Sarah's Roses, Book I: Roses of Blue

Chapter IX

Chapter IX

The carriage door opened and I smiled as the April sun warmed my face. Reaching out my hand, covered in a netted, lacy glove, I took the one Beagles offered me and climbed out of the carriage. It was so nice to be home again. Oh, I had enjoyed my stay at the Greyhounds immensely, I always loved going there, but it was still so wonderful to be back. I had been gone a long time. Well over two months. Dear Mrs. Greensten had taken ill and had written my uncle requesting for me to come and help nurse her. My uncle was not quite inclined to let me go, but I badgered him into it. His mother was not getting any younger and she had been ill quite a lot this winter and I was always such a great comfort to her. Of course in the end he yielded. He loved his mother dearly and would do anything to comfort her! The only reason he had hesitated was because he didn’t like me being gone for a long time.

Visiting Mrs. Greensten always brought warmth to my heart. She had often told me I was her favorite grandchild, failing to remember the fact that technically I wasn’t her granddaughter at all. We loved each other anyway and I was very fond of the old lady. She had wanted to keep me longer than the original month and a half, and had even succeeded in dragging it out to two months, but at last I had taken my leave. My birthday was a week away and Uncle Andrew would have never forgiven me if I had stayed away for my birthday.

It was supposed to be a very grand affair. After all, I was turning sixteen and this was to be my debut! My sixteenth birthday ball would be the ball where I would be presented to society. I was looking forward to it and dreading it at the same time! Would I be able to fool society? So far I had managed to get away with my lie only because I lived a rather secluded life with little visitors. Oh there was that dreadful Prissy Missy and her brother, but we rarely saw each other, and apart from going to visit Mrs. Greensten, I had little company other than the people at home. I had been able to keep the secret from all the slaves, from Jeff, even from Elsie. To everyone I was Miss Rose. No one suspected or even came close to thinking that I could have been born out of wedlock. Could society be as easily blinded! And even if I was able to convince everyone that I was indeed Miss Rose, I would still be looked down on, at least a little. After all, my mother had most likely married beneath her and this was highly frowned on. Mrs. Thompson had once called it ‘bad blood’ and said it would no doubt come out in my behavior.

I was too much like my mother and had bad blood in me, I often wondered if it could get any worse. Mother had created scandal when she had run away from home and I often felt people almost expected me to do the same thing. Would I be able to convince society that I was everything a young girl of good education and proper upbringing was supposed to be? Convince them I would not end up like my mother did? I felt like I had to prove my worth to the world! I had to show them that I was not a mistake, that I had meaning, had a purpose for existing.

Back to me climbing out of the carriage.

“Thank you, Beagles,” I said to him once I had gotten out.

“Glad to be home again Miss Rose?”

“Yes, I am. Thank you for coming all the way to Greyhound to pick me up.”

Beagles laughed. “It was no problem at all, Miss Rose, besides, your Uncle was afraid should I not come, we would never get you back.”

I giggled at this statement and walked up the path that led to our front door. My aunt’s flowers were already in full bloom. One thing my aunt and I shared in common was a love for flowers. It was probably the only thing we shared in common. I was still not good enough for my aunt. I would never be good enough and I just had to learn to live with the fact.

As I walked past the beautiful rose bushes that lined the walkway, I could see Kristoffs bent figure tending to them. A dear old man with grey hair and sad eyes, he had the most gentle, humble soul imaginable. He was kind and thoughtful, but he always looked so sad. I do not know the story of his life, he never told it to me, but I guessed it was not at all a happy one. Standing next to Kristoffs was a young man. I didn’t recognize him as any of the household slaves.