Page 49 of A Late-Blooming Rose
“I want him to stay home when everyone else drives to Mr. Bly’s. Joshua and I can easily go in Papa’s place to carry out his wishes.”
Rose shook her head, not seeing Andre detaching from his latest scheme. “He’s already so involved.”
“If I just ask him to remain and rest, he’ll refuse. If I insist, I’ll hurt his feelings, which is the last thing I’d ever want to do. Nor do I want to shame him in front of the community by ordering him to stay home.”
“I understand,” Rose murmured, feeling helpless.
“So we’ll need more subtlety. If you could come up with areasonfor Papa to remain home, to stay back because he’s yourhost….”
Oh, no. Ohhhh, no! I can’t be alone with Andre.
“Maybe something to do with books?” Her hazel eyes pleaded.
Delia’s concern penetrated Rose’s reluctance, increasing her worry about Andre’s health.As much as I want to, I can’t deny her appeal.“I suppose…I could be too fatigued, ill, maybe, to go.” Although, she didn’t want to stay back from the expedition, pleading a headache or other illness would make an acceptable excuse.
Even as Rose thought the words, she became aware of how drained she felt. Socializing with strangers at the tea party—even though everyone but Mrs. Cobb was friendly—had definitely sapped her energy.
Delia’s expression brightened. “Yes, you suffering from fatigue would work. Papa wouldn’t want you left all by yourself.” She gestured toward the sofa. “You could rest here. Recline with a cup of tea and a book.” Their plotting must have made her feel better, for she gifted Rose with an impish smile. “You can’t tell me that’s not one of your favorite activities.”
“A bookworm can never have too many opportunities to read,” Rose admitted, with a rueful smile. “I can’t remember when last I read for my own pleasure. I’ve spent so much time reading aloud to my brother to keep his mind occupied during his illness. His choice of books usually involved history, philosophy, biographies, natural sciences…not that I didn’t like those, too.” She reached up to rub the skin between her eyebrows. “But the mechanical sciences and technology books he enjoyed often made my brain ache. Perhaps if I’d had a degree in engineering, I’d feel differently. Sometimes, at least, I persuaded Marty to listen to one of the classics or a book of poetry.”
Delia chuckled and took a few steps to pat the shelf of her bookcase. “If you’re supposedly not feeling well tomorrow, then you’d probably prefer to read something more relaxing. After all, we must properly set the scene to convince my father. I have plenty of the latest novels. Papa buys them direct from his sources in New York. He doesn’t wait for them to trickle across the country.”
“He would,” Rose said dryly.
Yanking out a book, Delia held it up. “Have you readThe Country of the Pointed Firsby Sarah Orne Jewett? Or if you’d like something spooky,The Library Windowby Mrs. Oliphant?”
The new titles caught Rose’s interest. “Either or both.”
Delia selected a second one, stacked the volume on top of the first, and held both with one arm, while she searched the shelves for another. “Or this marvelous book of poetry by A.E. Houseman.” She pulled out the book, touched the spine to her chest, and let out a breath. “A Shropshire Lad. Beautiful and haunting, with such distinctive imagery.” She added the slim volume to the pile. “I’ll call your attention to the poem I’ve bookmarked. ‘To an Athlete Dying Young.’” She handed Rose the books. “Gave me the shivers.”
“I’ll gladly read all three, although I’m supposed todistractyour father, not wile away the day with my own pleasures.”
Delia laughed. “I supposed I became carried away. You know how books can do that to a person.”
“One of their greatest appeals.” In perfect clarity, they grinned at each other.
“As a distraction for your father, though….” Rose tapped her chin. “My brother willed some books to Andre, which I know your father coveted. They’re in a crate that must be in the attic. His name is printed on the side, to distinguish it from mine. He and I could unpack those volumes together, talk about integrating them into his collection. That will certainly keep him busy.”
“Marvelous!” Delia briefly clasped her hands together. “You know Papa very well.”
“Not really,” Rose demurred. “We haven’t spoken in years.”
“Some things don’t change.” Delia inhaled a breath, a thoughtful expression on her face. Once again, she took Rose’s hand. “There’s something I must tell you, something I think you should know.” She tilted her head toward the sofa. “Come, let’s sit for a moment.”
Rose wasn’t sure she was ready for any more intimacy with Andre’s daughter. All she wanted now was to retreat to her room and take a nap before supper. But, obediently, she followed Delia to the sofa and took a seat, shifting to face her.
“Papa and I have a secret, which I think he’d want you to know, but because he’s protective of me, he won’t tell you.” She hesitated.
Rose waited, hiding her impatience for this conversation to be over.
“Papa wasn’t married before he met you. He had a mistress in New Orleans—a quadroon mistress. My mother. She never told him about me. I’m illegitimate with Negro blood.” She glanced down at her hands, dusky pink staining her cheeks.
Shock made Rose reel and her stomach clench. She inhaled a sharp breath and slowly let it out. Later, she’d mull over her reaction. Now, all she could see was the vulnerability of the woman before her. She reached to take Delia’s hand. “How brave of you to share your story. I’m honored you trust me.”
Delia looked up and, with relief in her eyes, squeezed Rose’s hands. “Joshua and his parents know, of course. Caleb and Edith…well you might have sensed Papa’s animosity. We stayed with them originally, but they discovered our secret and were most upset. They asked us to leave.”
“Then I can certainly understand your father’s feelings.” Indignation sharpened her tone. “That was most uncharitable of them.”
