Where the Rose Petals Fall

By Valerie Mayze

I am but a flower withering in the soil in which I have been planted.........

Rose Stanley does not seem to fit into her prominent family with their lavish style and high society galas. She does not care to marry the wealthy Astor Boyle that her mother has chosen for her. She would much rather be in the kitchen up to her elbows in flour learning how to cook or down at the old slave quarters teaching a young mute boy the gift of communication. She sees nothing wrong with
spending time with a boy she has befriended, even if he is just a stable boy. Her idea of happiness was much different from her mothers
But, there is a secret at the Plantation. A deep, dark secret being kept from Rose. Some seem to hate her for it, some will do anything to protect her from it, but it seems to surround her.
What will happen when the secret is revealed and what will be found Where the Rose Petals Fall...?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Apr 30, 2011
• ISBN: 9781462863983

Book preview

Chapter 1

It was my fifteenth birthday and I chose to be out under the willow tree. I had a clear view of the road that disappeared over the hill. As I sat there I tried to reflect on what little memories I had of my brother, staring at the very hill he disappeared over ten years ago. I would have given anything to have him back again.

Although my brother was much older, we had a close kinship. He would always take time out of his evenings to tell me stories before tuning in for the night.

The best thing about Tristan was the way he would tussle my hair and tell Mother that he already had his best girl whenever she brought up the subject of settling down. Mother always said Tristan was too much of a ladies gentleman. I remember he was quite handsome and tall. His skin was always quite darkened by the summer sun. I remember his eyes were the color of bluebells.

Princessa, Cleo called out. Child, your missing your festivities."

Cleo was one of the help. Father said they were now the help after the Emancipation in 1865. But honestly nothing has changed. Cleo was a young girl of thirteen when she was brought to the Plantation. Father purchased her in an Auction. She was lighter skinned than most of the other colored folk and her eyes were the color of caramels. Cleo worked inside the main house. She was always gifted in the kitchen, so that is where Father insisted she be placed. Cleo had a big part in raising me as Mother was quite busy with her social endeavors.

I miss him Cleo. I said.

Cleo glanced over to the hill and nodded. Yes dear Princessa, We all miss Master Tristan.

I reached up to take Cleo’s hand and together we walked back to the main house.

As I entered the parlor door, Mother rushed over.

Rose! she called out. So full of mischief! Where on Earth have you been? This is your party and you run off? What is going through your head?

I turned for support from Cleo but she had ducked out of view back to the kitchen.

Mother I… I could not get the words out. My mother was not an understanding woman with anything that did not have to do with her social events.

Never mind. she insisted. Just get into the ball room. Your guests are waiting.

Mother hurried off in the opposite direction.

The party was elaborate, I would not have expected different from mother.

Mary Stanley, High society social queen. I laughed at my thoughts. Mother did not work but she is quite clever at organizing high society balls, and gala’s. Personally I would rather be back at the willow tree.

Mother would be nothing without Father. He was the owner of two very profitable cotton mills. Stanley Cotton was the largest manufacturer of cotton fabric in all of Louisiana. My father Dalton Stanley was an older man. Very stern and all business. He never usually paid attention to me, unless i was getting scolded. He firmly believed the raising of girls should be done by the mother. Unfortunately in my family Mother barely had time for me either.

I milled around the party trying to stay unnoticed. I really disliked all the fuss. Oh how I wished I could slip out to the kitchen with Cleo. Spending time in the kitchen helping Cleo was one of my favorite pass times. There was something about creating meals that i enjoyed. The smells alone were enchanting.

Getting away was not an option. Especially when Astor Boyle approached trying to appear all debonair. Astor Boyle was a man nearly eight years older than me. He was very wealthy due to an inheritance. Mother and Father thought he was the perfect match for me. I detested that thought. Astor was much too old for me and he was repulsive. He simply made my skin crawl.

Rose darling, you look absolutely divine tonight. Astor said as he approached. May I have the Honor of a dance? Or perhaps a stroll would better suit you?

I swallowed hard as I tried desperately to find the words to decline. No thank you Mr. Boyle. Was all I could come up with.

Rose you can call me Astor. he said quite cocky. He is so sure of himself.

As a slow smirk spread on my lips, I lowered my head and answered. Yes Mr. Boyle. I quickly ducked around him and scurried through the maze of fancy silk. I did my best to avoid Astor the rest of the evening.

A loud single knock woke me from my peaceful slumber. As I rolled over, the door opened. Nannette hurried over to the window and drew the curtain back. Turning she shook her head.

Miss Rose, breakfast is being served and you really need to be more tidy with your petticoats. You certainly do not act like you deserve these fine things. she said in an annoyed tone.

Nannette was the only hired on maid. Her skin was milky white and she wore her yellow hair in a tight bun. She never smiled, especially at me.

Yes Nannette. I grumbled.

