Read Online The Soul of the Rose by Ruth Trippy - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Ruth Trippy
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me?”
“I’d appreciate the company. Thank you.”
“Well, of course!” Celia walked over to the coat rack and after buttoning her coat, pulled a cherry red hat over her head and wrapped her neck with a matching scarf.
Celia held the door. As Mrs. Smith walked through, she looked up at Celia. “That strange print made me think of my husband. Have I ever told you about him?”
“I don’t believe so.” Celia could see the woman was in need of a good hen talk. She reminded Celia of her grandmother, although Grandmother had a much livelier view of life. What Mrs. Smith needed was some old-fashioned kindness.
Celia took hold of Mrs. Smith’s arm as they walked. The air was fresh and brisk. When they reached the jewelry store, the old woman had begun telling about her courtship. “You know,” she said, “my husband would stop here before we were engaged and point out my ring. Can we look in the window before you go inside?” Mrs. Smith grasped Celia’s arm. “See, there’s a ring similar to mine. That one on the top row, three from the right.”
“I see it.”
“Isn’t it romantic looking at jewelry, Miss Thatcher? Do you ever daydream—about a young man?” Mrs. Smith had an interested gleam in her eye. “You do have a young man, don’t you?”
“Well, I don’t know. There’s Jack back home.”
“Jack? Why haven’t we seen him yet? You’re such a pretty thing.”
“Jack wasn’t in favor of my coming here. He wanted me to stay home with my parents, said we should go on like usual. But he has sent a couple of letters.”
“Is that all? And you’ve been here almost three months? He isn’t angry with you, is he?”
“I don’t know; I never considered . . . I just thought . . . well, I don’t know what I thought, to tell the truth.”
“Going home any time soon?” Mrs. Smith peered up at her. “There’s nothing like talking things out, face to face.”
“I’m going home for Christmas, and that’s only a month away.”
“Don’t press him, of course. But let him know.”
Celia smiled.
“So, how long will you be gone?”
“Mr. Chestley is letting me stay a week.”
“That’ll be nice. But we’ll miss you.”
“Well, thank you, Mrs. Smith.” Celia lips widened into a grin as she looked down at the old lady. Mrs. Smith was rather a sweetheart after all. Who would have guessed such a romantic hid behind a wrinkled old face and frizzy gray hair.
“Ah, Miss Thatcher!”
Celia turned to see Mrs. Harrod hailing her. A tall, young man walked with her.
“Excuse me for shouting.” Mrs. Harrod approached with alacrity. “But you’re just the person I want to see.”
Celia looked first at Mrs. Harrod, then at the man at her side. “Mrs. Smith and I were doing a bit of daydreaming in front of this window. She found a ring similar to the one her husband gave her. The jewels are beautiful, aren’t they?”
“Yes! This is one of my favorite shops. Early in our marriage, Mr. Harrod and I lived on practically nothing. Jewelry, such as this, came later. And the time will come, I predict, when they will grace your person as well.” The vivacious woman laughed. “But say, I want you to meet someone.” She looked up at the slim, fair-haired man, fondness in her eyes. “Miss Thatcher, let me introduce my son, Charles Harrod. Charles, this is Miss Celia Thatcher, the new assistant at the bookstore. And you remember Mrs. Smith.”
Celia smiled. “Pleased to meet you. I’ve heard quite a bit about a certain prospective star of the legal profession.”
Charles tipped his hat to both ladies. “Miss Thatcher, I can hear you’ve been listening to some of Mother’s stories. She spins them off with aplomb—as of yet, I’m afraid I have yet to prove myself in the legal world.”
“Son, your professors seem to think otherwise, at least that’s what they’ve told your father and me. And what’s a mother for, if not to build up the reputation of her son.”
“Mother!”
“I’d appreciate the company. Thank you.”
“Well, of course!” Celia walked over to the coat rack and after buttoning her coat, pulled a cherry red hat over her head and wrapped her neck with a matching scarf.
Celia held the door. As Mrs. Smith walked through, she looked up at Celia. “That strange print made me think of my husband. Have I ever told you about him?”
“I don’t believe so.” Celia could see the woman was in need of a good hen talk. She reminded Celia of her grandmother, although Grandmother had a much livelier view of life. What Mrs. Smith needed was some old-fashioned kindness.
Celia took hold of Mrs. Smith’s arm as they walked. The air was fresh and brisk. When they reached the jewelry store, the old woman had begun telling about her courtship. “You know,” she said, “my husband would stop here before we were engaged and point out my ring. Can we look in the window before you go inside?” Mrs. Smith grasped Celia’s arm. “See, there’s a ring similar to mine. That one on the top row, three from the right.”
“I see it.”
“Isn’t it romantic looking at jewelry, Miss Thatcher? Do you ever daydream—about a young man?” Mrs. Smith had an interested gleam in her eye. “You do have a young man, don’t you?”
“Well, I don’t know. There’s Jack back home.”
“Jack? Why haven’t we seen him yet? You’re such a pretty thing.”
“Jack wasn’t in favor of my coming here. He wanted me to stay home with my parents, said we should go on like usual. But he has sent a couple of letters.”
“Is that all? And you’ve been here almost three months? He isn’t angry with you, is he?”
“I don’t know; I never considered . . . I just thought . . . well, I don’t know what I thought, to tell the truth.”
“Going home any time soon?” Mrs. Smith peered up at her. “There’s nothing like talking things out, face to face.”
“I’m going home for Christmas, and that’s only a month away.”
“Don’t press him, of course. But let him know.”
Celia smiled.
“So, how long will you be gone?”
“Mr. Chestley is letting me stay a week.”
“That’ll be nice. But we’ll miss you.”
“Well, thank you, Mrs. Smith.” Celia lips widened into a grin as she looked down at the old lady. Mrs. Smith was rather a sweetheart after all. Who would have guessed such a romantic hid behind a wrinkled old face and frizzy gray hair.
“Ah, Miss Thatcher!”
Celia turned to see Mrs. Harrod hailing her. A tall, young man walked with her.
“Excuse me for shouting.” Mrs. Harrod approached with alacrity. “But you’re just the person I want to see.”
Celia looked first at Mrs. Harrod, then at the man at her side. “Mrs. Smith and I were doing a bit of daydreaming in front of this window. She found a ring similar to the one her husband gave her. The jewels are beautiful, aren’t they?”
“Yes! This is one of my favorite shops. Early in our marriage, Mr. Harrod and I lived on practically nothing. Jewelry, such as this, came later. And the time will come, I predict, when they will grace your person as well.” The vivacious woman laughed. “But say, I want you to meet someone.” She looked up at the slim, fair-haired man, fondness in her eyes. “Miss Thatcher, let me introduce my son, Charles Harrod. Charles, this is Miss Celia Thatcher, the new assistant at the bookstore. And you remember Mrs. Smith.”
Celia smiled. “Pleased to meet you. I’ve heard quite a bit about a certain prospective star of the legal profession.”
Charles tipped his hat to both ladies. “Miss Thatcher, I can hear you’ve been listening to some of Mother’s stories. She spins them off with aplomb—as of yet, I’m afraid I have yet to prove myself in the legal world.”
“Son, your professors seem to think otherwise, at least that’s what they’ve told your father and me. And what’s a mother for, if not to build up the reputation of her son.”
“Mother!”
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