Coming Up Roses (31 page)

Although he was almost certain Rose didn’t
want him to, H.L. maneuvered so as to sit between the two ladies
during the church service. It became clear to him as the ritual
progressed that Rose wasn’t familiar with the Episcopalian way of
doing things.

He ventured a question while the three of
them walked to the cab that would return them to the Wild West
encampment. “So, Rose, did you grow up in the Episcopal
Church?”

Her quick frown surprised him. “You know very
well that I grew up in Deadwood—oh.” Her flush was as quick as her
frown had been. “I understand what you mean. No, I went to the
church closest to our farm. It wasn’t Episcopal.”

“
What denomination was it?”

“
What difference does that make?” Annie
snapped. “At least she went to church.”

H.L. turned to Annie. He didn’t understand
her hostility. Even if Rose had told her about the kiss, he ought
to have been forgiven by this time. After all, it wasn’t everyone
for whom H.L. May would attend church. “It only matters to readers,
Mrs. Butler. They’re eager to know all there is to know about Miss
Gilhooley.” It occurred to him that she might also be miffed that
he and Rose were on first-name terms, although he didn’t know why
she should be. It wasn’t any of her business.

“
When I was a small child, the church
didn’t even have a designated denomination, as far as I know,” Rose
said in a rush, as if she were attempting to stave off violence
between her companions.

H.L. gave up trying to wriggle his way into
his companions’ good graces as they approached the hack. He
couldn’t buck Annie’s hostility and Rose’s shyness in the confines
of the cab. He hadn’t regained his full strength yet and wasn’t up
to a verbal battle. Yesterday’s physical one had him aching from
jawbone to toenails.

They returned to the Wild West without more
than two words being spoken by anyone. Once they got there and it
became clear to H.L. that Rose aimed to hang out with Annie for the
rest of the night, he decided his luck was out for the day.

In a foul mood by this time, he said, “Here,”
as he thrust the early edition at Rose. “You can read what I wrote
about you. It’ll appear in tomorrow’s paper.” Handing her another,
smaller, rolled-up package of papers, he said, “This will be coming
out in Wednesday’s paper. It tells about how we rescued Bear in
Winter, too.”

Startled, Rose took the newspapers. “Thank
you. I mean, it’s nice of you to—to bring them to me.”

“
Yeah,” said H.L. “Sure.” As he turned
and slunk away, he felt very low.

Rose watched him go, clutching the newspapers
close to her bosom and feeling both guilty and ashamed. She was
ashamed that she’d kissed him last night, and ashamed that she
hadn’t been nicer to him today. She felt guilty about both of those
things, as well. She was also slightly annoyed with Annie, who had
no reason to dislike Mr. May as much as she seemed to. She also
felt guilty about that, since Annie had been her kindest friend and
a surrogate family to Rose since she joined the Wild West.

“
Fiddlesticks,” she muttered at last.
“I give up.”

Annie sniffed. “I hope you’re not letting
that man take advantage of you, Rose.”

With a sigh, Rose turned and started walking
with her friend toward the Butler tent. “I’m not.” What Annie
didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her. Even more to the point, it wouldn’t
hurt Rose, and at the moment that was more important to her than
anything else.

“
I’m so tired,” she mumbled as they
walked slowly along. “I’ve never been through such a
night.”

“
I’m sure.” As if she regretted her
hard edge, Annie added, “You performed a heroic act yesterday,
Rose. I’m glad Mr. May wrote about it. The colonel will be beside
himself with joy.”

Since Annie smiled at her after she said
those nice things, Rose smiled back. She felt minutely better that
her friend didn’t seem inclined to give her a lecture or question
her about Mr. May’s possible advantage-taking.

More brightly, Annie said, “Let’s take the
papers to my tent, and you can read them to me. That way, I can
enjoy the articles, too, and help look up words if you need me
to.”

“
Thank you, Annie.” Rose felt true
gratitude, because she really did want to read what H.L. had
written about her. She hoped to goodness he’d be kind about her
lack of education and so forth, since she wasn’t eager for the
citizens of Chicago, or anywhere else for that matter, to know what
an uneducated dunce she was.

