The Soul of the Rose (19 page)

But, she warned herself, they were friends only. It could go no further than that. Their difference in faith and the problem of Marguerite loomed before her. She turned to pay attention to Mrs. Harrod at her side. They could pass the time making a few choice comments to each other. In another minute, she could turn again to look at the field of contestants. However, when she did so, her eyes were only on
him.

Why had he done it, cutting off his beard and mustache? And trimmed his hair in that fashion? The townspeople hardly recognized him. Of course, he hadn’t gone into society much these last years. Had he cut his hair and beard so as not to be recognized? But, surely, people only had to ask who he was.

She was the only one who had seen that portrait and commented on it. Had she revealed how much it had stirred her? Had he—had he done it for
her
?

Thinking back on these last weeks, months, she remembered his special attentions. She had pushed them aside, not letting them mean too much. However, now that she put them along with this sudden change in appearance, it made her wonder. In spite of herself, she was flattered. No, it was more than that. She felt honored. She
was
special to him. Felt it deep within her. For a moment, she fantasized walking down the street together, in that particular way a couple does, walking close.

Heavens! She brought herself up short. Her thoughts were carrying her away. She decided to talk with the lady on the other side of her, the wife of some dignitary, and take charge of her wayward thoughts. Celia had just made an observation about the beautiful day when the announcer for the event shouted. “Ladies and gentlemen! May I have your attention please. We’re about to begin.”

Celia looked down the row of archers. It was a sight, seeing all those men lined up, ready to do battle. Charles’s and Edward’s height made them stand above most of the others.

The announcer cleared his throat. “We are happy to include archery for the first time in our town’s celebration.” He looked down at his piece of paper. “Archery is estimated to originate some five to six thousand years ago. It was first used in hunting, and was favored in warfare until approximately AD 1600 because of its ability to outrange the slingshot and javelin.” He looked up. “Today, we are pleased to have twenty-one archers. The contest is arranged so that three will shoot at a time. At the end of round two,” he continued, “we will tabulate the scores and the nine men with the highest will remain in the contest.”

He stepped off to the side and the first group of three put their left feet to the line, drew back their bows and let fly. The arrows thudded into the target. Each man shot three. The scores were called out and the arrows removed. Celia watched as wave after wave of men took their place at the line. A few arrows hit wide of the target. One tall gangly youth tried his best, but two of his failed to hit the target altogether. A short girl off to Celia’s side shouted encouragement. After his first round, he stepped back from the line and looked at her, shrugged his shoulders good-naturedly and rolled his eyes. Obviously, he had entered to please her.

Charles and Edward advanced to the line in different groups of three. Celia tabulated the results of both their shots. All were in the gold circle of the bull’s-eye. A little thrill of excitement ran through her.

When the gangly youth stepped up to the line a second time, several in the crowd shouted out good-humored advice. He gave a lopsided smile to the assembly, then concentrated on the business at hand. Celia was glad to see he did better, apparently enjoying himself, but surely, he wouldn’t make it beyond the second round.

When Charles stepped up to shoot, Mrs. Harrod took hold of Celia’s arm. “He’s doing well, isn’t he?” Celia nodded. Next, Edward stepped up and shot all three arrows in the gold circle. Celia didn’t look at Mrs. Harrod to see her reaction.

After the second round, the moderator of the games walked to front center and announced the names of the top nine archers. Just as she thought, he called Charles and Edward. The moderator thanked those who had participated and the crowd applauded. The eliminated ones broke ranks with the others. The tall, gangly youth gave an impromptu bow and everyone laughed.

“That lends a little levity, which is good,” Mr. Harrod said. “However, now we’ll get down to the real competition.” Celia glanced over at him. He had straightened in his chair and was looking intently at the remaining men.

