A Rose That Never Fades

Chapter One

It was 1869. She was on the Oregon Trail.

She despised the sight of roses. She loathed their colors, prickly thorns, and soft petals with a passion that she couldn’t even begin to explain without wrinkling her nose. Love often revolved around these beautiful flowers, but she couldn’t disagree more with those false testimonials of undying devotion and romantic promises of the future. Her hatred for the flower was not because of the fact that they were called roses—she frankly adored their name. Her father had nicknamed her Rose and used it since she was a young girl. She merely loathed the flower because of the thing that it symbolized.

She twisted the rose stem in her fingertips. She was mesmerized by its rich hue and elegant scent. The vibrant, red petals were closed around the middle bud, which had begun to open and bloom. The fragrance was indeed wondrous. Nevertheless, her instincts told her to crush the wonderful creation in her hands and forget about it. Much to her dismay, she actually wanted to smell it, to gather its sweet aroma, and to fill her thoughts with its promises of love and beauty.

Such naive feelings, she thought as she groaned inwardly.

Her anger was not the flower’s fault, far from it. She quite enjoyed nature and its refreshing hope, but he had ruined that picture. It was all his fault. He was to blame for her lack of trust and the rising hatred within her bosom. The mere sight of a rose toyed with her imagining of him and placed fear in her heart. For weeks, she had refused his fanciful letters and extravagant gifts, only to gain warnings and threats of every kind in return. He was relentless and forceful.

Two days prior to her running away from home, she had written him a letter of rejection, leaving it tucked beneath a stone outside her parlor window. She was right to suspect that he would be watching her from there, for he had indeed received her note as she had planned. His next actions were not pleasant in the slightest. She had come to greatly regret her actions and pondered the thought of giving in to his vilest wishes instead.

Pride, dread, and renewed ambition arose. She would rather die than be his to have and to hold. A single rose had been left among the ashes of her quaint home just outside Kansas City. He had burned her only home to the ground, leaving her with nothing. Not even her parents had survived the catastrophic event that had taken place. The remembrance of their suffering brought stinging tears to her eyes. She had loved them so dearly, and they had given her everything in the world while sacrificing their own needs and desires for hers. She had been their only child and their baby girl of twenty years. They had wanted her to grow up in a God-fearing home filled with gentle love. Her heart ached so tenderly for them.

The rose she now carried had been the last one that she had received from her admirer¾or rather, her destructive shadow. She had regrettably found out that he was truly a force to be reckoned with. She had learned not to trifle with him, which had led to the only solution that she could think of: Run. Run far away.

She had climbed aboard the first coach out of town and had ended up in Independence, Missouri. She had stayed for several days in the old false-fronted hotel, using the earnings that she had. But to her disbelief, he had trailed after her. The romantic yet threatening notes and poetry had not ceased. She wondered, Can I ever be rid of him?

The sincere words of his last letter had been forever etched into her mind. It was a nightmare of perfect English and elegant penmanship.

My dearest Rose,
Why are you running? My love for you grows daily. Oh! How I admire your lips and the softness of your voice. I wish to kiss your red lips, run my hand through your chocolate curls, and proclaim our love to the heavens. But alas, you run and leave me as dirt in the gardens of our hearts.
I will find you again, my Rose, and next time, you will not leave my side. I will clip your thorns, remove your stem, and pluck you from the soil. Do not think that I will not ensure our love, sweet, sweet Rosemary. Your parents had to learn the depths of my capabilities. I do hope that you will not challenge me again. You cannot hope to flee my sight. I will capture you. I will follow you wherever you go, and nothing can keep us apart.

Your loving admirer

She remembered reading over the letter the night that she had left. Her hands were shaking, and her eyes were wet with tears of pain and terror. His handwriting was dark. He must have put hard pressure on the rose-scented paper, which meant that he was furious and desperate. His words were not empty. She would never again disregard them so carelessly—not as before. She had endangered all who had crossed her path with her foolish apathy. Holding on to the lessons that she had learned, she kept to herself upon arriving in the city of Independence.