to be more. Trespassing, destruction of property.”

He didn’t use the bat, though she saw in his eyes, just for an instant, that he considered it. But he swung out with his hand, cracking her across the cheekbone and sending her sprawling.

That was all it took. She was up like a flash and launching herself at him. She didn’t use nails and teeth as Mandy had. She used her fists, and took him so by surprise, he fell to his knees before he managed to block her, and strike out at her again.

But the blow didn’t land.

The wind came up so fast, so cold, so furious, that it flung Roz back against the building. Her head rapped sharply against wood so she had to shake it clear.

When she did, she saw Amelia sweeping across the ground, dirty white gown flying, hands curled like lethal claws. Murder in her eye.

And so did Bryce.

He screamed, a single high-pitched shriek of terror before he began to claw at his throat and gasp for air.

“Don’t. For God’s sake.” Roz tried to push forward, but was slapped back by the pressure of the wind. “Don’t kill him. It’s enough, it’s enough! He can’t hurt me. He won’t hurt me.”

Gravel spat and spun, and the figure in white circled, vulturelike, over the man collapsed on the ground raking his own throat bloody.

“Stop. Amelia, stop. Great-grandmama.”

Amelia’s head lifted, turned, and her eyes met Roz’s.

“I know. I know I come from you. I know you’re trying to protect me. It’s all right. He won’t hurt me now. Please.” She pushed forward again, managed two steps with an effort that sucked her breath out of her lungs. “He’s nothing!” she shouted. “A bug. But he taught me some important lessons. And I’m going to teach him some hard ones. I want him to live so he pays.”

She fought forward another step, holding her hands out, palms up. “There will be payment, I swear to you. For me, and on the blood we share, I swear there’ll be payment for you.”

He was breathing again, Roz noted, short, harsh breaths, but air was wheezing in and out of Bryce’s white, white lips. She crouched down, spoke calmly. “Looks like it wasn’t just you and me after all.”

The wind began to die, and through it she heard shouts and running feet. When she straightened, Amelia was gone.

She staggered back on rubbery legs as Harper flew around the side of the building two strides ahead of Mitch.

“I’m all right. I’m fine.” Though she felt her head circle like a carousel. “But this one might need a little medical attention.”

“Fuck him. Mama.” Harper grabbed her, feathered his hands over her face. “Jesus Christ. Jesus, he hit you?”

“Sucker punched me, but I got him back, believe me. Got him worse. And Amelia finished him off. I’m all right, baby, I promise you.”

“Cops are on their way.” She looked over at the tremble in Mitch’s voice, and saw from his face it was partly from fear, partly from rage. “Hayley called them on her cell on the way back to get us.”

“Good. Good.” She was
not
going to faint again. No matter what. “Well, we’re just going to press all sorts of charges.” She brushed at her hair, then her dress, and noticed
a tear on the skirt. “Goddamn it, I bought this especially for today. All
sorts
of charges.”

She drew in a breath, struggling with temper and giddiness. “Harper, honey, will you do me a favor and take this worthless piece of trash around front, you and Mitch wait for the police. I don’t want to see him for a minute or two. I might finish what Amelia started.”

“Let me haul him up first.” Mitch bent down, yanked Bryce up on his buckling legs. Then with eyes burning green, he glanced toward Roz.

“Sorry,” he said before he plowed his fist into Bryce’s face and sent him sprawling again. “Hope you don’t mind.”

“Not a bit,” Roz told him, and despite the churning in her belly found her lips spreading into a wide, wide grin. “Not a damn bit. Harper, you mind taking it from here? I’d like a word with Mitch.”