The Soul of the Rose by Ruth Trippy Read Free Book Online Page A

leaving and engaged him in conversation. That was kind of her. And she had given him her full attention. Yes, very kind of her.
    He looked up and stared unseeing across his study. His present life had a dark tone—like the overriding darkness in The Scarlet Letter . If Miss Thatcher had been there alone, he might have brought up the point. Later she talked of the terrible isolation guilt imposed, and the resulting dark thoughts. Something had stirred in him, but he’d refused to examine it. Even now as words started resurfacing, he downed them. He would think of something more pleasant in the story.
    The rose, for instance. He sat back, deep in his chair, tenting his fingers. Miss Thatcher had drawn a picture of the rose’s beauty and how it contrasted with the gloomy prison and its weeds. Her words had awakened in him a desire for beauty to come back into his life. Beauty in one form or another.
    The other week in the bookstore, they had talked of friends. He had Plato, Tennyson, many others. Even Darby at the Athenaeum. But might there be something more?
    Hadn’t Miss Thatcher said the rose lived, flowered, even flourished amid dark circumstances? He thought of his darkened life, ostracized from the town. Yet, the widow Mrs. Adams had showed him kindness. Was the tide about to turn?
    Such a rose, could it be his? Could such beauty enter his life? The smallest of hopes began to stir within him.

    Celia knocked on Mrs. Divers’s door. Mr. Chestley had given her directions. This house sat off by itself, white with black shutters. It had to be the one.
    The door opened and Miss Waul appeared. “Well, Miss Thatcher, what a pleasant surprise.”
    “I found this scarf in the bookstore last night and wondered if it was yours.”
    Miss Waul looked at it. “It’s certainly the same color, but I have mine here hanging on the coat tree. You are most kind to ask.”
    “Who’s at the door?” a querulous voice asked from inside.
    Miss Waul looked back inside the house. “Miss Thatcher from the bookstore.”
    “Well, invite her in. Invite her in!”
    “Of course. Do you have a few minutes, Miss Thatcher?”
    “I don’t think Mr. Chestley would mind.”
    “Please!” Miss Waul held the door open wide. “Let me take your coat.”
    A minute later, Celia settled herself into an overstuffed chair. The adjective certainly applied to the parlor furniture with its amply upholstered chairs and sofa. Knickknacks sat on doilies, filling every available nook and cranny.
    “Now set a pillow for her back, Miss Waul,” Mrs. Divers instructed. “Something firm. My, you seem such a mite in that chair, Miss Thatcher. I hadn’t realized you were so reed-like.”
    “But a very graceful reed,” Miss Waul said.
    “Of course, of course. You look every bit as lovely as my companion here described.”
    “What a nice thing to say.”
    “I’m sorry I didn’t get to your book discussion. My arthritis, you know. But Miss Waul told me all about it.”
    Celia smiled at Miss Waul. “I hope you enjoyed the discussion. The Scarlet Letter , for its short length, provokes a lot of thought.”
    “I certainly did. Mrs. Divers and I were discussing it a while ago. I told her that Chillingworth was my least favorite character.”
    “Mine, too.”
    Mrs. Divers harrumphed. “I wouldn’t have thought a beauty like Hester would marry an old wizened man like him.”
    “At least he realized the mismatch, if too late. Remember what he said? ‘Mine was the first wrong, when I betrayed thy budding youth into a false and unnatural relation with my decay.’ But then to compound the misfortune, after their marriage he spent most of his time in his study, not doing his duty as a husband.”
    “Reminds me of someone else I know,” Mrs. Divers said.
    Miss Waul’s hand went to her mouth. “Oh! I hadn’t thought of that.”
    Mrs. Divers nodded triumphantly to her companion before turning to Celia. “Forgive us, my dear, just a little private