Black Rose

and pride had built around her heart.
    The man she loved.
    She could live her life alone if need be, but what did it prove? That she was self-sufficient, independent, strong, and able. She knew those things, had been those things—and would always be those things.
    And she could be courageous, too.
    Didn’t it take courage, wasn’t it harder to blend one life with another, to share and to cope, to compromise than to live that life alone? It was work to live with a man, to wake up every day prepared to deal with routine, and to be open to surprises.
    She’d never shied away from work.
    Marriage was a different kettle at this stage of life. There would be no babies made between them. But they could share grandchildren one day. They wouldn’t grow up together, but could grow old together.

    They could be happy.
    They always lie. They’re never true.
    Roz stood in the same spot, on a gentle rise at the edge of the woods. But In the Garden was gone. There were fields, stark with winter, barren trees, and the feel of ice on the air.
    “Not all men,” Roz said quietly. “Not always.”
    I’ve known more than you.
    She walked across the fields, insubstantial as the mist that began to spread, a shallow sea, over the bare, black ground. Her white gown was filthy, as were her naked feet. Her hair was a tangle of oily gold around a face bright with madness.
    Fear blew through Roz like a sudden, vicious storm. But she planted her feet. She’d ride it out.
    The light had gone out of the day. Heavy clouds rolled over the sky, smothering the blue with black, a black tinged with violent green.
    “I’ve lived longer than you,” Roz said, and though she couldn’t stop the shudder as Amelia approached, she stood her ground.
    And learned so little. You have all you need. A home, children, work that satisfies you. What do you need with a man?
    “Love matters.”
    There was a laugh, a wet chortle that screamed across Roz’s nerves. Love is the biggest lie. He will fuck you, and use you, and cheat and lie. He will give you pain until you are hollow and empty, until you are dried up and ugly. And dead.
    Pity stirred under the fear. “Who betrayed you? Who brought you to this?”
    All. They’re all the same. They’re the whores, though they label us so. Didn’t they come to me, ram their cocks into me, while their wives slept alone in their saintly beds?
    “Did they force you? Did—”
    Then they take what’s yours. What was mine!

    She slammed both fists into her belly, and the force of the rage, the grief, and the fury knocked Roz back two full steps.
    Here was the storm, spewing out of the sky, bursting out of the ground, swirling though the fog and into the filthy air. It clogged Roz’s lungs as if she were breathing mud.
    She heard the crazed screams through it.
    Kill them all! Kill them all in their sleep. Hack them to bits, bathe in their blood. Take back what’s mine. Damn them, damn them all to hell!
    “They’re gone. They’re dust.” Roz tried to shout, but could barely choke out the words. “Am I what’s left?”
    The storm stopped as abruptly as it began, and the Amelia who stood in the calm was one who sang lullabies to children. Sad and pale in her gray dress.
    You’re mine. My blood . She held out a hand, and red welled in the palm. My bone. Out of my womb, out of my heart. Stolen, ripped away. Find me. I’m so lost.
    Then Roz was alone, standing on the springy grass at the edge of the woods with what she’d built spread out below her.

    SHE WENT BACK to work because work steadied her. The only way she could wrap her mind around what happened at the edge of the woods was to do something familiar, something that kept her hands occupied while her brain sorted through the wonder of it.
    She kept to herself because solitude soothed her.
    Through the afternoon she divided more stock plants, rooted cuttings. Watered, fed, labeled.
    When she was done, she walked home through the woods and raided her personal greenhouse. She planted cannas in a spot she wanted to dramatize, larkspur and primroses where she wanted more charm. In the shade, she added some ladybells and cranesbill for serenity.
    Her serenity, she thought, could always be found here, in the gardens, in the soil, in the shadow of Harper House. Under that fresh blue sky she knelt on the ground, and studied what was hers.
    So lovely with its soft yellow stone, its sparkling glass, its bridal white trim.
    What secrets were trapped in those