Page 27 of The Perfect Rose

“Good morning to ya. We’re coming along just fine, just fine. But the missus doesn’t get a wink of sleep at night, so worried she is about the little noises Henry makes.”

Frederick nodded. “Where is the tyke now?”

“With his mother.”

“I’ve a feeling that won’t be true for long. I’ve brought Miriam with me.” Frederick winked.

“She always does have a soft spot for the wee ones, don’ she? My wife’ll be blessin’ her goodness in our prayers t’night.”

“And what can I do for you today?” Frederick asked.

Mr. Smith scratched his arm. “We’re gettin’ on just fine. But iffen ya’d like to take a walk about the place, I’d be grateful fer yer guidance on anything that needs updating or mendin’.”

“I’ll do that.” Frederick tipped his head to his tenant, and he, Samuel, and Owen tied up their horses to a fence post. A walk around the property without a female in sight was just what Frederick needed.

Chapter Nineteen

Rose didn’t have the fondest memory of babies. When Ash was born, she’d lost all her standing in her own family. He’d been the one tiny human that disrupted her world. The world she’d created through fourteen years of painstaking practice had been all for naught. She’d tried for so long to meet her parent’s impossible standards; when Ash came along, her standards shifted. Where once she was the child on which they pinned their hopes of an advantageous marriage, she turned into just another child that would hopefully not ruin anything for her little brother. Now, she was seen only as a responsibility to marry off quickly and well so that her sisters could have their time for a season and Ash could enter society with an impressive family line to support him. Her parents had put forward twenty thousand pounds to be rid of her. All because of a baby boy.

So while Miriam cooed and awed over the infant she held in her arms, Rose decided to take a walk. Around the side of the small cottage, she came upon a girl with blue eyes and dirty blonde hair weeding in the flower bed.

“Good morning. Would you like any help?” she asked the girl.

The girl looked her up and down, from her pink bonnet to her riding boots. “You don’t look like the sort to get yer hands dirty.”

Rose laughed. “Well then, I’ve fooled you, haven’t I? My name is Rose Gardner. And since I’m named Gardner, I’ve spent much of my life in a flower garden, just as you are today.” Rose pulled off her gloves and the girl’s eyes went wide.

“Rose?” she exclaimed, and her eyes lit with energy. “I don’t like roses. They hurt me; they’re sharp.” She put a hand over her mouth. “But they are so beautiful and they smell good. Just like you. You’re pretty too.”

Rose flinched. How aptly this young girl described her flaws: It didn’t matter how well she looked or smelled, people didn’t like her for her sharp thorns.

“Did you scratch yourself on a thorn?”

The girl nodded.

“What’s your name?”

“I’m Clara, and I’m eight.” The girl held her head high.

Rose liked her instantly. “Well, Clara, roses have thorns for a good reason. The thorns protect the plant from bugs and animals. But when I was a young girl, I learned how to prune a rose bush so that it would be easier to keep weeds out from under it without hurting myself. Would you like me to teach you?”

The girl’s eyes lit with excitement. “I’ll go grab the pruning shears.”

The gentlemen came into view, walking along the fence and inspecting something or other behind her, but she ignored them. She could teach this girl to prune a bush. It would be a service. And unlike her own experience, she would be kind, not use it as a form of torture that would scar her forever. As a child, she’d been instructed not to run or play; the pain that was inflicted on Rose’s heart when she was told she was not allowed to laugh in company arose in her mind. Laughter and joy had been stripped from Rose for almost ten years now. Rose took hold of her heart. She steadied herself with deep breaths. Right now, she would not think of her mother, she would only think of helping Clara.

When the girl returned with the shears and another shovel, Rose smiled. “Thank you, Clara.” She took the shears from the child and convinced her hands not to tremble. “You see, the reason we prune a rose bush is to make the plant put all its power into growing beautiful flowers. If there are too many branches crowded together, or weeds in the ground next to it, the plant has to take care of too many things to be really beautiful.”

Clara’s eyes narrowed in concentration. She bit her lip and turned her attention to the bush. “This plant has lots and lots of branches.”

“Yes, it does. But don’t worry. We will help it to grow the way it should in no time.” Rose knelt down on the ground and Clara joined her. “When we cut a branch from the bush, it’s easiest to begin with the small shoots. If we begin at the base of the plant, it’s likely we will be scratched because all those little shoots wiggle about and get in our way.”

Rose clipped a few of the small shoots and watched them fall to the ground. Then she used the shears to push them to the side so that she didn’t step on them. “Would you like to try?”

Clara took the shears and snipped off a few more of the shoots. Then she pushed them away with the shears just as Rose had.

“Well done. Now we will snip and snip until these small branches allow for us to get a good view of which large branches we want to keep. May I?”

Clara handed over the shears and assisted Rose by pointing out which branches she thought ought to be cut next. They talked about why Rose did or did not choose those branches, and by the time Rose was finished tending to the smaller problems, she was confident Clara had a good hold on where it was the most helpful to prune. The two of them pushed away all the scattered limbs and stepped back to look at their progress.