The Empress Rose

By Chris Eastvedt

Which is worse: being a victim or being a bitch? This is a question Rose Voss has been asking herself since her husband died, leaving her with a storm-wrecked house, four kids to raise and an alcoholic brother-in-law living in a trailer in her backyard.

Being a single working mom is never easy, but it's downright painful in Luscious, Missouri where cattiness is a local pastime. For years the neighbors have been watching and judging Rose's every move, and giving her a failing grade at every turn. In their minds, her son is a terrorist-in-training, her hydroponics farm is really a front for a large-scale marijuana operation... even walking from the car to the grocer's is bound to throw someone's nose out of joint. Whatever it takes to be popular here, Rose just doesn't have it.

Things begin to change when a GoBuy superstore moves in and starts killing off the competition. Families are leaving, stores are closing, and time is running out. Luscious is desperate, and survival depends on recruiting help from the most successful business owner in town: Rose Voss.

Now Rose has a decision to make: forgive past wrongs and work with her neighbors to rebuild the community, or leave everyone to reap what they've sown while she savors the sweet taste of revenge. What would you do?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Chris Eastvedt
• Release date: Feb 28, 2011
• ISBN: 9781458041517

Chris Eastvedt

Chris Eastvedt is fascinated by human behavior and will happily watch hours upon hours of PBS documentaries in an endless quest to understand the species. How could a man live in his car for six months while he started his own business? Why would that woman agree to go on Jerry Springer? These are questions that need answers. Chris writes to give people a chance to laugh and think about the little things that concern us all.

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What Readers are Saying About The Empress Rose

Rose is a great character who learns from her mistakes and seeks to right them for the sake of her children. She gives hope to single working mothers who have to bear the burden and joys of raising a family while making ends meet. The Empress Rose has a strong cast of characters who show great development to the end.

--Michelle Saxton, Petersburg, FL

The Empress Rose immediately caught my attention, and I was intrigued to learn more. I loved the idea of one woman taking a dream and working hard to make a life after tragedy. Inspiring and encouraging.

--Tara Schaneville, Estero, FL

Eastvedt writes with clarity, and she keeps the reader’s interest. The story moves quickly with unpredictability and charm.

--Millie Hinkle, Upland, CA

The Empress Rose

By

Chris Eastvedt

This work is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported

License. To view a copy of this license, visit http://creativecommons. org/licenses/

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Creative Commons copyright 2011 Chris Eastvedt

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This book is a work of fiction. Places, events, and situations in this book are purely fictional

and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Please enjoy The Empress Rose, and feel free to share it with others. As a new author, the biggest threat to me isn’t piracy, but obscurity. If you like my work enough to want to share it, even without paying for it this time, please do-- I can use all the word-of-mouth exposure I can get. Posting a review about it would be even better! Thanks for giving me this opportunity to entertain you. You didn’t have to choose my book, but you did, and I appreciate it.

--Chris

Prologue

God damn it, no! You can’t do this. Not again, Joe hollered, throwing his ball cap up into the sickly green sky. All sound began to slow, high and low, except for a soft rumbling in the east. The morning’s light drizzle and humid breeze had grown heavy and meaty, soaking through his worn flannel. Joe scanned the area: the small pen he hadn’t gotten around to reinforcing; the roof on the house that needed patching…the list was too long to remember. Thunderstorms had been pummeling his farm all spring and one man could only do so much.

We’re done, he thought. It’s over.

Joe had been at war with his land for the last fourteen years. His heart and mind had taken hit after hit with no hope on the horizon. Creditors were down on him: the bank said he was a bad manager, but what was he supposed to do? Too much rain, not enough rain, cheap grain prices—he wasn’t God. Men like him didn’t get any respect. The bankers didn’t care about his problems, they saw him the way he saw his own cattle: nothing much on his own, only valuable in a herd sold off to the highest bidder.

I’m a forty-year-old farm animal. I’m livestock.