The third and fourth rounds would see everyone eliminated but three. As the archers began shooting, the crowd quieted. Most of the arrows landed in the three center rings. When an occasional arrow landed in the outermost white ring, a good-natured comment went up from the crowd, suggesting the archer move it over to the left or up a ways to hit the bull’s-eye. Celia sat quietly, noticing where Charles’s and Edward’s arrows hit. A short, big-boned man also shot very well.

Mrs. Harrod leaned over to her. “Charles will make the final, won’t he?”

Celia smiled and nodded. “I’ve added his scores along with Edward Lyons, and both are doing extremely well.”

“I hope Charles wins, my dear. I would love to see
you
present him the prize. Of course, Edward is our special friend, but not as special as our Charles, is he?”

Celia didn’t know what to reply so just widened her smile.

Edward hadn’t looked at the crowd or her since the competition began, but every time he walked forward to shoot, she sat up straighter in her chair, tense with anticipation. One of his arrows hit dead center and someone off to her left said loud enough for her to hear, “Ah, what’s that Lyons fellow doing here anyway? He should’ve been barred from the contest.”

“You’re right there,” a high-pitched voice added fervently.” Celia recognized the last voice as Mrs. Divers. How utterly rude to speak out so
.
Up until this time, Celia had felt disposed to either Charles or Edward winning. But now, she suddenly felt herself taking up Edward’s part, hoping he would win. After all, hadn’t Charles the approval of his parents and the whole town? He hadn’t undergone suspicion, felt ostracized. She wondered if Edward heard the remark. If he had, he hadn’t given indication. Just then, the fourth round ended.

“Ladies and gentlemen, some mighty fine shooting. As soon as we finish adding the scores, we’ll announce the top three finalists.” In the ensuing minutes, a murmur arose, the crowd speculating who would be in the final group. Finally, the announcer was handed a sheet of paper. He looked at it and nodded his approval. “From here on the old scores will be dropped, starting fresh. I will announce the names in alphabetical order.” He paused for drama. “Charles Harrod. Marcus Kirth. Edward Lyons.”

Celia felt her heart in her throat. Charles looked at his parents and then at her. She smiled and then glanced in Edward’s direction and saw him looking back at her for the first time in the competition. She had almost missed his look when she smiled at Charles. Few, if any, would be rooting for Edward. She held his eyes with hers and gave an encouraging nod. He should know someone was cheering him on.

“The contestants will shoot in the order announced,” the moderator said. “Each will go up to the line individually.” He turned to one of his helpers. “Make sure each archer has a different colored band on his arrows. Each gets three.”

After all was readied, Charles stepped up first, taking his time at the line. The crowd was now very quiet. He drew back his bow and the first arrow hit the bull’s-eye, only an inch away from dead center. The crowd clapped. The two that followed hit inside the gold circle as well. Applause followed each bull’s-eye.

“Three times nine is twenty-seven—top score,” the moderator said. “Next is Mr. Kirth.”

Mr. Kirth hit his three arrows also in the bull’s-eye, but two landed close to the line of the red. The crowd applauded each good shot. The moderator scratched his head. “Another twenty-seven points. I would say that’s about identical scores, wouldn’t you?”

He nodded to Mr. Lyons.

Edward Lyons stepped up deliberately. Slowly he raised his bow, his shoulder muscles bunching up. He let the arrow go. It hit what appeared to be dead center. “Don’t that beat all!” someone said. A smattering of applause followed. Celia glanced back. It was the lanky youth, his eyes gleaming in rapt admiration. Her heart suddenly glowed with affection for the young man. Someone had dared to voice admiration for Edward.

Edward’s second arrow hit next to his first. “Sakes alive!” someone exclaimed in the crowd. Again, a smattering of applause. Celia felt Mrs. Harrod stiffen. She would not for the world hurt her dear friend, but she wanted Edward to win. She would not make an open show of it, but there it was. She held her breath on the third shot. It was about an inch from the other two, about the same distance from center as Charles’s arrows.

The moderator scratched his head. “Same score, twenty-seven points.” He paused, then said, “With those scores, I think we need more distance lads, don’t you?” He glanced around at his assistants. At their approving nods, he said, “Let’s move the target back thirty feet. Make that ten paces,” he added.

