Page 24 of The Queen of Roses

On her way out, Theresa spotted the envelope tucked under a California art pottery bowl on the entryway table. Written in a beautiful sloping script was Theresa Johnson. She picked it up and then let herself out of the house, digging in her bag for her keys as she went.

She unlocked her car, moving fast because the metal handle was hot enough to burn. She sat in the driver’s seat, her legs still stretched to the asphalt outside. While waiting for the baking interior to air out, she slid her finger under the flap of the envelope and ripped it open.

Inside was a check made out to Theresa Johnson for a hundred dollars.

She shook her head with a laugh and tucked the check back into its envelope. Miss Pearce had never been in any doubt that Theresa would take the role as biographer. Maybe the arrogance of that should have bothered her, but instead, she found herself strangely charmed.

One thing was certain: as soon as the bank opened on Monday morning, she would be in line to deposit it.

When Theresa arrived at Rosewood House the following Saturday morning, she looked for Matt. He had been in the flower beds at the front last time, so it seemed only natural to check there first.

Finding no sign of him, she mounted the steps to the front door and used the iron knocker, then stood back to wait. After a few moments, Miss Pearce opened the door, wearing a crisply ironed white poplin shirtdress that was buttoned almost to her neck. As it had been the previous week, her silver hair was swept back from her face in a knot, but this time a pair of perfectly matched pearls hung from her earlobes.

“Good morning, Miss Johnson,” said the older woman.

“Miss Pearce, how are you?” Theresa asked.

“As well as can be. Do come in.” Miss Pearce led her through the living room.

“Your home is beautiful,” said Theresa.

“I should have showed it to you last time,” said Miss Pearce.

“Have you lived here a very long time?”

“Decades, but we mustn’t jump ahead in the story. I thought we would sit outside again. There is a tray for us in the kitchen if you don’t mind carrying it.”

“Of course not. Is your shoulder still bothering you?”

“When you reach my age, there are very few days when something isn’t the matter with you,” said Miss Pearce.

Theresa knew from their conversation last week that Miss Pearce must be seventy-nine if she had arrived in Pasadena at the age of twenty-two in 1903. Older, certainly, but not so very old, especially for a woman who still moved with the grace of a dancer.

“Does your shoulder injury keep you from the garden?” she asked as they passed through the kitchen and she spotted the tray, this time loaded with coffee things.

“It does. I realize it pales in comparison to what troubles some people, but working in the garden gives me such pleasure that it is difficult to do nothing but sit and look at it, beautiful though it may be,” said Miss Pearce.

Theresa followed her subject out to the table where they’d sat the previous Saturday. She poured her hostess a cup of coffee and handed it to her.

“Thank you,” said Miss Pearce. “There was a time when I could not abide coffee.”

“Did you acquire a taste for it when you moved here?”

“It was out of necessity rather than preference, I’m afraid. It was very difficult for me to have good tea imported. Now, where were we?” Miss Pearce put on the same straw hat she’d worn the previous week.

“You had just learned that your father had lost the family’s fortune, and your mother told you that your only recourse was to find a man to marry in Pasadena,” prompted Theresa, who had skimmed her shorthand notes over a slice of toast that morning.

“Ah, yes, my second launch onto the marriage market,” said Miss Pearce, before settling into her story once again.

October 25, 1903

Hotel Green, Pasadena

Dear Mrs. Barnes,

I am writing to offer my sincere apology for my behavior yesterday afternoon. Although the people I have met in Pasadena have been very understanding and accommodating, I still find myself from time to time at a disadvantage because things are so very different here. I hope you can forgive any rudeness on my part that might have arisen from ignorance.

Yours respectfully,