When the Black Roses Grow by Angela Christina Archer Page A

suppose I should ask for thy forgiveness for my forwardness,” he whispered. “I just hath wanted to say such to you for so long that I suppose I could not silence myself any longer. Please forgive me.”
    “’Tis no reason to ask for forgiveness.”
    His smile sent my heart racing and fluttering so fast I could barely control my breathing.
    “Then, I shall add that you look lovely tonight.”
    “I am wearing nothing more than the same ordinary dress from church this morning.”
    “Emmalynn, nothing about thee is ordinary, not even thy dress.”
    The slight seductiveness in his tone weakened the self-imposed wall I built to shield myself from the outside world. My head gave a slight disagreeing shake as I giggled and glanced away from him.
    One of my curls bounced in my face and caught in my eyelashes. Before I could grasp it, James reached across the table and his fingers gently brushed the strands away. The warmth of his hand whispered against my cheek.
    “I rather like watching thy locks bounce around thy face.”
    Unable to breath, my skin flushed hot, and was surely, several shades of red. A moment I only dreamed about, butterflies fluttered wildly in my stomach producing a lightheaded feeling, my thoughts spinning out of control.
    He is not yours Emmalynn. He is someone else’s.
    “But, what of you and Mary?” I opened my mouth before contemplating whether I truly desired his answer.
    He cleared his throat, groaning under his breath as he leaned against the back of the chair and folded his arms across his chest. “Mary is planning a wedding as we speak, I suppose.”
    For the first time, ever, I allowed my thoughts to wander to their wedding. How she would look, how he would look. The smiles on their faces as they said their vows and kissed, sealing their union.
    I shook the thoughts from my head. “I should offer my best wishes to—”
    “Pardon my interruption, however, my declaration earlier held the truth. Neither my intentions or affections lie with Mary Pruett.” He raised one eyebrow and deviously smiled. “Who doth not care for you as I was, so boldly, informed.”
    “Yes, I am quite certain you were.” I laughed with the imagined words spewing from her lips. Had she stomped around the room while waving her arms to exaggerate her disgust? Or, had she merely looked down her crinkled nose as though she smelled something rotten?
    “They seem quite intent on casting the blame upon you and thy mother for thy husband’s death.”
    “I do not know how or why they do. Joseph fell ill and passed months before the accusations against her. She helped us through his sickness, even took care of him for me when I needed to rest. She risked her own well-being for him, and yet, they still did not treat her with any kindness.”
    “It must hath been difficult for you to live in such a family.”
    “I begged for their mercy, however—” I bit my tongue and shook my head.
    “However, they refused to speak for her.”
    I shrugged my shoulders.
    “Would thy husband hath spoken for her?”
    “I would love to believe so, however, his worship for his family would reason otherwise. He loved them, more than he ever loved me.”
    James frowned at my words. He groaned under his breath again, his displeasure obvious in their lack of benevolence.
    Surely, the notion tugged at my heart. A stranger to me, and yet, he cared enough to hold annoyance toward those who sought out to cause me pain. No one aside from my parents had ever done that for me before. The mere act caught me off guard with an unexpected twist that I had not seen coming.
    “Emmalynn, what is underneath that blanket?”
    No, please, no. Please, do not be speaking of it.
    It—the vine that lurked in the corner, the black magic that twisted in my gut.
    “’Tis just a weed that I believe sprouted from underneath my home.” I sighed indifferently, trying to exaggerate the façade of calmness through my panic-numbed mind. “I had forgotten it was