PAGE 6
The Only Rose
by
Mrs. Bickford’s own voice trembled a little, but she held up the last bouquet and examined it critically. “I must hurry now an’ put these in water,” she said, in a matter of fact tone. Little Miss Pendexter was so quiet and sympathetic that her hostess felt no more embarrassed than if she had been talking only to herself.
“Yes, they do seem to droop some; ‘t is a little warm for them here in the sun,” said Miss Pendexter; “but you’ll find they’ll all come up if you give them their fill o’ water. They’ll look very handsome to-morrow; folks’ll notice them from the road. You’ve arranged them very tasty, Mis’ Bickford.”
“They do look pretty, don’t they?” Mrs. Bickford regarded the three in turn. “I want to have them all pretty. You may deem it strange, Abby.”
“Why, no, Mis’ Bickford,” said the guest sincerely, although a little perplexed by the solemnity of the occasion. “I know how ’tis with friends,–that having one don’t keep you from wantin’ another; ’tis just like havin’ somethin’ to eat, and then wantin’ somethin’ to drink just the same. I expect all friends find their places.”
But Mrs. Bickford was not interested in this figure, and still looked vague and anxious as she began to brush the broken stems and wilted leaves into her wide calico apron. “I done the best I could while they was alive,” she said, “and mourned ’em when I lost ’em, an’ I feel grateful to be left so comfortable now when all is over. It seems foolish, but I’m still at a loss about that rose.”
“Perhaps you’ll feel sure when you first wake up in the morning,” answered Miss Pendexter solicitously. “It’s a case where I don’t deem myself qualified to offer you any advice. But I’ll say one thing, seeing’s you’ve been so friendly spoken and confiding with me. I never was married myself, Mis’ Bickford, because it wa’n’t so that I could have the one I liked.”
“I suppose he ain’t livin’, then? Why, I wan’t never aware you had met with a disappointment, Abby,” said Mrs. Bickford instantly. None of her neighbors had ever suspected little Miss Pendexter of a romance.
“Yes ‘m, he’s livin’,” replied Miss Pendexter humbly. “No ‘m, I never have heard that he died.”
“I want to know!” exclaimed the woman of experience. “Well, I’ll tell you this, Abby: you may have regretted your lot, and felt lonesome and hardshipped, but they all have their faults, and a single woman’s got her liberty, if she ain’t got other blessin’s.”
“‘T wouldn’t have been my choice to live alone,” said Abby, meeker than before. “I feel very thankful for my blessin’s, all the same. You’ve always been a kind neighbor, Mis’ Bickford.”
“Why can’t you stop to tea?” asked the elder woman, with unusual cordiality; but Miss Pendexter remembered that her hostess often expressed a dislike for unexpected company, and promptly took her departure after she had risen to go, glancing up at the bright flower as she passed outside the window. It seemed to belong most to Albert, but she had not liked to say so. The sun was low; the green fields stretched away southward into the misty distance.
II.
Mrs. Bickford’s house appeared to watch her out of sight down the road, the next morning. She had lost all spirit for her holiday. Perhaps it was the unusual excitement of the afternoon’s reminiscences, or it might have been simply the bright moonlight night which had kept her broad awake until dawn, thinking of the past, and more and more concerned about the rose. By this time it had ceased to be merely a flower, and had become a definite symbol and assertion of personal choice. She found it very difficult to decide. So much of her present comfort and well-being was due to Mr. Bickford; still, it was Mr. Wallis who had been most unfortunate, and to whom she had done least justice. If she owed recognition to Mr. Bickford, she certainly owed amends to Mr. Wallis. If she gave him the rose, it would be for the sake of affectionate apology. And then there was Albert, to whom she had no thought of being either indebted or forgiving. But she could not escape from the terrible feeling of indecision.