The Soul of the Rose (3 page)

3

M
rs. Divers heard her front door open and with difficulty rose from her easy chair. This arthritis was such a bother. She shuffled out of the sitting room.

“Miss Waul! I’m glad you’re back.” A shiver coursed through her. The outside air had chilled the entry with Miss Waul’s entrance. Mrs. Divers tightened the shawl around her as Miss Waul took off her heavy coat and placed it on the coat tree. “Did you get my book?”

“Oh, yes.” Miss Waul leaned over to get it from her carryall.

“Then let’s go right to the sitting room where it’s warm. I’m beholden to you for going to the bookstore tonight.”

Mrs. Divers lowered herself slowly into the stuffed chair by the fire, and then thumbed through the volume. How tempted she was to begin reading right now, but since her companion had gone to all that trouble, she would wait to start it after she retired for the night.

“Here, let me stoke up the fire a bit.” Miss Waul took up the poker. “Would you believe I found the book in quite a different spot? Completely out of alphabetical order.”

“Well, Mr. Chestley is getting older. I guess he can’t be expected to get everything right.” Mrs. Divers reached up and repositioned a loose hairpin in her bun.

“But he has help now. A young lady.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. Looks the quiet type.” Miss Waul put the poker back and plumped down into the horsehair chair on the opposite side of the fireplace. “She appears bright enough, though.”

“Goodness knows, not a bluestocking, I hope. A woman like that can be downright irritating.”

“She doesn’t look at all bookish. In fact, she’s very pretty.”

“Pretty?” Mrs. Divers’s interest picked up.

“Yes, her hair strikes you right away, wheat-colored and braided fancy-like. Wound at the back of her head in a sort of chignon.” Miss Waul put her hand up to her hair. “I might try wearing my braid back like hers. Make my face appear less round, you know, instead of circling my head.”

“Don’t be silly. Your arrangement is nice and sensible. I don’t want you changing on me.”

“You don’t think I should try something new?” Miss Waul eyed Mrs. Divers with a pleading look, then after a moment shrugged her broad shoulders. “Well, whatever you say—but I fancy the girl’s hair would be like a sheaf of wheat when down, real pretty like. And you should see her lips. Red as a rose.” Her lips suppressed a smirk. “Didn’t know I could be poetic, did you?—but I wonder if she doesn’t color them.” Miss Waul smoothed her skirt. “That one won’t have trouble getting a man. Finding a good one around here is the problem. If she wasn’t dressed so properly in that dark brown, I’d say she looked a bit of a hussy.”

“Miss Waul!”

Miss Waul tittered. “The old maid coming out in me, I guess.”

“You’re not old yet.”

“But past my prime, I’m sure. Why, see how my hair has begun to gray these last years.” She paused, then cast a pointed look at Mrs. Divers. “Worrying over Marguerite.”

“Marguerite?” Sorrow or anger rose up in Mrs. Divers—she wasn’t sure which. Perhaps it was both.

“Well, yes. You know she was one to need lots of attention. ’Course she didn’t get much from us after she married, but before that she took a lot.”

“What do you mean?” Mrs. Divers’s lips set firmly. “What would somebody expect with her so delicate? I didn’t spoil her, mind you!”

“I didn’t mean to say you did.” Miss Waul’s shoulders heaved a sigh. “But I miss her.”

“Yes, my heart aches, even yet.” Mrs. Divers plucked at her shawl, drawing it closer round her shoulders. “Our one and only. It hasn’t been two years. I can’t forgive that man!”

“I know. Well, I did the new girl one favor. Warned her away from him.”

“
He
was in the bookstore?”

“Yes. Came in while I was trying to find your book. He slunk back in the shelving as soon as he saw me. Like the snake he is.”

“Not a snake, Miss Waul.” Mrs. Divers felt her ire rise. “A grizzly is more like it.”

“A grizzly?”

“Yes, a big grizzly bear. They’re unpredictable, you know. Come at you without warning.” Her arthritic fingers gripped the chair arms. “He was cruel to our Marguerite, Miss Waul. We must never forget that. If I have anything to say about it, he’ll never be happy again.”