An explosion of wing beats rent the air, jarring Joe back into his body. Adrenaline kicking in, he reacted by memory.

John! John! There’s no time. Put all the equipment in the shed; if we get any more rust on that tiller, it’s toast. Make sure all the hay bales are covered too, you know the drill. I’m going to do what I can for the stock, but I have a bad feeling about the barn. Save anything that can be saved and do it fast.

I’m on it, John called, running towards the back fields already starting to puddle with fresh rain.

~~~~~

Rose got home at just past eight o’clock, wet, windblown, and dragging her tired behind after another ten-hour shift at the Bucky Duck. Friday nights were always tough, but her aching back was seizing more than usual today. She’d never imagined having to work the graveyard shift at a thankless job only to return in the morning to a leaky house and a stack of unpaid bills that, despite her desperate economizing, wasn’t getting any smaller. All things considered though, she was grateful she at least had a job.

Rose tugged at the tightly-belted fabric around her waist. It always bunched in the wrong places. Putting a one-size-fits-all uniform on a petite body like hers was a daily joke she didn’t find funny: strangers were always asking her when she was due.

She dropped her keys on the side table and took a peek in the entry mirror. She moved in for a closer inspection and regretted it. Working long nights in a smoke-filled restaurant was taking its toll. She pinched and pulled at her gaunt cheeks and pointed temples, but they still didn’t look right. It was her own face, but something was wrong with her skin or eyes… something. Rose didn’t just look tired, she looked far older than her thirty-two years. She let down her dirty-blond hair, half-hoping for an improvement, but it only made her realize that she stank of tobacco and desperately needed a shower.

Rose hung her coat in the closet, knocking the hanging needlepoint sampler askew as usual. You Reap What You Sow waggled against the nail head. She sometimes wondered why she kept that cheesy thing. Joe wasn’t crazy about it either, but his mother had embroidered it, so it stayed. It was tradition. They needed tradition.

After a final glare at the mirror, Rose grabbed the communications clipboard off the side table and read over the day’s entries. …water heater fixed, check…parts for the truck ready for pick up, check…the list went on for two pages. She made notes as necessary and added a few comments of her own.

Working a schedule opposite her husband’s wasn’t ideal, but that’s how things were. The log had been her idea, and it did help run the house, but it was a hard way to be married. Rose had a more intimate relationship with the line cooks at work than she did with her own husband.

Rose had thought she would enjoy being a wife and mother, if for no other reason than to spite her parents. She would at least be closer to her own children, playing Chutes & Ladders with them and baking a mean snicker doodle as opposed to just sitting together in the same room after dinner in stilted silence. She and Joe had lived that fantasy when they were first married, but life’s demands for time and money eventually took their toll. Now they were just lucky to get in a few words between chores.

Rose fumed as she read what was scrawled at the bottom. Heard back from the bank yesterday—FmHA loan fell through again. Chuck said there’s no restructuring option for farmers this time around, so we’re in trouble. Looking into some drywall work with Billy and working our place at night. Don’t know what else to do but call your parents.

P.S. I fed the kids.

My parents, sure, that’s funny, Rose scoffed, slamming the log on the table. No, I can’t call my parents Joe, they’re the ones who forbid me to marry you in the first place, remember? Do you really think they’re going to loan us money when they won’t even acknowledge their own grandchildren? My parents…

Men in long hair and tights were beating each other with folding chairs on television in the living room, much to the delight of her son. Rose’s tender smile faded as she noticed brown smudges on his cheek and something wet making the hair stick out from his temple.

Riley, she said, grabbing his head, what have you gotten yourself into now? Is that chocolate syrup?

I made milkshakes for breakfast, but I forgot to put the lid on the blender. Don’t worry. I cleaned everything up.