Two men lifted the target, counted off the paces and set it down firmly.

The announcer cocked his head. “I think that’ll work.”

Charles stepped up first. He drew his bow back and held it steady before letting the arrow fly. It hit inside the red circle. The crowd clapped. He shot the second. It hit just inside the gold bull’s-eye. The crowd clapped again. He took his time with his third and last arrow. It hit dead center in the bull’s-eye. The crowd went wild. “He done good, real good!” Celia recognized the voice of the lanky boy. She glanced at the Harrods. They both smiled their satisfaction. “That’ll be hard to beat,” Mr. Harrod said in an undertone to his wife.

The second archer placed his foot to the line. He also took his time, waiting an extra second before releasing each of his arrows. The first hit the red ring to the left of the bull’s-eye. The second hit the red on the other side of the gold. He steadied his bow with care for the third and it landed just an inch from Charles’s last arrow in the center. The crowd applauded appreciatively. Kirth had shot well, but clearly, Charles was ahead.

The moderator nodded to Edward. He stepped up to the line. The crowd stilled. Celia’s breathing almost stopped. He lifted the bow, waited, and then released the arrow. It hit alongside Charles’s second arrow just inside the bull’s-eye. The crowd clapped politely. “Oh, boy!” Celia heard to her side. The lanky boy quietly explained to his girl, “That’s the best first shot of this last round.”

Edward lifted his bow, steadied it, then let go the second arrow. It hit the center of the target, side by side, touching Charles’s third arrow. The crowd let out a collective breath; everyone had stopped breathing. Celia found her hands clenched together in her lap. She didn’t dare look at Mrs. Harrod. Her eyes fixed on Edward. If only, if only he could make one more tremendous shot, he would win.

He lifted his bow one last time, held it steady, then released the arrow. It flew across the field, the sharp snap of wood cracked the air. The third arrow had split Charles’s last arrow. Celia was the first to break the silence, clapping furiously. Others in the crowd joined in almost immediately. “He did it! He did it!” the lanky boy yelled. Others joined in yelling. Charles was the first to go up and shake Edward’s hand. Several of the archers went up to congratulate him, then the townspeople. It seemed as if they had forgotten their ill will and now happily claimed him victor. Celia was glad. She finally looked at the Harrods. She knew Mrs. Harrod was disappointed, but saw she had quickly submerged it and was now smiling. Mr. Harrod stepped up to congratulate the winner. “First-rate shooting,” he said.

Mrs. Harrod took Celia’s arm. “Let’s go to the table with the ribbons, my dear. You are presenting, remember?”

19

C
elia took her place beside Mrs. Harrod at the awards table. The announcer stood at Mrs. Harrod’s other side and motioned the contest finalists to line up near Celia. The crowd gathered around them. Edward had donned his suit coat once again and stood with hands clasped in front of him, his shoulders squared. He looked athletic, fit—and handsome.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the announcer shouted, waiting a few seconds for the crowd to quiet, “we now have the honor of presenting the awards to our area’s finest archers. First of all, I’d like to say thank you to all who entered. It made for an entertaining match. Each of us who watched would like to say, well done!” He cleared his throat. “But now for the awards. Miss Celia Thatcher will present the prizes.” He nodded to Celia, then announced, “Third place, Marcus Kirth!”

Mr. Kirth stepped up to the table and Celia shook his hand and handed him a white ribbon. Everyone clapped.

“Second place, Charles Harrod!”

As Celia presented his red ribbon with a handshake, he leaned forward and said under cover of the crowd’s clapping, “If I was first place, I’d ask for a kiss.” He grinned. “I might ask for one later anyway.”

Celia felt her breath catch, not sure how she should respond.