Since whale boning and Sunday-go-to-church
clothes were all but suffocating her, she persuaded Annie to stop
by her tent before continuing to the Butler abode. There she
removed her corset, stockings, and Sunday shoes, changed into a
simple skirt and shirtwaist and donned her old, soft, worn-down
moccasins. She felt much more comfortable and, therefore, much more
cheerful afterwards.

# # #

“
Oh, look, Annie!” Rose had just opened
the Monday paper. The article about her was featured on the first
page of the second section. “There’s the picture of me that nice
man, Mr. Asher, took that day when he came by to meet us. There’s
one of you, too.” She showed Annie the photographs.

The one of Annie showed her aiming at a
target that looked as if it was about a thousand yards away, thanks
to the angle. She appeared very serious about what she was
doing.

Rose’s photograph, on the other hand, was
much more exuberant. Mr. Asher had captured her in full costume, a
glorious smile on her face, standing on Fairy’s back with her arms
flung in the air, and with one of Chicago’s famous winds blowing
her feathered headdress out behind her. The feathers were blurred
because they’d been in motion, but that only added to the feel of
the picture, which was one of exhilaration and action. At least,
Rose told herself, that’s the feeling she got when she looked at
it, and she was vastly pleased.

She was also pleased because when she first
saw the picture, her first reaction had been to notice how pretty
the girl on the horse was. She only realized a second later that
the pretty girl was her, Rose Gilhooley, and that’s the way she
really looked. It was a delicious discovery, and one Rose hugged
close to her heart, although she knew it was vain of her to do
so.

“
That’s a lovely picture of you.” Even
Annie appeared gratified. “Mr. Asher’s a good
photographer.”

“
I’ll say.”

“
He really captured you, Rose. You’re
such a pretty girl.”

“
Thanks, Annie.” Now Rose was
embarrassed, although she didn’t say anything else, fearing she was
being foolish. It had been Annie herself who’d once told her that
the best thing to do when one paid you a complement was to say,
“Thank you,” and let it go.

Calmer now that she’d viewed the two
photographs, Rose felt slightly less uneasy than she had been
earlier when she started reading H.L.’s article, the one intended
for the Wednesday paper. She was interested to know how he’d
captured the rescue in words. She cleared her throat and began
slowly. She continued slowly, as well, since she hadn’t mastered
the art of reading aloud very well yet.

“‘
Miss Rose Ellen Gilhooley was born in
the rough-and-tumble community of Deadwood, Kansas,” the article
began. Rose looked up at Annie, who was seated nearby, embroidering
a cloak for her white poodle, George.

“
So far, so good.”

Annie chuckled.

Rose’s complaisant mood didn’t last long.
Before long, she was reading even more slowly and with dawning
apprehension. Maybe horror was a better word. “‘The charming Miss
Gilhooley, an uneducated and unlettered young woman’— Oh, Annie!
How could he write that? I don’t care if it’s true, it’s
humiliating!”

Annie had laid aside her embroidery several
sentences ago. Her face was set into a stern frown. “I don’t know,
Rose, but I fear I was right about Mr. May. He’s not a nice man,
and you’d be better off not speaking to him again.”

Wiping tears that, in spite of her
attempt to control them, had leaked from her eyes, Rose said
shakily, “You’re right. What a fool I was to believe him.” Because
she’d already begun reading the article, and because she was driven
by the need to see what other shocks lay in wait for her within
H.L.’s words, Rose continued reading. “‘Unable to read more than
simple, basic words’—” Oh, Annie, that’s not even true!” Rose wiped
away more tears. “Not anymore, anyhow. I’m learning. He didn’t even
give me credit for
learning
!”

“
The man’s a monster,” Annie stated
flatly.

Rose found she didn’t want to disagree with
Annie’s harsh assessment of H.L. May’s character. She no longer
entertained the slightest inclination to defend him. She hated him.
She wanted to take up one of Annie’s guns and shoot him dead.

“‘
Although the ravishing’— What does
ravishing mean, Annie?” She wasn’t sure she wanted to
know.

“
He finds you attractive,” said Annie
through seriously clenched teeth.

