RUNAWAY ROSE
Chapter Eighty-Six

In the days following her encounter with Ortiz, Rose remained despondent. For the first two days, in spite of the pleas of Jack and Ruth, she refused to leave her room, spending most of her time lying in bed, staring unseeing at the ceiling, her mind far away. She slept little, and ate even less, until Ruth pointed out that not eating would harm her baby.

On the third day, Rose finally left her room, joining the others for meals and sitting with them in the evenings, curled into Jack’s arms, but it wasn’t the same. The fire had gone out of her.

She spent time with the others, spoke to them, but it was as though she wasn’t really there. Her heart wasn’t in it, and the only person who could make her smile was her baby brother. Worried, Jack accompanied her everywhere, refusing to give up on her, though Rose didn’t understand why. Why would he be so adamant about staying at her side, knowing what she had done?

*****

At the end of that week, Rose’s reward arrived in the mail. Usually, mail took much longer to be delivered, but the reward for the death of Juan Guerrero was considered so important that it was sent as quickly as possible.

Things finally came to a head the day the reward arrived. Jack and Rose were sitting together in the dining room, eating lunch, when Kathleen brought the package to Rose. Hands trembling, Rose took it from her, knowing as soon as she saw the return address what it was.

"Rose? What is it?" Jack leaned toward her, curious about what she had received.

Rose just stared at the package for a moment before opening it. She dropped the cardboard and paper to the side, revealing two bundles of one hundred dollar bills, twenty-five in each bundle.

"Rose? Are you all right?" Jack could see what it was now.

For the first time in a week, Rose showed a reaction. Her face paling, she lifted the two bundles of money, the five thousand dollar reward for taking the life of Juan Guerrero. She stared at the money, trembling.

"Rose?"

Rose didn’t look up. Staring at the money, she gave a low moan of distress worse than any scream. Dropping the bundles, she bolted to her feet and ran from the dining room, never saying a word.

Ruth stopped, surprised, as Rose darted past her, her breathing ragged and choked. Not even looking at her mother, Rose ran down the hall and threw the door open, racing into the garden, her place of refuge for the past few days.

Startled at Rose’s behavior, Ruth looked into the dining room. Jack had gathered the money up and wrapped it in the cardboard and paper it had been shipped in. He looked up when she came in.

"What happened to my daughter?" Ruth asked, suspecting what it was but still uncertain.

"She got her reward," Jack replied shortly, grabbing his walking stick and pulling himself to his feet. Limping noticeably, he brushed past Ruth, heading in the direction Rose had gone.

Jack found Rose sitting on a bench beneath a vine-covered arch in the garden. She was rocking herself gently back and forth, staring blankly at the surrounding foliage while silent tears ran down her face.

Jack didn’t say anything, but only sat down beside her, putting his arms around her shaking form.

At last, Rose broke the silence.

"Why? Why is violence and killing accepted and even rewarded? It just...doesn’t seem right. I didn’t want to kill Guerrero; I did it to survive. Why am I being rewarded? Every day, people hurt each other, kill each other—and it never seems to end. Sometimes it’s accepted, like self-defense or war, but no one involved is ever left untouched. There’s always sorrow and suffering and bitterness, no matter how right one side thinks they are. And even for the person who did the killing—if they have any kind of conscience, they’ll never be able to forget. Killing someone...is the worst crime a person can commit. They take someone else’s life away—something that can never be replaced. Taking a life, whatever the reason, does not make a person a hero." She drew a deep, shuddering breath. "There was nothing heroic about what I did. I wish I had never received that reward. I don’t deserve it; no one should be rewarded for that. Why do people reward those who harm others? Why?!"

Jack shook his head, not really sure how to respond. "I don’t know, Rose. Not everyone who harms others is rewarded. Guerrero certainly wasn’t."

Rose laid her head against his shoulder. "Some people can get away with such things. Guerrero got away with it for a long time, and would probably have gotten away with it longer if I hadn’t grabbed his gun. Had the circumstances been a little different, he might have been considered a hero himself. Some people, because of their station in life, or politics, or what have you, wind up being rewarded for doing wrong." She sat up, hugging herself. "No one would have listened if I had spoken out about the way Cal hurt me—because of his station in life. He could do as he pleased, just so long as he was discreet about it. He killed Alice, and there are those who would have thought he had done the right thing, because Alice was one of those women considered a scourge on society—a vaudeville actress and sometimes prostitute, a woman who defied society’s morals and did as she pleased—even though it was the society itself that helped shape what she was. When men go to war, no one punishes them for their actions—except for the other side, who are equally guilty. Those who are the most successful, those who lead their countries into war, are honored and respected—never mind the hundreds or thousands of people whose lives will never be the same." For the first time, she looked at Jack. "And then there are those who are simply rewarded for causing harm—like me. People will never learn not to harm each other if no one speaks out and puts a stop to it—but somehow I doubt that will ever happen."

Jack didn’t know what to say. Instinctively, he recognized the wisdom in her words—he had seen far too much of fighting in his life—but he didn’t know how to respond. He didn’t have the words. All he could do was pull Rose close, trying to protect her from a world she had seen far too much of.

*****

Rose remained calm but sad in the week that followed. At her assent, Jack put the reward money into a bank until she was ready to decide what to do with it. She wanted nothing to do with the reward, but it existed, and eventually she would have to think about what she wanted done with it. Until then, however, she wanted only to forget about it.