When it became quiet, the announcer beckoned the winner with a broad gesture. “Finally, first place, Edward Lyons!” As soon as his name was called, Edward stepped up and grasped Celia’s hand. Those assembled clapped enthusiastically. Celia was gratified the community’s feeling of goodwill extended to the ceremony. Then just before Edward released her hand, he squeezed it, light shining from his eyes. Her smile involuntarily widened. She felt the special regard he had for her, which he refrained from displaying in front of the crowd. How sensitive and diplomatic of him.

The announcer looked around at those assembled. “Let’s give a final applause for all the contestants!” After the clapping died down, he said, “The awards for the flower show will be next. If everyone will step over to the other side of the refreshment tent, that ceremony will begin in a few minutes.”

As those assembled began breaking up, Edward leaned over to Celia. “May I escort you to the flower awards?”

Charles sidled up to them. “Ah, I was going to offer the same, but, of course, that honor should go to the winner of the archery contest.” The corners of his mouth curved up as he looked at Celia. “Later, though!”

Edward held out his arm and Celia rested her hand on it. As they started to walk she said, “Your shooting was wonderful.”

He looked down at her. “Your saying that means a lot.” Then he grinned from ear to ear. “I take it you recognized me when I came on the field.”

“Oh!” Celia laughed. “You will never know the start you gave me, the picture in your mother’s sitting room come to life. You cannot imagine how I felt.”

He reached up to rub his chin. “Stripped myself of the current fashion—for you, my dear.”

She felt the blood rise to her face. His “my dear” felt so different. . . . She searched for words to lighten their conversation. He placed his free hand over hers, drawing her closer. In the protection of his stature and strength, she felt buoyed along. Despite his longer legs, they fell in step as if they had walked together for years.

A stream of people headed for the flower awards. Children ran hither and yon between the adults walking in pairs or trios, but Celia was scarcely conscious of anyone else. She hardly knew where Mr. and Mrs. Harrod were, or Mr. and Mrs. Chestley—even Charles. This was Edward’s time of triumph and by extension, hers. For these minutes, she was his companion by right of his win. They could walk together in full view of everyone, and no one would question the propriety.

How good it must be for Edward to feel free from public shame. She had not thought much of such a thing, but now she put herself in his shoes. Particularly for a man of his background, the proud Boston Brahmin, his soul must have felt tortured under the cloud of suspicion regarding Marguerite. She didn’t know what had happened, but for now, she would just enjoy these moments with him.

They approached the tables of flowers.

“Isn’t that a beautiful sight?” she asked. Pinks, yellows, whites, reds, purplish blues in different shades were amassed before them. Sweet fragrance with a hint of musk and spice wafted up in the surrounding air. “A veritable Garden of Eden.”

He smiled down at her. “It seems an Eden to me this moment.”

His words drew her into the exclusive circle of those he respected and cherished. Her hand pressed his arm to let him know she felt the honor of it, even as he had pressed her hand minutes ago.

Looking up at him, his eyes held hers, saying something she could not read. They were like a dark pool, a place where one found refreshment for soul and body. Like the pool by the large tree in his woods, where on his urging, she and Mr. Chestley had gone one afternoon. They had walked quite a ways before coming upon it. In the lovely quiet with occasional leaves rustling, they had both become taciturn. Mr. Chestley stood on the water’s edge and after a minute, told her when he was a boy, he and other lads had gone swimming in it. They tied a rope to one of the tree’s big limbs and jumped in feet first. A spring fed it so that it was bracing on the hottest day.

Celia finally looked away from the steady gaze in Edward’s eyes. She would like to be standing by that pool now, with only this man at her side, the two of them alone without these people around. His nearness, his warmth enveloped her. Suddenly, she wanted that warmth to surround her, his arms holding her close.

Oh dear! This was exactly what she was afraid of, the effect he was beginning to have on her.

Stirring herself to action, she slowly slipped her hand from his arm and took a step away. “Thank you for your escort,” she said in an undertone.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” Mr. Harrod’s voice rose over the crowd. “We’re about to present the awards for the flower show. If everyone would be quiet, please.”