She threw her head up after draping my petticoat over her arm and hurried out of the room closing the door behind her.

I hurried through breakfast. If anyone but Cleo had cooked i probably would have skipped it entirely. After I was finished I excused myself and proceeded to the study to await the arrival of Professor Pierre. Mother was having a French tutor come for my private lessons. He had a heavy accent. Many times it was very difficult to understand his teachings. I told Mother that I did not need such an expense but Mother insisted that French lessons were important for a young lady of my stature. Questionable I think.

I sat through my lessons but I was not really interested. I just wanted to escape the displeasure. It seemed to take forever but finally Professor Pierre relieved me from the misery.

I stepped out into the brightness of the day. Finally free to do as I pleased. Walking through the field I picked some wild flowers and continued down toward the slave quarters.

The slave quarters were down near the lower fields. A row of tattered wooden shacks, they were raised slightly off the ground on wooden stilts. The few stairs that led up to the doors were broken or loose. There were ten shacks side by side, but only five were able to be used as living quarters.

After the war ended in 1865, over nearly all of Fathers slaves chose to leave. Only a handful decided to stay on for reasons all their own. I am so glad that Cleo was one of those that stayed. I would miss her terribly if she ever went away.

Approaching the third shack, I called out. Ricky, come out!

Ricky bolted out of the open doorway with a smile on his face. He held out his hand. No words spoken. I took the cloth he held from him. The cloth was wrapped around something.

What is this, Ricky? I asked looking into his eyes.

He smiled, nodded, and nudged my hand lightly.

Is it a birthday gift? I asked.

Ricky nodded excitedly. His excitement making his eyes sparkles. Ricky was short for Patrick. He came to the plantation a few years back. The owner of the farm he came from had died of influenza and many of the remaining slaves also lost the battle between life and death. Those who remained had nowhere to turn when the owner died. And the bank took over the farm. They had to relocate. Ricky was living in an old shed behind a saloon when father happened upon him. The saloon owner convinced Father to take him away. He claimed Ricky was dumb. But after Father talked to Ricky, he saw that Ricky responded with nods and shakes of his head. It had not taken long for Father to see that Ricky was not dumb. He was simply mute. He discovered that Ricky could follow instructions well enough so he took him home.

I handed Ricky the wild flowers and unwrapped the cloth. Inside was a small carved wooden bird. It was not perfect but it was good enough. The look on Ricky’s face made it the best gift ever.

Oh Ricky, I love this! I exclaimed with a smile. I grabbed Ricky and hugged him. Ricky shuttered and took a step back. Ricky, It is alright. I explained. My hug will not hurt you. His face still held a shocked, confused expression. I promise.

Once again his eyes gleamed and a joyous smile spread over his lips.

I slowly walked up the rickety steps to enter the shack. Looking around I realized that Ricky had been alone.

Ricky, where is Cleo? I asked.

He looked toward the window facing the fields and gave a little nudge.

She is down at the fields? I questioned.

He nodded.

I am going to see if I can find her. Would you like to come with me?

Ricky shook his head side to side with such a serious look.

Alright then. I said quietly. I will return later. Thank you so much for the bird Ricky. I really love it. Remembering the wild flowers, I placed them near the basin. Please give these flowers to Miss Cleo.

Again Ricky nodded, this time with a smile.

I ran down the path that led to the fields. As I rounded the corner that opened up to the fields, I ran right into Mr. Piper. He was the overseer to the workers and reported back to father of the days’ work.

Miss Stanley, he asked with surprise. What are you after?

Oh Mr. Piper. I am looking for Cleo. I must ask her to find something up at the house.

Has your Mother sent for her?

No sir, I come on my own. I replied. I knew if I told Mr. Piper that I was just planning a friendly visit with Cleo, He would report back to father.

I am sorry, Miss Stanley. Mr. Piper responded firmly. I have got my orders. These darkies are on my time. He then turned his back toward me.

I glanced past Mr. Piper and saw Cleo and a few other workers. She glanced at me quickly but then just as quickly went back to work. I wondered if Father approved of Cleo working the fields as well as in the kitchen and if Cleo was in the field who was going to fix the meals that evening? This was just not right.

Slamming the front door, I called out for Mother.

I am in the parlor Rose. she called back.

Entering the parlor, I could smell the sweet scent of lavender and knew Mother must have spent her afternoon in the gardens.

Mother, who is making our meal tonight? I asked.

Why do you ask such an outlandish question? she questioned me back.

Well Cleo is in the fields. I waited for a reaction of surprise… 

Working! I continued.

What seems to be the problem here Rose? she asked casually. She will have plenty of time to prepare supper afterwards.

Mother! I shouted. That is simply awful. How could you expect Cleo to work so hard in the hot sun and then more in the hot kitchen?

Rose, I am afraid your concern is not necessary. You really should not worry about your Fathers business. You know how angry he gets when you meddle.

Mother?

