The Rose Garden

by: ladymouse25

"Clara! Clarabell!" A deep voice boomed throughout the small courtyard that apart from the chattering birds in the dense display of vivacious blooming flowers seemed to be otherwise deserted. "Come out, come out wherever you are..."

Seeming unbeknownst to the tall, dark haired man delicately combing through bushes and peering up into trees, a small child crouched behind a blossoming blood red rose bush. Her twin honey brown eyes twinkling with mischief as she peeked out between the tangled mass of branches. Her hands were tightly pressed over her lips as she fought to keep the gleeful giggles silent.

"Clara...I have a surprise for you..." The man taunted the child as he looked around yet another bush. "I guess I'll just have to give it to some other little girl..." Sighing defeatedly the man straightened gave a last rather dejected look around the courtyard and took just a single step back towards the house.

"Papa! Papa, wait!" Squealing the girl shot up and took off around her hiding spot after the tall, now grinning man. Then suddenly and quite viciously the rose bush lashed out and stopped the little girl dead in her tracks with a cry of pain.

"Clara," The grin slipped from the man's lips replaced now a gentle, slightly exasperated smile. "What have I told you about playing near the rose bushes?" He walked over to her and ever so gently dettached the thorns from the sleeve of the little girls dress.

"I hate these stupid bushes, Papa! Why do we even have them! They hurt so much!" Tears slipped down her rounded cheeks as she looked over to where her father's roughened careful hands pulled the branch away. Sucking in her bottom lip she carefully pushed her sleeve up to reveal a thin cut. "I'm bleeding, Papa! Papa, I'm bleeding!" The hysterics were slowly working their way into her voice as her little face started to fall into full out sobs.

"Clarabell, hush...there's nothing to get so worked up about. It's just a small cut." But despite the calm way he soothed the child, the man picked the little girl up, holding her tenderly against him as she buried her tearstained face into the crook of his neck. "The rose is such a delicate flower, my sweet, it needs to protect itself some how from being trampled."

"But, Pa-pa-papa, wh-why? There are so-so many flow-flowers!" Clara inhaled a shuddering calming breath but didn't lift her face from his neck.

"You know why, my sweet." The man started to walk back to the path and over to a small stone bench to sit. "Your mother planted those roses. First the ones by the door when we were married and then the one you just sprinted out behind when she found out we were going to have you." He ran a hand gently through the little girl's hair. "Not everyone can grow roses here, little Clarabell. It takes a skilled gardener to get them to grow. They are special. We can't just take them out."

A long and dramatic sigh was exhaled from the little girl's body before she pulled, straightening up to get a better look at her father. "Mama, loved roses, didn't she?" Sad light brown eyes stared at her father as she sniffed and wiped a small, dirty hand across her eyes.

A small, dim smile turned up the corners of the mans lips at the thought of his late beloved wife. "Yes, my sweet, she did. The roses were her favorite. She even wanted to name you Rose." Playfully the man pinched the little girls nose.

Giggling she swatted away her father's hands. "Rose? Why didn't she, Papa?"

"Because the moment she saw you, she realized you were far more beautiful than any rose and that you deserved your own name."

"I miss her, Papa." Clarabell sighed again, looking away from her father and resignedly at the rose bush. "I guess they can stay...if Mama loved them," she heaved another heavy sigh and looked back at her father, "I guess so can I."

"That's very grown up of you, little Clarabell." The man looked at his young daughter, barely more than six years old, seeing, not for the first time, how much his darling child needed her mother. "Come, Clara, I brought you something from my last adventure." Standing he carried a now wide-eyed giggling girl back inside the house.

"Clara!" The piercing, high pitched screech reverberated throughout the same tiny courtyard, instantly terrifying a small flock of sparrows from their perch in the trees. "Clarabell, what are you doing out here! Your chores are waiting for you! Get inside!"

A young child no longer, the girl was now thirteen years old and starting to blossom into a young woman. The dirt stains still marred her dress, but instead of hiding behind bushes, she was now tending to them. "Yes, Stepmother, I'm coming." With that same old heavy sigh that made it sound as if the weight of the world was upon her shoulders, the girl straightened up from her knees, leaving the shears she had been using to prune the rose bush.

"I don't know why you insist on dirtying yourself by caring for those dreadful bushes. Honestly, one of these days we should just take them out. They are far more trouble than they are worth." The disgust was clear in the older woman's voice as she stared not only at the bush, but at Clara.

