A Rose Revealed (15 page)

“What do you think you’re doing?” Jake barked.

“Isn’t it obvious,” I panted as I heaved again.

He slapped at my arm. “Let go, Rose. Go get help.”

I stood and looked at the dark house. “I don’t think anyone’s home.”

Jake tried to see over his shoulder, but he couldn’t. With an exasperated sigh, he rested his head on the ground. “Elam’s probably still here, either mooning over Mary Clare in the dark or already in bed asleep. Just go get him.”

“Elam! Elam!” I rushed inside and started up the steps to the family quarters. “Help! Jake’s fallen.”

I was almost to the top of the stairs when a giant shadow loomed out of the dark, scaring me so much I screamed.

The shadow screamed back, and I recognized Elam’s voice.

“Help, Elam! Jake’s fallen!”

We rushed outside, and it wasn’t until Elam stubbed his toe on the rock that had upended Jake that I realized he was in his stocking feet.

From his position on the ground, Jake gave a grunt of satisfaction as he watched his brother grab his aching foot.

“Like sharing the pain?” Elam asked as he limped to Jake.

“Like sharing the indignity,” Jake retorted.

In no time Elam had the wheelchair righted, and we both went with Jake to his apartment in spite of his frequent requests that we both leave him alone. On the way I took a short side trip to my car for my emergency kit.

Jake was stoic as I cleaned and disinfected the scrapes on his palms and left cheek.

“You need some of that orange stuff like you had on your forehead,” Elam said as he watched. “It hurts a lot when they put it on, doesn’t it? He’d look so cute painted like a fruit.”

“Go away!” Jake jumped from the sting of the disinfectant. I wasn’t sure if he meant Elam or me, but I wasn’t finished yet, so I ignored him.

“You’re in a sour mood.” Elam scowled at his brother.

“Look who’s talking.”

“Boys, boys, enough. We’ve all had a hard night.”

“Good night, Elam,” Jake said.

“Ingrate,” muttered Elam as he left. We could hear him limping upstairs.

When I attacked the remaining cinders in his left palm, Jake grabbed my arm. “Stop, Rose. You need to go too.”

I looked into his black eyes. “I can’t go yet. You’ll get an infection.”

“I can take care of myself.” His voice was like the lick of a whip.

I flinched and dropped his hand as if it burned. “You’re right. You can.”

I set the disinfectant on the end table next to the little blue Pockets car. I heard him sigh as I picked up my purse and started for the door. I told myself I wasn’t hurt by his attitude, that he had more right to be distressed than I, that it was just his pride kicking in.

Well, I had pride too.

“Rose.”

I ignored him.

He muttered under his breath and followed me through the door and to the bottom of my stairs. As I took the first step, he grabbed my arm again.

“Rose, I—” He looked up at me, but I couldn’t read his expression in the dim light that escaped from his apartment. He sighed again. “Thank you.”

“Um.” I was still miffed. “Don’t take your frustration out on Elam and me, Jake. It’s not our fault.” I put my hand over his where it rested on my arm.

He nodded. “I know.”

I tried to smile. “You have been there for me these last few days in the most unbelievable way. I want to be there for you. Friendship and caring go both ways. You’ve got to let me help you. As Esther would say, you don’t want to take my blessing, do you?”

He stared at me, his face grim. “Some blessing.” Then he looked away, his mouth tight with frustration and pain. Slowly he turned the hand gripping my arm palm up until he clasped my hand in his. In a choked voice he said, “Thank you, Tiger. For being you. For putting up with me.”

He squeezed my hand hard and was gone.

Chapter 8

G
ood morning, Mary,” I said as I walked into the kitchen the next morning.

Mary smiled sweetly at me, though I thought she seemed a bit less serene than usual.

Jake, on the other hand, didn’t even look at me. He continued drinking his coffee as if I weren’t in the room.

“Good morning to you too, Jake,” I said brightly.

He grunted but didn’t look up. I decided he was still upset over last night.

Mary slipped another egg into the pan with Jake’s and continued the conversation she was having with her son.

“I’ll pack a sandwich and a piece of apple pie and some chips for you to take to school. Will cold meat loaf be all right?”

“Whatever.”

