Read Online Beloved by Antoinette Stockenberg - Free Book Online
Authors: Antoinette Stockenberg
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wrong? " Cissy demanded to know. " You made a face. "
Jane tried to make light of it. " I got a deep scratch from a rosebush in the graveyard behind the house the other day, and I think it ' s got worse. I suppose my urban immune system hasn ' t adjusted to country living. "
" For goodness ' sake, " said Mrs. Crate. " I ' ve been a gardener all my life. Nothing ' s ever happened to me. "
Bing also was puzzled. " Are you sure the infection is from the rosebush, and not from some rusty nail around the house? "
" Did you put Bactine on it? " asked Cissy, pushing away the bisque as a child would her spinach.
" Do you know, " mused Dorothy, " this reminds me of an old Nantucket legend. I ' m not quite positive about the details, but there ' s a story of a grieving mother who planted a rose on the grave of her convict son. She couldn ' t afford a stone, you see. The rose is supposed to have been cursed ever since. "
" You ' re quite right, dear, " said Dorothy ' s mother. " I remember it now. Except that it was the convict ' s wife, not his mother, who planted the rose. Or — was it a father and not a son who was buried? I can ' t recall. "
Mr. Crate took off his wire-rimmed glasses and began polishing a lens with his handkerchief. He cleared his throat. " I believe the legend is that it was a murderer who planted the rose on his victim ' s grave, out of remorse. "
" Nonsense! " snapped Mrs. Crate. " I never heard that. It was a wife and her husband. Absolutely. "
" Really, " said Jane, fascinated by all the versions. " Do you remember where this cursed rose is supposed to be growing? "
" In the North Burying Ground, wasn ' t it, dear? "
" No, Mother. I think, the South. "
" North, South, whatever. Surely the important part of the legend is that later someone scratched herself on a thorn and her hand fell off — "
" Mother, I do hate to argue but I think the victim actually got brain fever and died. "
Bing was sitting opposite Jane; she felt him give her a gentle kick in the shin. She looked at him and ventured a tiny smile. He was right; these people were a piece of work.
Jane wondered what Phillip Harrow thought of the whimsical, if not downright absurd, argument the Crate family was having over the Legend of the Cursed Rose. Presumably he ' d had higher hopes for the level of dinner conversation.
" What do you think, Phillip? " Cissy asked, voicing Jane ' s thoughts. " Who ' s right? "
Phillip shook his head diplomatically. " We have three different opinions: from an amateur historian, a retired scholar, and a woman of immense experience. I couldn ' t begin, " he said dryly, " to choose among them. "
" Get it looked at by a doctor. "
All eyes turned to McKenzie. It was the first thing he ' d said since they sat down at the table.
He was looking directly at Jane. His hazel eyes were intensely expressive.
" Excuse me? " she said, puzzled.
" You should get the scratch looked at by a doctor, " he repeated. And then, as if that expanded version of his remark had exhausted him, he stayed silent throughout the entire next course.
The conversation during the fish course drifted amiably around the problems and pleasures of living on an island thirty miles from the mainland. All the while Jane was wondering why Phillip had invited McKenzie. His interest in being there seemed to range from zip to nil.
After a while, Phillip tried to draw out McKenzie. " Mac, how ' s Jeremy? Your boy must be, what — seven, eight years old now? "
" He ' s ten. And he ' s fine. "
" And Celeste? "
" She ' s well. "
So. He was married. Or divorced. Divorced.
" Good. Is she still with Rooney, Smith and Amel? "
McKenzie nodded, and that was that. Really, he was practically rude. If he hated being there that much, why come at all? Shyness was one thing; but this ....
Jane decided, almost from a sense of perverseness, to make him talk. " I was wondering, John, how your property runs. You must have a long, narrow strip of land
Jane tried to make light of it. " I got a deep scratch from a rosebush in the graveyard behind the house the other day, and I think it ' s got worse. I suppose my urban immune system hasn ' t adjusted to country living. "
" For goodness ' sake, " said Mrs. Crate. " I ' ve been a gardener all my life. Nothing ' s ever happened to me. "
Bing also was puzzled. " Are you sure the infection is from the rosebush, and not from some rusty nail around the house? "
" Did you put Bactine on it? " asked Cissy, pushing away the bisque as a child would her spinach.
" Do you know, " mused Dorothy, " this reminds me of an old Nantucket legend. I ' m not quite positive about the details, but there ' s a story of a grieving mother who planted a rose on the grave of her convict son. She couldn ' t afford a stone, you see. The rose is supposed to have been cursed ever since. "
" You ' re quite right, dear, " said Dorothy ' s mother. " I remember it now. Except that it was the convict ' s wife, not his mother, who planted the rose. Or — was it a father and not a son who was buried? I can ' t recall. "
Mr. Crate took off his wire-rimmed glasses and began polishing a lens with his handkerchief. He cleared his throat. " I believe the legend is that it was a murderer who planted the rose on his victim ' s grave, out of remorse. "
" Nonsense! " snapped Mrs. Crate. " I never heard that. It was a wife and her husband. Absolutely. "
" Really, " said Jane, fascinated by all the versions. " Do you remember where this cursed rose is supposed to be growing? "
" In the North Burying Ground, wasn ' t it, dear? "
" No, Mother. I think, the South. "
" North, South, whatever. Surely the important part of the legend is that later someone scratched herself on a thorn and her hand fell off — "
" Mother, I do hate to argue but I think the victim actually got brain fever and died. "
Bing was sitting opposite Jane; she felt him give her a gentle kick in the shin. She looked at him and ventured a tiny smile. He was right; these people were a piece of work.
Jane wondered what Phillip Harrow thought of the whimsical, if not downright absurd, argument the Crate family was having over the Legend of the Cursed Rose. Presumably he ' d had higher hopes for the level of dinner conversation.
" What do you think, Phillip? " Cissy asked, voicing Jane ' s thoughts. " Who ' s right? "
Phillip shook his head diplomatically. " We have three different opinions: from an amateur historian, a retired scholar, and a woman of immense experience. I couldn ' t begin, " he said dryly, " to choose among them. "
" Get it looked at by a doctor. "
All eyes turned to McKenzie. It was the first thing he ' d said since they sat down at the table.
He was looking directly at Jane. His hazel eyes were intensely expressive.
" Excuse me? " she said, puzzled.
" You should get the scratch looked at by a doctor, " he repeated. And then, as if that expanded version of his remark had exhausted him, he stayed silent throughout the entire next course.
The conversation during the fish course drifted amiably around the problems and pleasures of living on an island thirty miles from the mainland. All the while Jane was wondering why Phillip had invited McKenzie. His interest in being there seemed to range from zip to nil.
After a while, Phillip tried to draw out McKenzie. " Mac, how ' s Jeremy? Your boy must be, what — seven, eight years old now? "
" He ' s ten. And he ' s fine. "
" And Celeste? "
" She ' s well. "
So. He was married. Or divorced. Divorced.
" Good. Is she still with Rooney, Smith and Amel? "
McKenzie nodded, and that was that. Really, he was practically rude. If he hated being there that much, why come at all? Shyness was one thing; but this ....
Jane decided, almost from a sense of perverseness, to make him talk. " I was wondering, John, how your property runs. You must have a long, narrow strip of land
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