As soon as the seats were filled, Clara Barton entered the room and stood before them. At age 69, the “Angel of the Battlefield” still looked capable and vigorous. Her voice was strong and her presentation lively. It seemed only a few minutes had passed when, in fact, she’d been speaking for nearly an hour and a half. She allowed questions and gave answers. Then, to everyone’s chagrin, it was over.
“I don’t know about you,” Elise said, to the three of them, “but I am exhausted merely listening to her. I don’t know how she does it. I feel I am quite a lazy good-for-nothing.”
They all chuckled, except Rose. She, too, felt positively drained.
“I only hope to be so spry at her age,” Claire pointed out. Miss Barton had paced the stage for most of the lecture, and regaled them with anecdotes she’d endured the year before in Pennsylvania with as much gusto as thirty years earlier during the War Between the States.
“I wish it wasn’t so crowded,” Evelyn mused. “I would like to have spoken to her personally a moment, and even have heard her thoughts on women gaining the vote.”
“You are right, Mama,” Rose spoke up. “See, she has already been beset by well-wishers. We had best leave before we’re crushed.”
The four of them exited the building and began a brief walk across Harvard Yard to where their carriage was parked.
Evelyn took Rose’s hand. “I’m proud of you coming out like this.”
Elise’s ears perked up. “Why? Are you ill?” she asked her youngest sister.
Rose reddened, having momentarily forgotten that Elise didn’t yet know about any of her misfortune — Elise, who had planned the now non-existent wedding down to the smallest detail.
“Oh my mouth,” Evelyn muttered, having realized her faux pas.
Before Rose could begin to explain, Maeve appeared in front of her. She greeted everyone, paying particular attention to Claire who would soon be related by marriage. “Wasn’t that a stupendous lecture?” she commented. Not waiting for an answer, she added, “I admire Miss Barton though I know I could never venture into such territory as she did.” Then her gaze focused on Rose, who could read at once in Maeve’s expression that she knew.
“My condolences on your association with Mr. Woodsom coming to an unfortunate end. Such a shame.”
All four ladies, especially Elise, gasped at her ill-mannered words.
“Still wearing his ring, I see,” Maeve continued. “I would have thought it in bad taste.”
Rose stared down at her hand and her treasured engagement ring. She had not yet thought to remove it.
“I will tell you what is in bad taste, Miss Norcross,” Evelyn Malloy said, “bringing up my daughter’s private business out in the open for anyone to hear. Like a common fishwife. I would have expected your mother to teach you better than that. Good evening.”
Leaving Maeve rightfully red-faced and chastised, Rose’s mother took her daughter’s arm and hurried their little group past Franklin’s cousin without another glance.
Their somber party remained silent until they reached their carriage, and then Elise began firing questions as quick and targeted as a soldier’s bullet.
Too soon, Rose had to relive it all, watching her sister’s face turn from incredulity to sorrow as she heard what had occurred.
“How could Maeve know so quickly?” Rose wondered aloud.
Claire, who had remained silent through everything, cleared her throat.
“I believe I can explain that. It’s my fault. Maeve lingers at Franklin’s house like a fly on manure. I think she has more freedom around my future mother-in-law than in her own home,” she conjectured. “Anyway, I told him a very short version of what had happened only because Franklin asked if the four of us could go out tomorrow night,” she explained, barely glancing up from her lap.
“When we had finished speaking in the parlor, we found Maeve in the hallway as we made our way out to his carriage. I suppose she had been listening in on our conversation. I promise, if I’d known she was anywhere around ...,” Claire trailed off looking quite forlorn.
Rose touched her friend’s hand. “It is fine. You kept my confidences quite securely for years, and I know you are not a gossip. The news of my broken engagement was bound to make the rounds sooner or later. I am not worried about Maeve or her opinion. She is all sour grapes anyway.”
Privately, the notion of Maeve still hankering after William gave Rose pause, however. If William did take up with Maeve, Rose wondered how she would bear it. She couldn’t! She would have to poison Franklin’s cousin with arsenic in her tea or catch her off guard and push her into the harbor.
She couldn’t even take cheer at the outrageousness of her own thoughts. Instead, Rose sat with her fists clenched in her lap. At any given moment, she felt so close to crying, she could do nothing but breathe deeply while longing for the sanctuary of her bedroom.
Rose decided to give William his ring back by way of a go-between, for going to his home and seeing him would be too painful, and if he wouldn’t see her, that would be even worse.
***
The next day, Rose caught one of their two maids going out to the shops on the cook’s errands and diverted her to William’s house in the Back Bay. However, Bridget returned still with the blue box and the exquisite ring inside.
“He’s gone,” Bridget told Rose.
“Gone?” she repeated, stupidly, as if the word were beyond her comprehension.
“Yes, miss. His housekeeper said he’s left for an extended trip to the Continent.”
“I see. Thank you.”
Rose took the box that the maid held out to her and walked slowly back to her room, aware though unconcerned by the numb feeling that seemed to have stolen over her, leaving her lethargic and disinterested.
Wondering how she would ever look at her engagement ring again, she put the lovely little box in the back of a drawer of her wardrobe along with all her hopes and dreams for her life together with William.He had left her.