The shock was clearly written on the girl's face as she desperately shook her head and started towards her stepmother. "Oh no! Please! They were my mother's! I'll make sure to care for them after chores from now on, please! Please, leave them!" Deperate, pleading eyes searched a rather now smug woman's.

"Mm, I don't know," Piercing blue eyes looked down a crooked nose at the begging girl, the brightness on her face clearly betraying on how she enjoyed being able to rule this over the other girl.

"The roses are staying, my sweet. Don't fret." A tired albeit definite sound of a man's voice caused both Clara and her Stepmother to turn quickly at the sound. But where as Clara lit up and ran towards him, her stepmother looked a little less enthusiastic and was slower to meet her husband.

"Papa! You're back!" Clara collided in a tight hug with the man sending his usually firm stance back a step.

"What did you bring us, Stepfather!" Two girls, one slightly older and one slightly younger than Clara rushed out of the house, past their Stepmother and eagerly stopped before the man.

"How was the shipment, Charles?" Now before him, Clara's stepmother placed a rather cool, quick kiss on the man's cheek.

The man had a soft, warm, tired smile aimed at his daughter as he ran a hand comfortingly through the girl's hair before glancing up at his stepdaughters, the smile fading until it was completely gone as he regarded his wife. "I'm afraid, I bear no presents this time, girls." He didn't look at the girls but rather at his wife. His honey brown eyes gently searching that of his wife's, there was a sadness in them, one he was trying to convey to his wife, but hoping his daughters would miss the message. "Why don't you girls go get ready for dinner while I-"

"Where is the shipment, Charles." The Stepmother didn't care what the girls heard. Her husband never failed in bringing home toys for the children when he met his ships returning to the docks.

Sighing, his eyes fell from his wife to his daughter still resting her head happily against his chest then to the other two girls who looked more than disappointed they weren't getting a new toy and back to his wife with her critical eyes. "Gone." The single word practically got caught in his throat. "The ship..." The hopelessness in his voice and eyes aged the otherwise middle aged man at least twenty years and betrayed how little sleep he had received in the past few nights, if any. "...I've called in favors, but...tonight we'll talk about what we need to do..."

"Gone." Nodding the venom with which the woman shot back the word at him could not be missed. She had visibly tensed and her lips were a thin white line. "And now what are we supposed to do, Charles, hm? First you sell the other ships. Now our only one is, what? At the bottom of the ocean? And what is your plan, dearest husband?" The woman practically spit out the endearment and though the question was rhetorical she paused, her eyes narrowing into a glare. "Sell what little possessions we have? And how long will that last? You better have a better plan than that, you idiot." Shaking her head she whipped around and started heading to the house. "Eliza. Olive. We need to finish your lessons. Clara, you have chores." The two girls gave a last bitterly disappointed look at their stepfather before scampering off after their mother.

Once again a sigh left the man's lips as he hung his head. He was a failure. He had married for his wife's dowry and to provide a mother and family for his daughter. He had sold the ships when his wife's dowry wasn't enough to keep up with her lifestyle and now...

"Papa...we'll be okay...won't we?" Clara's earnest, worried eyes searched her father's.

"Yes, my sweet. We'll be okay..." A small smile returned to his lips as he looked down at his daughter, wishing he could have given her a better life and wondering if they may have been better alone after all. "I'm afraid you are going to have to help your stepmother more than ever now. I'll have to...fire...the servants and, probably, be gone more often trying to find work..."

None of what he said seemed to bother Clara in the slightest, she was used to the many chores she had while her stepsisters barely had any. And while she would miss the kind servants, it seemed a small price considering the circumstances. Clarabell had always been bright. Had she the same lessons as her stepsisters she undoubtably would have out far outshone them both. But there was one word that sparked an outraged cry from the girl. "Gone? But, Papa! You just got back! Please, don't go! I miss you so much!" Tightening her told even more, she clung to her father, burying her face back in the fabric of his clothing and inhaling the deep scent.

"Clara...my sweet girl...I need to find work if we are to keep living here and off the streets." Pulling back slightly, he hooked a finger under the girl's chin and turned up her miserable looking little face. "Oh, don't look like that, my sweet. I will be home often enough. And you will have enough keeping you busy here not to miss me." Part of him didn't even want to think how much his wife would throw on his darling little girl, but then, what could he do? It was a woman's job to run the home. "Come now, Clara, let's go see what your sisters are up and see if we can cheer up your stepmother."