“He seemed none too happy tonight, so comfort yourself in that. His hair’s grown out like a bush. A body can’t even see his face.”

“Ashamed he is.”

“I hear he goes around at night. Never notice him during the day.”

“Good! The few times I do get out, I don’t want to see him. Just thinking of him makes me—”

“Now, don’t upset yourself, Mrs. Divers. You’ve had enough of that man for a lifetime. Must put him out of your mind.”

“How can I, when he lives so near? Whenever I leave our home, I don’t even look off to the left for fear of seeing his house through the trees.” Mrs. Divers shuddered. “If I’d ever suspected my dear girl would have such a hard time with him, I’d have taken her away—far away, even though I’ve lived here for years. Yes, I would have.” Tears started clouding her vision.

“Calm yourself, Mrs. Divers. Please! Here, use my hanky. I shouldn’t have brought him up. The whole business is painful to us both.” Miss Waul hoisted herself up from the large chair. “I’m going to get some milk for you now. Good, warm, calming milk.”

Mrs. Divers dabbed at her eyes. Drat! Her nose was runny. She dabbed at it, too.

“Now, give your nose a good blow,” admonished Miss Waul.

“Oh, I hate sounding like an old goose. I’ve got a terrible honk.”

“I know that. But it makes no difference. If you can’t feel comfortable with me—after all we’ve been through together—” Miss Waul leaned over and gave Mrs. Divers an awkward little hug.

Mrs. Divers realized, for maybe the hundredth time, how Miss Waul could comfort a soul. “Maybe you need some milk, too. You’ve been out in the cold this evening.”

“Thank you, Mum. That would be nice.”

Celia stepped outside the bookstore to better inspect the display window. She’d substituted a gold-colored cloth in place of the off-white fabric as a backdrop. This looked richer against the red and black covered books. Arranging items in an artistic manner satisfied something deep within her.

She turned to enjoy the outdoors for a few moments. Though the sun had set, the air was still comfortable, the Indian summer keeping it balmy. Even in this dusky light, the maples in front of the shops across the street showed brilliant red, and beyond them glowed golden yellow sassafras. A slightly acrid, pungent scent wafted in with the slight breeze. How she loved autumn. With all the activity of summer gone, she would have more time to read.

Farther down the street, lamps burned brightly in little houses, hinting at quiet activity within. Tied to a white picket fence, a chestnut horse stood quietly. Celia watched as two boys scuffled up the street, stopped near the horse, and crouched. She wondered why they weren’t already home. Their mothers would be fixing supper.

Mrs. Chestley was sure to be doing so. Celia anticipated gathering around the evening table. The meal might be simple, sometimes only johnnycakes and warm milk with sugar sprinkled on top, and a piece of cheese with tea. But the company would be delightful.

Afterward the Chestleys and she might go for a walk. The three of them made an agreeable little group. Once, she’d gone by herself. They had smiled their approval, but told her to keep to nearby streets.

Celia enjoyed walking by herself. Though she loved being with family and friends, she could think more clearly and notice things better without the distraction of conversation shuttling back and forth.

Bang!

Celia startled. The loud report had come from the direction of the horse. His hooves pawed up the dust as he tried to back off from the fence where he was tethered.

Bang! Bang! Bang!
A series of loud explosions pierced the air. The boys rose and started to run.

Snorting, the terrified horse tried to rear up. The fence shook. He backed off, kicking up dust.

Out of nowhere, a large man crossed the boys’ path and rushed to the frightened animal. Just as he reached the struggling horse, the wood of the fence cracked and the reins snapped from their moorings. As the leather straps whirled through the air, the big man caught them.

The animal lunged, trying to bolt, but the man braced himself, holding the bridle fast, compelling the horse to quiet. The horse reared again, but the moment the hooves descended, the man grabbed its mane.

Celia watched, hardly realizing she held her breath.