Rose Leave it be, and run along. I stomped out of the parlor, just as I passed the hall, Mother called after me. And stay away from the slave quarters!

I snuck into the kitchen just before dinner and Cleo was hard at work as usual. Her hair was in a wrap and beads of perspiration formed on her forehead. She looked up and smiled.

Princessa, Thank ya for the delightful flowers.

Cleo, I am so sorry Mother and Father are making you work so hard. I whispered.

Oh, never ya mind that, dear Princessa. It is what I was born to do. she said as she wiped the sweat form her brow.

No Cleo. I snapped a bit louder. I must try to talk to Father. Make him see how wrong this is.

Cleo stopped her mixing and stepped around the table, placed her hands on my shoulders, and looked into my eyes. Ya heart is so big, Princessa. But please, do not go to ya papa with this. she said. She held her grip for a moment longer and then dropped her arms down. Princessa, it will only cause ya difficulty. Now please go before the Misses find ya here.

I dropped my head. Cleo, I do not care about myself. I said in protest.

Princessa, Go now. Cleo begged.

Dinner was quiet. I considered talking to Father, but every time I tried to open my mouth, no words would come. No, I decided, now was not the time. If I was ever going to make an impression on Father, I had to act smart. I must carefully prepare a brilliant presentation. I must get Father to hear me. A businesslike approach would be the only way.

Chapter 2

A week passed before I finally decided to approach Father with my concerns. During that week I had taken notice of quite a few other concerns as well. The condition of the quarters has really fallen apart over the years. And the trousers that Ricky was wearing were mere shreds of fabric. Cleo had patched them many times. His boots were full of wormholes as his toes were poking through. Then there were Cleo’s excessive duties. I knocked on the study door.

Who is there? came the stern voice of my Father.

It is I Papa, Rose. May I come in please? I asked nervously.

Enter. he shouted.

My hands shook as I slid the door to the side and stepped into the study. I looked away from Fathers stare as I tried to speak.

Have you lost your tongue, Child? Father asked.

I have not Papa. The nervousness showed in my voice.

Fathers piercing stare continued as he clasped his hands together in front of him. Rose, out with it. I have a lot of work to do. he boomed.

Papa, I have grave concerns that I must discuss with you.

Father chuckled. You have Grave concerns? he questioned. You are a child. What could you have grave concerns about at such a young age? But, you interest me. So what are these grave concerns of yours?

Father seemed as though he were mocking me. But as irritated as I was, he did open the floor to hear me out.

Papa, Sir, I began. You are a fine man, with a very prosperous business in cotton. You have access to fine quality fabrics and yet some of the workers suffer in shredded rags. Father rolled his eyes but said nothing as I continued. Patrick, the youngest is suffering with boots he has outgrown. And his trousers nearly expose him. They are so tattered Papa. Father remained silent. And Cleo? Did you know she works in the fields for Mr. Piper? It is not fair to work Cleo so hard. You will work her to her death! My voice was rising as I began to speak of Cleo. The anger I felt when I saw Cleo in the fields began to come back. Papa, It is wrong and I… . Father raised his hand to silence me.

Rose, you are precocious. Father stated. The workers are not your concern. He paused and then rose from his desk. But I will consider the fabric. I do not want that boy’s manhood exposed to innocent eyes.

Papa, what about the shoes? Cleo? And the shacks? I asked.

The shacks? Father asked. What about the shacks?

Well, they are horrid. Out of the ten originals, only five are left standing whole and they are starting to fall apart also.

Samson can repair them with the scrap wood behind the barn. Father boasted. I will bring fabric home, and Cleo can fashion some new trousers. As for the shoes, I will have Nannette check the trunks for an old pair. If you are done with your complaints, you can let yourself out. Father returned to his seat behind the desk.

I started to leave and turned back when I realized that Father had avoided the question concerning Cleo. Father, What about Cleo in the fields?"

He looked up above the rim of his spectacles without lifting his head. Cleo complain to you about this, did she?" He asked.

No Papa. I stammered. She has not come to me with complaint.

Then all is well. he stated. Go now.

In the Grand hall, Nannette was dusting the banister. As I past she turned toward me. You should not concern yourself with the darkies. she said. You act as if you are kin. Her smirk irritated me even more than her words.

Nannette, you should not be listening in on private conversations. I pointed out. You could lose your position in this house.

Ah girl, do not fret your pretty little head over such nonsense. she said. You should worry about your own problems before you worry about others.

What problem do you speak of? I asked.

"You are spending far too much time with the Darkies, Miss Rose. You are starting to Color. You will soon be one of them.

I looked down at my hand. Yes it was true enough that my skin had begun to bronze from the sun but not so like Ricky or Samson. Although Cleo was much lighter skinned that the others, she was still much darker than I was.

You hush Nannette! I shouted. Do not talk that way about me or the workers! I was so angry.

"Now, Now Rose, You must not