Ruth, too, was doing her part to try to brighten up her daughter’s life. Unbeknownst to either Rose or Jack, she had been busily planning their wedding. She knew that Rose would probably be upset with her for taking charge, but something had to be done. Neither Jack nor Rose were doing any planning, and they needed to be married soon lest Rose waddle down the aisle instead of walk.

While Jack and Rose had been concentrating upon Rose’s misery, Ruth had set a date for her daughter’s wedding and arranged for a church and a minister. That done, she had thrown herself into finding the perfect flowers and caterers, as well as planning the reception and inviting a few people who she knew Rose was fond of—including the Hutchisons and the Hills.

Rose was walking alone in the garden the morning her guests arrived; it was a place of solace for her, a place where everything was natural and alive, and at peace. She had no idea that her wedding had been planned for her, or that any guests had been invited, so she looked up in surprise when Deborah called her name.

"Rosie!" Deborah wheeled herself down the path, pushing aside branches and vines.

"Debbie?!" Rose couldn’t hide her surprise. "What are you doing here?"

"Grace and I are here for your wedding. So are Mother and Father. Mother is making your wedding dress, my matron-of-honor dress—remember, Rosie, you agreed that I could be your matron-of-honor again—and Grace’s flower girl dress."

Rose was suddenly suspicious. So that’s why Mother has been so cheerful. She loves nothing better than planning a big social event. "Ah...when exactly is this wedding supposed to take place?"

Deborah gave her a confused look. "A week from today, Rosie. Your mother sent us the invitations."

So, Ruth had planned the wedding. It couldn’t have been anyone else, for Jack would have told her if he was planning their wedding.

She sighed, sinking down on the bench. "Mother planned the whole thing. I didn’t know anything about it."

It occurred to Rose that she should be angry at Ruth for once again interfering in her life, but for some reason, she wasn’t. This time, her mother truly had Rose’s best interests in mind; there was no gain in it for her.

"Does Jack know?" Rose asked Deborah, gesturing for her to move her wheelchair closer.

Deborah nodded. "He does now. He wasn’t too pleased to find out that everything had been planned behind the backs of you two, but agreed to go with things the way your mother planned them if you agreed."

Rose sighed, considering. After all the trouble Ruth had gone to, it seemed ungrateful of her to reject the wedding her mother had planned—and after all, this time she herself had chosen the groom. Of course, Rose intended to have a certain amount of input in the wedding, no matter how her mother objected.

"I’ll do it," she finally agreed, nodding her head. She was ready to go into the house and speak with Ruth, but Deborah’s voice stopped her.

"Rosie..."

Rose settled back onto the bench, looking at her best friend. "Yes?"

"Jack told me about what happened...with Señor Ortiz and the reward. He said you felt pretty guilty about it."

Rose nodded. Guilty was an understatement. "I don’t understand why I was rewarded for killing Guerrero—even though he was a notorious outlaw. It was so strange—such a coincidence that I met Señor Ortiz at that banquet, and he recognized me from the pictures taken from the wreckage of the plane. I just want to forget it, let it be in the past—but I can’t. Even if I could, there would always be some reminder of what I did." She sighed. "This isn’t—isn’t something I can run from. No matter where I go, he’ll always haunt me. I’ll remember this for the rest of my life."

"Rosie, you never could run away from your troubles. They were always with you because they had become a part of you, and you can’t run away from yourself." She paused, looking seriously at Rose. "Are you going to be all right?"

Rose nodded, understanding what Deborah was asking. "Debbie, I won’t end my own life. I promise you that. I’m expecting a baby, and I have a man who loves me enough to give up everything for me. I have Mother, and a new baby brother, and you. I won’t hurt you that way. No, I intend to stay alive for as long as God wills it."

Deborah smiled, reaching out to squeeze Rose’s hand reassuringly. "Rosie, did you ever consider that everything happens for a reason?"

Rose looked at her, not understanding what she meant.

Deborah spoke softly. "Maybe, Rosie, you were found and rewarded so that you could bring something good out of what happened."

Grace called from the house, looking for her mother, and Deborah wheeled herself back, looking towards the house. "Think about what I said, Rosie. Maybe some good can come of all this."

*****

Rose sat in the garden for a long time, thinking about Deborah’s words. A part of her couldn’t believe in what her best friend had said, but another part, a stronger, more optimistic part, wondered if Deborah might be right, if perhaps she could bring some good out of the bad. Could she do it? Did she have the courage to try?

Slowly, Rose got to her feet, ready to leave the garden. It was past noon now, the sun high overhead, warming even the cool September day. The sorrow and guilt were still inside her, but they were being pushed aside by another emotion—hope. Hope that she could bring some good out of the bad, hope that through her experiences, she could make a better life possible—not just for herself, but for others, too.

As she made her way down the path, she saw Jack standing just inside the gate, waiting for her. He was leaning on his walking stick, but he straightened when she came toward him. For the first time in weeks, Rose smiled, taking his hand as he reached out and drew her towards him.

They embraced, rejoicing in their newfound hope and life. Rose put her hand to Jack’s face, whispering softly.

"I think I’m going to be all right now."

Chapter Eighty-Seven
Stories