Charles sauntered up and stood on Celia’s other side, and then Mr. and Mrs. Chestley by him. Then she saw Mrs. Adams ask people to move so that she could join Edward.

“Well, Celia,” Charles said, “you ready to win a prize?”

“I don’t know about that.” Celia looked over to single out Mrs. Chestley. “I will have to say that the climber I entered did very well despite years of neglect.”

Mrs. Chestley scrunched up her nose. “My dear, that climber was all but past redemption and I never claimed to have done it any good. I told you if it could be brought back from near death, you could enter it and take the well-deserved credit.”

“Thank you.” Celia crinkled up her nose in affectionate response.

“And now, ladies and gentlemen,” Mr. Harrod said, “let me present my wife, Mrs. Lydia Harrod, to present the awards.”

Mrs. Harrod stepped up to the ribbon table and looked at the surrounding crowd, smiling. “It has been my honor to help plan this event with our garden club.” She announced the ladies’ names, and the audience gave a round of applause.

“Now, we have a number of categories. The spring flowers were judged a few weeks ago as their bloom time is earlier, so those winners will be announced first.” She began with the spring bulbs, the narcissus and tulips, and progressed through the lilies and irises.

“This next group of flowers are on the tables for all to see. Most of these were cut just this morning for the competition.” She nodded to the array of multi-colored flowers. “I’ll first announce the winners of the early summer flowers; the roses will be separate.”

After announcing the early summer flowers, she walked over to stand by the last group to be awarded.

“As you can see roses reign supreme, and because there are many entries, they’ve been given several categories. We’ll begin with the beloved
Centifolias
. We usually think of them as pink, but this winner is white: Shailer’s White Moss. The grower is Mr. Edward Lyons.”

Celia heard a quiet, “Oh no,” and glanced back. Behind Charles stood Mrs. Divers.

Edward stepped forward to shake Mrs. Harrod’s hand and collect his ribbon. One of the ladies of the garden club brought forward the blooms and set them on an empty side table.

“As you can see,” Mrs. Harrod said, “we are placing each winner out front for everyone’s viewing. With so many categories, we’ll have ‘Best of Show’ announced at the end.”

“Next is a China rose, a beautiful pink that is one of our most well-known and well-loved. Old Blush is the winner, entered by Mrs. Adams. The woman quickly stepped forward to collect her ribbon, and when she turned, smiled to the crowd. Celia noticed that when she stepped back to Mr. Lyons’s side, she turned to him for congratulations.

Mrs. Harrod proceeded to announce the winner in the Bourbon category, and then announced the Tea rose. “This year we have an outstanding example in the climbing
t
ea rose. It is a buff yellow tinged with salmon at it center. The winner is
Gloire de Dijon
submitted by Celia Thatcher.”

As the helper brought a large vase with the blooms dripping luxuriously over its lip, Mrs. Harrod smiled and said, “I saw this plant last year at the side of Mrs. Chestley’s house and it looked terribly woebegone. A special congratulations to Miss Thatcher on her win.” Celia blushed and laughed as she went forward to collect her ribbon. When she stepped back to her place, Charles reached over and gave her shoulder a squeeze. “Good for you!” he whispered loudly.

Mrs. Harrod smiled and said, “Now, we’ll announce ‘Best of Show.’ You see all the flowers lined up on this side table. Any one of them could win. They are beautiful examples of nature that God created.” She led the crowd in a round of applause.

“Now, the winner of ‘Best of Show.’ Let me say one reason we chose this blossom is that the particular entry is not usually seen until later in the season. This beautiful white, many-petaled flower is a descendent or sport of the well-known pink
Centifolia
. When the winner comes to the front, we’d like to hear a few words of advice on how to grow such perfect blooms so early in the season. And, of course, our winner is—Mr. Edward Lyons.”