“It’s no bother. I want to do it. And your laundry. I’ll get it later this morning. Esther and I are washing all day. That is, she’s washing and hanging out to dry and I’ll fold and iron when I get back from Annie’s.”

“I don’t want you to do my laundry, Mom.” While the words sounded considerate, his tone didn’t. It was downright belligerent. “I’m going to get one of those little washer-dryer combinations.”

I smiled, thinking of our earlier conversation about his doing more for himself. I poured hot water over my teabag.

“No, no.” Mary pulled toast from a wire rack over an open burner on the small propane stove. “I’ll do it.”

“Mom, I said no.” Jake’s voice was as cold and abrupt as his stare.

Mary lifted her chin as if she had received a blow to it, but she said nothing. She slid our eggs onto plates and put them on the table in front of us along with the toast and homemade strawberry jam.

After a minute or two during which Jake and I buttered our toast without his once looking in my direction, Mary said, “I think we’ll have pork and sauerkraut this evening. Do you like that, Rose? Some people don’t like sauerkraut, but our family always has.”

I nodded around a mouthful of food and she kept on talking. I looked at her with interest. Such volubility was not common for her.

“I can’t decide on the sauerkraut with caraway seed in it or not. What do you think, Jake? Rose?”

I shrugged. “I have no opinion. I’ve never eaten it with caraway seeds.”

Jake ignored the question though I noticed his eyebrows drawing ever closer together the longer Mary talked.

“And we’ll have mashed potatoes and that wonderful applesauce Esther made. She put just a bit of cinnamon in it and it is delicious. Don’t you think
iss gut
, Jake? You’ll love it, Rose. You really will. Chust the tiniest taste of cinnamon. She’s such a good girl, our Esther, such a nice girl. And she can cook so good. If I’ve told her once, I’ve told her a hundred times, ‘you will a good wife be to some man.’ Don’t you think so, Rose? Don’t you—”

“Mom, please!” Jake skewered his mother with a ferocious gaze. He’d obviously reached and surpassed his tolerance level for chitchat. “Be quiet, will you? I’m trying to eat here.”

“Jake!” I looked at him with censure.

In response he drained his coffee mug—this one read New Holland Farm Machinery—and turned abruptly away. He rolled out of the room without a look or word.

I stared after him. Where had the gentle and helpful man of the weekend gone? Something was wrong, something more than the accident. The question was, could I get him to tell me what it was before he hurt anyone else?

I turned to Mary. “Are you all right? I’m so sorry he spoke to you like that.”

She smiled sadly. “He was like that a lot when he first came home from rehab, but he hasn’t been in one of his black moods for quite some time.”

“Black mood or not, there’s no excuse for talking to anyone, let alone your mother, in that tone of voice.”

“It’s all right,” she said. “Things are hard for him.”

“So what? Things are hard for a lot of people. Look at me. I’m dead. But I’m polite.”

Mary blinked. “What?”

I remembered that she didn’t know about my recent demise. “Nothing,” I mumbled. “A poor joke.”

She looked at me, confused, then turned and walked into the shed-like addition that housed the wringer washing machine that Elam had rigged to work on a twelve-volt battery.

I finished my breakfast thoughtfully. There was a bomber out there who seemed to want me dead, I was pretending to be dead and was hurting and confusing lots of people by doing so, and all I could think of was Jake and his inexplicable anger.

Or was it all I could think about was Jake, period? I thought of him before I fell asleep and first thing when I awoke. I thought about seeing him as I came down the stairs.

Now I thought about him as I waited at the window for him to roll down the sidewalk on his way to the van and school. As soon as I saw him, I threw open the front door and met him where the front walk met the walk that circled the house to his front door.

It was obvious he planned to ignore me, so I planted myself in the middle of the walk, blocking his movement.

“Jake, what’s wrong?” My voice shook a bit with anger and distress in spite of my best efforts. I looked at his impassive face and thought I’d never before cared about anyone the way I cared about him.

“You’re in my way, Rose.”

I looked at him, overwhelmed with the need to hear him call me Tiger. Instead his voice was cool, disinterested. It would have given my mother’s a good run for the impassivity sweepstakes.

“Please move,” he told my belt buckle, “or I’ll be late for class.”

“Not until you talk to me,” I said. “Or look at me.”

