A Rose Before Dying by Amy Corwin Read Free Book Online

stout heel and stalked
out, leaving Rose staring at Ariadne as if she had never seen her
before.
    “Would you like to help me?” Ariadne turned
to the table and delicately shook loose a few more seedlings from
the wooden tray where they had sprouted. “I’m making new
roses.”
    “Roses?” The child took a step forward, her
blue eyes flashing with curiosity. “Like me?”
    “Rose bushes. Here—watch what I do and see if
you can help me. We pick up each tiny plant—be careful, they’re
delicate—and poke a finger into the dirt in one of these larger
pots.” She pointed to a series of five-inch pots arrayed on the
bench in front of her. “Tuck the plant’s roots—those white hairs at
the bottom—into the soil and gently press the dirt around them.
See?” She held up a pot containing one of the tiny seedlings.
    “Why’re there so many?” Rose stood next to
the table and clasped her hands solemnly behind her back as if
afraid to touch anything.
    “Well, they’re, um, seedlings . That
is, they’re new roses. I don’t know what they will look like when
they grow older. So we plant a lot of them in hopes that one or two
will be beautiful new roses.”
    “You think some’ll die, then? So’s you’ve
lots so some’ll live?” she asked with surprising and sad maturity.
“Harry says that’s why there’re so many children. ‘Cause you never
know, do you? Some’ll die.”
    “Yes.” She hugged Rose briefly before
carefully placing a few seedlings and pots within reach of her tiny
fingers.
    Rose didn’t immediately respond. Instead, she
watched Ariadne for a few minutes. Then, with intense
concentration, she picked up one of her seedlings. Biting her
tongue between her teeth, she made a hole in the soil with her
index finger and planted it.
    “Is that it, then?” she asked.
    “Perfect. You did very well, Rose.”
    Encouraged, Rose picked up a second tiny
plant and pressed it into an awaiting pot. They had almost finished
when a man strode into the greenhouse from the garden door. Close
upon his heels rushed Mr. Gibson.
    “Miss Wellfleet!” Mr. Gibson called. He
increased his pace until he was nearly running to circle around the
first man. “I’m sorry—he got past me, Miss, when I was helping that
Mr. Tunnes with his plant.”
    “That’s all right, Mr. Gibson.” Ariadne wiped
her hands on the towel lying at her elbow and turned to face the
intruder. “Mr. Phillips. This is unexpected.” She pointedly gazed
over his shoulder at the garden door. He’d clearly come through the
back of the house since Mr. Abbott had orders to say she was not at
home.
    Mr. Phillips smiled, although his gray eyes
hardened. He flicked a disdainful glance at Rose before fixing a
bold stare on Ariadne’s face. “I am pleased to see you looking so
well despite your labors in the garden. You should leave such work
to Mr. Gibson—it’s what he’s paid for.” When she didn’t comment, he
asked abruptly, “Who is that urchin?”
    “Thank you for your concern. I trust you’re
as well as ever?” She ignored his rude question about the child.
Her back stiffened when Rose grabbed her hand and slipped behind
her. The child peered at Mr. Phillips from behind Ariadne’s drab
skirt, clearly frightened.
    “Very well. Very well, indeed.” He rubbed
thick, stubby fingers over his plump lips. “And you look
extraordinarily beautiful in this wretched light. Thankfully it
hides the damage you’ve done to your lovely hands.” With a sharp
gesture, he waved at the array of seedlings and pots. “Why do you
persist?”
    “I enjoy it.”
    “You’re hard-headed, but no matter. One day I
hope to persuade you to listen to reason. A young woman should
enjoy life—not ruin her looks on unsuitable pursuits.”
    “Oh, but I do enjoy life, thanks to this
unsuitable pursuit.”
    Anger suffused Mr. Phillips’s face.
    “Miss Wellfleet?” Mr. Gibson stepped between
Ariadne and her unwelcomed guest.
    She shook her head. She