In the split-second before the crowd burst into applause, Celia heard a gasp. The next moment Edward stepped up to collect the huge blue ribbon for Best of Show, and shook Mrs. Harrod’s hand. Celia heard his “thank you,” and then he turned around to address the crowd of onlookers.

Before he could start speaking, Celia heard a “No! No!” from behind her. A wave of dread coursed through her as she saw Mrs. Divers break through the crowd and march, shaking, up to the front. “He shouldn’t get that award!” she said in an angry, determined voice. “He doesn’t deserve such recognition!”

Mrs. Harrod looked doubtfully at Mrs. Divers. For a full five seconds no one said anything, then Mrs. Harrod said soothingly, “Please, Mrs. Divers, calm yourself.”

“No! It’s shameful for this man to be awarded anything. That man never should have been allowed to stay in this community for the way he treated my Marguerite! He should have gone to prison!”

Celia’s stomach tightened at the venom spewing from the woman. She felt shocked, yet felt for the
mother
in her as well. Then her eyes fastened on Edward, feeling an ago-nizing embarrassment for him. He stood silently, staring at his former mother-in-law, saying nothing, letting her speak without interruption.

“Now, Mrs. Divers,” Mrs. Harrod said. “This is not the time or place to talk about this. Let’s finish the ceremony.”

“Yes, it is the time and the place!” Mrs. Divers’s shaky voice took on a shrillness that carried over the crowd. She looked directly at her former son-in-law. “Oh, how I rue the day you ever set eyes on my daughter!”

Just then, Mrs. Adams said in an undertone that unfortunately carried, “This is terrible, just terrible.” Celia stared at her. That the woman should say anything at this time, how insensitive of her. Celia’s eyes flicked over the crowd. Their eyes were pinned on Edward and Mrs. Divers. They stared horrified, yet fascinated.

“You are cruel, Edward Lyons! You stand here so properly dressed, looking the part of a perfect gentleman. Why, when you first walked up to the archery competition, I hardly recognized you. What are you about, Edward Lyons? Are you out to win another woman’s heart, only to break it like Marguerite’s?”

Celia held her breath, her chest tightening.

At that, Charles strode up and took Mrs. Divers gently by the elbow. Before he could say anything, she shook him off. “Don’t anyone touch me. I’ve been silent long enough. I’ve suffered all this time. My daughter’s death never came to court. It should have! The public is here—now I will have public court. I want this man run out of town.”

“Mrs. Divers!” Mrs. Harrod’s hand fluttered to her throat.

“Yes! He deserves it. My Marguerite would be here today but for him. He killed her. Oh, not with a gun or knife. He didn’t impale her with that cursed bow and arrow of his. Oh, no! It was subtler than that, in a manner a court of law couldn’t prosecute! But he killed her just the same.”

An oppressive silence held the crowd in check. Celia’s limbs felt stiff, frozen. Her eyes flickered to Mr. Lyons. He stood white and mute.

Mrs. Divers shook a crooked finger at him. “You let her die. Alone! You never called the doctor. You
let
her die.
Wished
her dead. It saved you the trouble of divorcing her or killing her outright!” She stood staring at him like an old nemesis, quivering like a leaf in the wind, but determination steeling her. “You were always out for yourself and your own pleasure. You have
no
honor!
”

Celia took her eyes off Mrs. Divers and looked at Edward. The hardness and coldness of his visage was dreadful. If looks could impale, his would have stabbed the old woman. Celia wanted to move, but couldn’t. She wanted to bring comfort, say wise words to mitigate the hatred of the one and the cold disdain of the other, but she couldn’t stir herself.

Mr. Harrod was the first to move. He walked up to Mrs. Divers with decision. “Mrs. Divers, come with me, please.” His voice was gentle but brooked no opposition. “I understand how disturbed you are. Don’t worry; we’ll take care of this.” He took her arm and firmly moved her away from the awards table. “Let’s find Miss Waul.” As soon as he saw Mrs. Divers’s companion, he signaled her to take her friend’s other side. “Let’s find a place away from here.”