Rose looked toward the kitchen doorway and cringed. Oh, my poor kitchen. You never had a chance, did you? It was a brave, brave thing you did, standing up to my little mess maker. It couldn’t have been easy.

It wasn’t that bad. I got most of it off the ceiling.

Uh-huh, I’m sure. You are looking more and more like your father every day.

I look good, Riley replied.

You sure do, she said, ruffling his hair. Now get upstairs and wash that gunk off. When you’re done, come back down and balance the checkbook for me.

Riley looked confused.

What, you don’t want your allowance this week?

I don’t do that. Dad does that. That’s his job.

You’re right, that’s his job. Go on, then.

Rose shuffled into the kitchen and automatically picked up a sponge to start mopping spilled juice and cereal off the table, then added soap to the heap of dirty dishes piled in the sink.

Yeah Joe, you fed the kids. Rose’s shoulders drooped. I’ve spent all my adult life cleaning up after people, but at least my customers leave me tips.

Music floated in through the kitchen window and she absently hummed along. The soothing scent of bearded irises drifting in from her garden always did great things to improve her mood. Gardening was the one thing Rose knew she did well, and she reveled in it. She would have her hands in the dirt all day long if she could get away with it, but, as always, duty called. She inhaled and savored one final hit of fragrance before picking up the phone, wedging the receiver between her shoulder and ear. Rose dialed out and waited.

…Did I shave my legs for this?

You tell ‘em, Deana, she said, dipping a mug into the sudsy water and reaching for the washrag.

On the sixth ring, her cousin picked up.

"Leslie? Thank God you’re awake. I’m desperate for a friendly voice. How’s Dallas treating you? Did the kids drag you to the zoo yet?

"Everyone got sunburned? Ooh, fun times in the Masterson household. I’m sorry we missed it.

"Yeah, I just got home. I think my arches have finally given out for good. I’m going to end up hobbling around like a geisha, you just wait.

"No, I’m way beyond Dr. Scholl’s; I think I might even be getting a bunion. What do those look like?

"Stop laughing, I’m serious. The customers are even worse. I may not make it through next week. If I die, I’m leaving you my pearl earrings.

Mayberry? There is no Mayberry. Remember the extra house-cleaning job I picked up last week? I asked the owner if there was more work for me because I could really use the money, but she said no, so I left. Well, that wench and her friend came in last night and started talking trash about me. It was subtle, of course. ‘How sad that some parents try to raise four children when they can only afford two,’ and then a pointed look in my direction. She was lucky I didn’t bump her coffee into her lap. I was this close…

An incessant beeping interrupted the music, followed by the weekend DJ.

Hold on a sec, Leslie.

As you’ve probably heard by now folks, a tornado has been sighted in western Illinois and it’s coming this way. For the next twelve hours, a tornado warning has been issued in Missouri for the counties of Jefferson, Franklin, Washington, Gasconade, Crawford, and Phelps. If you’re traveling in any of these areas, you should abandon your vehicle and take shelter immediately. Again, there is a tornado warning…

Shoot. Gotta go. Love you. Rose disconnected and shouted up the stairs.

Kids, get down here right now.

She ran into her bedroom and cracked open the windows. Drafts were always leaking through the seals in winter, so she doubted any pressure would build, but it was better to be safe. Grabbing the emergency box from the closet, she hurried back to her children.

Okay, the storm’s getting worse. It’s time to go down to the basement. Everyone take a flashlight. Hold on. Why are there only three of you? Where’s Shane?

A brilliant flash of light shot past the walnut trees, followed by a thundering boom that shook the house. Cassidy jumped and clutched her little sister.

I don’t know, Mama. She might still be in the bathroom. I know she heard you. I thought she followed me when you called.

That girl never will have her head on straight. I’ll find her, Rose said. Here, take some water and watch the kids until I get back. Turn on the radio, too. Can you do that for me?

Yes, Mama, Cassidy replied.

Good girl, she said. Now you two take care and do as your sister tells you.

I want Daddy! Where’s my daddy?

Gwenny, baby, we really don’t have time for this right now. Daddy’s busy with the farm. He wants to be with us, just like Uncle John, but there are jobs outside that have to be done.