The horse circled its backside around to better swing its head away from the man trying to master it. But the man hung close, forcing the horse to calm, gentling the animal with his voice.

Two men ran out of the house, but stopped short at the gate as the man jerked his head, cautioning them to stay away while he soothed the horse. Celia couldn’t hear distinct words, but she could see they had a wonderfully calming effect.

Reaching up to give the horse a final caress, the man finally held out the reins to the horse’s owner.

Celia watched the men step out the gate and shake hands. The big man pointed to the spot where the boys had crouched. What had they been about?

Finally, her breath began returning to normal. How fortunate the terrified horse had been calmed—but only thanks to the gentleman who acted decisively, so quickly. And with such strength.

At that moment, he separated from the other men and started walking in the direction of the bookstore. Celia slipped inside, hoping she hadn’t been noticed. Thankfully, the incident had happened quite a ways down the street.

But how unexpected. She had thought to enjoy the tranquil night air, but the incident had frightened her, reminded her of—she shook her head as if to dismiss the picture that came to mind.

Bending over to pick up the pile of books she’d removed from the window, she decided to go to the back of the store. She would calm her emotions by returning to everyday chores.

She clasped the books close as she walked. Later, she would display the books at advantageous spots around the store, giving the public another opportunity to see the newest offerings. But for the moment she’d spread them on a small table in the rear of the store, near an easy chair.

The bell on the door jangled. Slowly, but purposefully,she walked back through the stacks to see who entered. As she rounded the end of a large bookcase near the front door,she saw Mr. Lyons.

Mr. Lyons! Her stomach did a turn. Now she recognized his large figure in the light of the store. So he was the big man who quieted the frightened horse. She debated what to say, then said, “Outside—I saw what happened. You came in the nick of time.”

He acknowledged her comment with a nod.

What were those boys doing? She had to ask. “Those loud bangs—”

“Firecrackers. Probably left over from the Centennial celebration. Pure mischief, especially around a horse.”

“Certainly!” She swallowed, calmness still eluding her. “Firecrackers—the Fourth a short time ago—yes. How fortunate you were nearby. I had visions of a runaway horse bolting past me, with me unable to do anything, and I was absolutely rooted to the spot. But you seemed to know just what to do.”

“My grandparents kept horses at their summer place. I grew up riding as a boy.” A ghost of a smile turned up the corners of his mouth.

That seemed a happy memory. Celia felt her equilibrium returning. A moment of comfortable silence passed between them. “So, may I help you?” she offered.

He glanced in the direction of the window display. “Earlier, I noticed a book in the window. It’s not there anymore.”

“I placed the books on the back table. What was its title?”

“That’s all right. I’ll browse through the lot of them.” He turned and strode into the nearest stacks.

Celia looked in surprise at the disappearing figure, puzzled by his sudden departure. She had felt a sympathy between them those few moments. The mention of his grandparents’ summer home, and she had to admit, the incident with the horse seemed to have eased any feelings of constraint caused by the damaged Tennyson. But now she wasn’t so sure. Her ears strained to hear what he was doing. Mrs. Chestley had been right: he was assuredly a curious sort.

She heard a rustling of pages and wondered which book had caught his fancy.

Sometime later, he approached the counter and set down a volume.

Celia’s eyes flicked to it. Washington Irving’s
Tales of a Traveller
.

Before she could comment, he reached into his pocket for the money. “The Plato I bought last time had good print. Very readable.”

“I’m glad it suited.”

“I think that’s the correct change.” His long fingers put an additional nickel on the counter.

“Thank you.” She deposited the money into the metal box under the counter, then looked up at the bushy visage. “I’m sorry again, about the Tennyson.”

“No need to say anything more. I’ve put it behind me.”

How quickly he’d forgiven. Not like herself with Trudy. She felt ashamed, then quickly rallied. He was obviously a man to know better, and undoubtedly had a fine mind. She wondered if she dared ask his opinion, then plunged ahead. “Do you have a favorite passage or poem from Tennyson? One especially meaningful?”