Black Rose

you.”
    Dismissing Jan, Roz turned back to Mandy. “Mandy, did I seem mad when you arrived at my door with Bryce for my holiday party?”
    “Of course you were mad. You turned us away, didn’t you, when he was only trying to make peace with you.”
    “We can disagree on what he was trying to do. How did I seem mad? Did I shout and scream?”
    “No, but—”
    “Did I curse and push you physically out the door?”
    “No, because you’re cold-blooded, just like he says. Just like plenty others say when you’re not around to hear. You waited until we were gone to go in and say awful things about us.”
    “Did I?” She turned, determined now to finish it out. “Most of you were there that night. Maybe someone here could refresh my memory, as I can’t recall saying awful things.”
    “You did nothing of the sort.” Mrs. Haggerty, one of Roz’s oldest customers and a pillar in the gardening community, pushed her way through. “I’m as interested in juicy gossip as the next, and don’t mind some enhancements to a story, but these are outright lies. Rosalind comported herself with absolute propriety under extremely difficult circumstances. And, young lady, she was kind to you, I saw that with my own eyes. When she came back inside, she said nothing whatsoever about you or that unfortunate bastard you’ve chosen to champion. If there’s anyone here who can say different than that, let’s hear it.”
    “She didn’t say a word against you,” Cissy put in, and gave a wicked smile. “Even when I did.”
    “He said you’d try to turn people against me.”
    “Why would I do that?” Roz said, wearily now. “But you’ll have to believe what you have to believe. Personally, I’m not interested in speaking of this, or to you, any longer.”
    “I have as much right to be here as you.”
    “You certainly do.” To end it, Roz turned away, walked to a table across the room, and sat down to finish her tea.
    Ten humming seconds of silence followed, until Mandy burst into tears and ran from the room. A few women hustled after her after shooting glances at Roz.
    “Lord,” Roz said when Mrs. Haggerty sat down beside her, “she is young, isn’t she?”
    “Young’s no excuse for being flat-out stupid. Rude, on top of it.” She looked up with a nod as Cissy moved to join them. “Surprised at you.”

    “At me? Why?”
    “For speaking straight for a refreshing change.”
    Cissy shrugged, sat. “I like ugly scenes, and I won’t deny it. Sure does spice up a dull day. But I don’t like Bryce Clerk. And sometimes speaking straight makes things more interesting anyway. Only thing better would’ve been seeing Roz give that bobble-headed fool Mandy a good smack. Not your style, though,” she said to Roz.
    Then she touched a hand to Roz, gently. “You want to leave, I’ll go with you.”
    “No, but thanks. I’ll stick it out.”
    SHE GOT THROUGH the meeting. It was a matter of grit, and of duty. When she got home she changed, then slipped out the back to go in the gardens, to sit on her bench in the cool and study the little signs of coming spring.
    Her bulbs were spearing up, the daffodils and hyacinths that would burst into bloom before too long. The crocus were already in flower. They came so soon, she thought, left so early.
    She could see the tight buds on her azaleas, and the faint haze on the forsythia.
    While she sat, the control she’d locked into place wavered, so she was allowed, finally, to shake inside. With rage, with insult, with temper, with hurt. She gave herself the gift of swimming in the sea of all those dark emotions while she sat, alone in the quiet.
    While she sat, the fury peaked, then ebbed, until she could breathe clear again.
    She’d done the right thing, she decided. Faced it down, though she’d hated doing so in public. Still it was always better to face a fight than it was to run from it.
    Had he thought she would? she wondered. Had he thought she’d break apart in public, run off in humiliation to lick her wounds?
    She imagined he did. Bryce had never understood her.
    John had, she thought, studying the arbor where his roses would ramble and bloom for her from spring into the summer, and well into fall. He had understood her, and he’d loved her. Or at least he’d understood and loved the girl she’d been.
    Would he love the woman she’d become?
    An odd thought, she decided, tipping her head back, closing her eyes. She might not be the woman she was if he’d