But Daddy and Uncle John have to be here too. They have to be safe too.

You let them worry about that. There’s only one thing I want you and your brother to do right now. Do you know what that is?

Listen to Cassidy, Riley said.

That’s right, Rose said. Now, everyone go downstairs and don’t come up until I tell you it’s okay. Just like we practiced now.

The two pocket-sized girls marched into the basement in an orderly drill, followed by their pudgy brother, who pretended to be stomping through puddles, while Rose ran upstairs to find her missing ten-year-old. Shane! Shane Denise Voss, you answer me, hear?

Rain gutters rattled beneath the strengthening winds, threatening to take flight, while a tepid draft bled through a bedroom door that was too warped and bloated to close. It was just one more thing for her Honey Do list, but now wasn’t the time to worry about it.

Shane Denise, do you hear me? Now is not a good time to play with Mommy, Rose called, bracing herself between the walls on her trek down the hall. She struggled against the panic stiffening her knees and shoulders. She was trying for calm, but never did very well in a storm and doubted today would be any different. Like her mother-in-law always told her, When in doubt, fake it. Well, she was doing her best.

A massive tree limb chose that moment to drop out of the sky and through the roof just a few feet in front of her. The house shook and groaned, spitting up shards of glass and crunched-up wood in protest. Rocks of hail bounced through the cavernous wreckage, stinging like salt in a festering wound.

Rose clutched her head, shrieking and staggering, fighting to mold her back to the wall for balance. If she didn’t know better, she’d have thought King Kong himself was stamping along outside, tearing up the house. Shane’s normally squeaky voice erupted into one of the most spine-chilling screams Rose had ever heard. Still unsteady, she turned and groped her way to the girls’ bedroom, preparing for the worst. Barely had her hand touched the knob when the door slammed open.

Another scream pierced the air, but the room was empty. Rose stamped her foot in exasperation.

Shane! Shane, where are you?

Mama? A doe-eyed tween crawled out of the closet and sat trembling at her mother’s feet. I was so scared.

Of course you were scared. Why didn’t you answer me when I called you?

Rose tried to give her daughter a hug, but Shane scrambled out of reach.

"Wait. I still haven’t found my Teen Vogue. I can’t let it get ruined."

Of all the stupid… That’s why you’re still up here?

Rose grabbed the girl’s arm and dragged her out of the room, Shane whining and resisting at high volume.

We are in an emergency situation, young lady. This isn’t the time to be playing games. People could get hurt.

But Mama, I need this issue! It has the new Satin Shimmer eye shadow samples in it. I can’t be the only girl in school who doesn’t have them.

You’re risking your life for makeup? You are ten years old. No! No makeup for you. Ever.

The windowpanes were beginning to buckle; there were more cracks than glass by this point. Rose knew they had to get out of there fast, so she hefted Shane like a football and started to run.

Whatever happens, don’t let go of me, Rose said, as she skirted the debris piling up in her path down to the living room. She could feel the electricity humming in the air, pricking her skin like hundreds of angry ants. Rose slipped on the final step and scrabbled to catch the banister with her free hand.

Mama, look out!

A severed tree limb smashed through the porch window and crushed her calico sofa. The hail’s incoming surge was relentless and indiscriminate, intent on destruction and nothing else. Curtains tore and paper flew in a flurry of pandemonium around their heads. Rose spun and tried to shield her daughter as best she could, but slid on the glass shards and collapsed shoulder first onto the hardwood floor. The wind knocked out of her, she struggled to make her lungs work. Adrenaline propelled her hands over Shane’s body, probing for injuries and signs of life before moving on to test herself. Sore, but still in one piece, Rose panted in relief. She brushed away the knotted mess of hair that masked her face and tried to get her bearings.

The kitchen looked all right as far as she could see, so she figured her bedroom had survived as well. It was the living room that was the problem. Rose snuggled Shane tighter, trying to soothe the crying child before turning to face the gaping hole in the