“We’ve got nothing to talk about.” He rolled forward until his footplate rested against my shin. Then he looked up pointedly.

His eyes were black holes in his unhappy face. His hands were clenched so tightly around the wheels of his chair that the knuckles were white. Hawk ambled over just then and nudged Jake’s knee. Automatically he reached out and petted the animal, but his other hand remained white knuckled.

“Jake, what’s wrong?” I repeated. “Please tell me. Is it last night? If so, don’t worry. The accident meant nothing to me. You know that. I’m a nurse, for heaven’s sake. I’ve seen far worse.”

He snorted. “Last night was but one more reminder that I am not what I was.”

I smiled, though I imagined it looked a bit forced and artificial. What I said was absolutely true. “I happen to like what you are.”

He looked at me with something like pity. “Give it a rest, Rose. I will not be one more of your charity cases. Rose the Resourceful helping poor Jake the Judged-and-Found-Wanting.”

For some reason his snideness angered me. “Oh, grow up,” I said, the picture of maturity myself. “So life isn’t perfect.”

He made his deep-in-the-throat noise. “I’m going to be late for school. Move.” He put pressure on my shins by rolling his chair a wee bit forward.

“You can give me black and blue shins, but I’m not moving. I can’t. Not until you tell me what’s wrong. Have I done something? If so, tell me.” I hated the pleading note that had crept into my voice. I cleared my throat and tried for authority. “Tell me!”

“My problems are none of your business, Rose.” He spit the words like lethal darts from a blowgun. “If your living here means you’re going to probe where you’re not wanted, maybe we’d better reconsider.”

His words were so unexpected and painful that I actually took a step backward. “Jake! You don’t mean that!”

He didn’t answer but stared over my left shoulder in the general direction of the great barn. I tried to think of some smart remark to cover my hurt, but none came. Without thinking I reached out and brushed a lock of silky, dark hair off his forehead. He jerked as if I’d burned him.

“Rose,” he said through clenched teeth, “I’d appreciate it if you kept your hands to yourself. And while we’re talking so nicely here, don’t ever, ever apologize for me again.” His voice shook with rage.

“Why not?” I blazed back. “Someone had to. You were absolutely terrible to your mother.”

He shrugged. “She’s used to it.”

“And that’s an excuse?”

“Rose.” He skewered me with the same gaze he’d used on Mary. “Leave. Me. Alone. This is not a request.”

I actually felt the blood drain from my face. “That’s really what you want?” The words were a mere whisper.

“Yes,” he said, his voice steady. “That’s what I want.”

I thought I’d rarely seen such pain and resignation in anyone’s eyes as I saw in his. I also saw strong resolve. Whatever was making him be so hateful and hurtful this morning was causing him much more pain than he was meting out, but he was determined not to bend, no matter how great his inner anguish. I stepped off the path and let him pass. Hawk padded after him to the van and then returned to stand by me.

“Talk to him for me, boy?” I whispered as I watched the van disappear down the road. “Tell him it’s okay. He’s okay.”

Hawk answered by pushing his wet nose against my palm.

I went up to my rooms and cried as I emptied my suitcases into the drawers and hung my clothes on the wall pegs.

In spite of my tears, I knew one thing: I was not leaving the farm, especially when I had no idea what was wrong. Besides, I had no apartment left to go back to and the police wanted me to be dead and hide here.

Ha!
I said to an imaginary Jake.
You’re stuck with me, boy-o
.

It was midmorning when Lem Huber called me.

“I think we’ve established quite credibly that you’re dead,” he began, “but I need to know that you are truly safe where you are.”

“I can’t imagine a safer place,” I said. “The lives of the people here and the people in the rest of my life don’t intersect. Also, no one knows I was thinking of moving from my old place, let alone moving to a farm.”

“How did you meet these people in the first place?” Lem asked.

“I came here in the summer on an emergency run and then I was assigned as home health nurse for Mary, the one who fell. I became friends with the family.”

“Especially Jake?”

I laughed shortly. “That’s a moot point at the moment.”

He waited but I chose not to explain.

“Well,” he finally said. “I’ll check in every couple of days.

“Sounds good. Do you have any leads? Any idea how long I’ll have to be dead?”

“We’ve leads, but no evidence that would allow an arrest and conviction.”