Well, that was something, anyway. Rose
sniffed. “‘Although the ravishing Miss Gilhooley is unlettered and
unso’—Fiddlesticks. I hate it when he uses big words. What
does
u-n-s-o-p-h-i-s-t-i-c-a-t-e-d
spell?”

“
Unsophisticated.”

“
Oh.” Rose heaved a huge sigh and
decided she guessed she was unsophisticated all right, although she
despised H.L. for revealing this flaw to the whole world. Without
further comment, she continued. “‘Although the unsophisticated Miss
Gilhooley knows little or nothing about life in a big city, she
proved herself to be an ace at tracking down lost
children.’”

Crumpling the newspaper as she lowered it to
her lap, she gazed at the far side of Annie’s tent for a moment,
contemplating the words she’d just read. “Did that sound sarcastic
to you, or am I imagining it?” she asked at last.

Annie had picked up her embroidery again,
although the sour expression on her face hadn’t gone away. “I don’t
believe you’re imagining a thing, dear. I think he’s making fun of
you.”

Rose’s heart crunched painfully. “That’s what
I was afraid of.” She lifted the paper and went on, grimly
determined to finish the article and learn the worst.

It took a long time, since she had to
spell out many of the bigger words H.L. had used in the
article.
He
, obviously,
hadn’t missed out on an education. Blast him.
He
could fling words around as if they were
nothing at all.
He
could
annihilate Rose Gilhooley in the newspaper with ease and facility.
He probably thought Rose was too stupid to read the article in the
first place.

Or . . . Maybe that wasn’t true. Maybe he’d
given her the newspaper to prove to her exactly what he thought of
her, which was pretty much nothing except on a superficial level.
She amused him. That much was clear. He thought she was pretty.
That was clear, too. But he despised her as beneath him. That was
painfully obvious.

Rose wanted to shoot him. Then she wanted to
shoot herself. Then she wanted to jump up and down on him, wearing
the one pair of heavy boots she owned. Then she wanted to throw him
into Lake Michigan and laugh as he drowned.

She wanted to die.

“
Rose, look at me.”

Rose lifted her head and looked at Annie. She
couldn’t remember the last time she’d been this miserable, unless
it was when her father had died. Or maybe when she’d departed
Deadwood to join the Wild West, leaving her mother and brother and
sisters behind. This felt worse even than that.

“
You will
not
allow that man to make you unhappy,” Annie
commanded.

“
Oh?” She couldn’t make herself ask
Annie how to accomplish that feat. Anyhow, it was beyond her since
H.L. May had made her unhappy already.

“
No. You will not. You will not speak
to him again, and you won’t fall for any more of his
‘I-want-to-interview-you’ tactics. The man has no morals and is a
fiend.”

“
He is? A fiend, I mean.”

Annie gestured at the newspaper. “Would he
have called you an unschooled bumpkin if he wasn’t a fiend?”

Rose winced when she recalled that part of
the article. “No, I guess he wouldn’t have.”

“
He is an insensitive boor, and if you
take my advice, you’ll refuse to see him again.”

Rose’s heart felt as if it were being gripped
in an eagle’s talons. It hurt so badly. Here she’d begun to believe
H.L. May wanted to be her friend. If she were brutally honest with
herself, she’d own up to something else. She’d begun to harbor a
faint wish that he wanted more than friendship from her.

Annie went on, interrupting Rose’s train of
thought. “I hope to heaven that man hasn’t taken any liberties with
you, Rose. If he has, he’s worse than a scoundrel.”

“
Liberties?” Rose almost cried out in
torment when she recalled that kiss. Had that been a liberty? It
had felt like heaven. Rose heaved a huge sigh. Yup. It had been a
liberty. And she was a simple-minded fool. “No,” she lied. “He
hasn’t taken liberties.”

“
Hmph. I wouldn’t put it past him.”
Annie again laid her embroidery aside. She got up and joined Rose,
who was sitting on the bed, and put her arms around her. “Oh, Rose,
I’m so sorry. I know how much this article hurt you. It made me
angry, too, although perhaps we’re making more of it than is really
there.”