In Full Bloom: Sequel to 'The Crying Rose': The Trilogy of the Rose (Volume 2) (22 page)

Mark heard the faint click of the lock releasing as she turned the key. Sami grabbed and lifted the lid allowing it to fall all the way open. Mark wondered what memories were held in this chest. Like the cedar chests in her house in Phoenix, the top item was a framed photograph. When had she been here to hide this from view? Knowing that she had not been here since the accident, it had to have been placed there earlier by someone else, he surmised.

Viewing Sami, he noticed that she had removed the photograph. He had only caught a glimpse of it when she first opened the chest, but couldn't tell what was captured on the print. Her focus was locked on the photograph. “Sami?” Mark started, knowing this to be a major development. “Tell me about the photograph.”

Not taking her eyes off the photograph, she began, “This photo was taken when we were five.”

“We?” Mark leaned over her shoulder to view the photograph.

“My twin sister, Rosemarie, and myself. She died shortly after the portrait was taken,” Sami continued. “Her heart finally gave out.” Her voice was thick and full of emotion. “Wanting to protect me, my mother refused to acknowledge her existence and locked everything away in this chest and kept the key hidden from me. Mother never knew that I often came in here to spend time with this locked chest. This is the first time I have opened it. Rose was a taboo subject, but Mom couldn’t rid her from my mind and heart.”

Mark was stunned. She had a twin sister! He was truly shocked.
No wonder there were no photographs on the fireplace mantel prior to age five
, he thought. Mark saw the photograph of the two little girls. He could easily tell just by looking at it which one was Sami, because one of the girls, though very pretty, was frail and sickly in appearance. He now understood the core of Sami’s problem, the reason why she had hidden all personal items that belonged to a loved one who had passed away. Her inabilities to handle, understand, and adjust to any loss stemmed from the passing of her twin. She needed to grieve openly for Rosemarie before she could move on with the rest. Her parents, wanting to protect her, unknowingly had caused her to split in order to cope.

Mark eyed the chest. There were many things: the little dress and shoes she had on in the photograph, a doll, a barrette with a lock of hair, an imprint of little hands and feet and more photograph albums. Seeing another frame, he withdrew it. He turned it over expecting to see another photograph. This frame held not a photo, but a printed poem. Mark read it briefly and knew that he had finally found what he needed. This poem, written by Sami’s mother for her lost little girl, would heal Sami’s shattered spirit.

“Sami,” Mark said quietly, getting her attention away from the photograph. “You need to hear this poem. Your mother wrote it for your sister.” Sami pulled the photograph into her chest with her right arm and nodded for him to begin.

“ROSEMARIE

My little, beautiful rosebud who will never be in full bloom.

I truly thank the God above

That gave me you for us to love.

You tried so hard to stay right here,

But, God had other plans, my dear.

You were a beauty, my little Rose,

So fair of face with a turned-up nose,

It’s so hard for me, but yet I’ll try

To write this down before I cry.

It grieves me, darling, that you should go

For your Dad and I did love you so,

But your heart just couldn’t take the strain,

And your life was filled with so much pain.

Your twin sister, Sami, will carry on

With all the love we will bestow upon.

We will cherish her, your Dad and me,

And keep her happy, so she’s pain free.

I will still love you dear, with all my heart,

Though God has seen that we must part.

Your lovely face will always be

A memory locked deep inside of me.

Love, Mother”

When he finished reading, he gazed at Sami. He had witnessed her tears before, but at this moment, these were different, somehow deeper. He put the poem aside and moved forward farther, gathering her into his arms. “Cry, sweetheart,” he directed softly.

Mark heard the door close behind him and knew that Grandma Jo had left them alone. A feeling of satisfaction surged through Mark as he viewed the open cedar chest over her head.
This chest first
, he thought. Exploring the content bit by bit will stir her hidden secrets — to bring them forward in order for him to start her healing process.  Thinking of the other three chests within her home in Phoenix which held her past, they would need to do the same process with them. Each was vital to ensure that the tears of this crying rose were dried.

***

NOVELS by B.A. Beers:

CONTEMPORY FICTION
:

The Dr. Mark Stevens’ Chronicles”

The Trilogy of the Rose

           
The Crying Rose

           
In Full Bloom
, the sequel to
The Crying Rose

            Bouquet,
the sequel to
In Full Bloom

Secret Writing

FANTASY:

Isle of the Four Kingdoms
:

Dragon Lady Trilogy
:

            Book One:  The Kingdom of the Seven Shields

            Book Two:  Dragon Lady vs Lady Destiny

            Book Three:  Whose Land?

Coming in Winter of 2012, the next trilogy in the
Isle of the Four Kingdoms
will begin, featuring the Dragon Alliance’s continuing adventures.

Read on for an excerpt from
Bouquet
, the sequel to
In Full Bloom.

ONE

D
r. Mark Stevens frowned at the awareness of Samantha Carter’s deathly-still body in his arms. Her cleansing-cry had ended abruptly.  Warning bells sounded in him as he involuntarily tensed. Quickly reviewing the last few moments, he could find no clue for the reason for her rapid change.  Sensing he was not going to like the reason, he braced himself mentally and asked, “What is it?”

“Sweetheart?” Sami blasted out of Mark’s embrace and pressed herself against the headboard of her bed.

Crap
, Mark thought as he recalled his whisper to her. His heartfelt directions had awakened ‘Mrs. Carter’. Poor, sweet, lost Sami was overridden once again by this witch-side of her. He sighed deeply, not wanting to play this game. He wanted more time to celebrate the small victory they had achieved.  He cursed himself for his lack of professionalism, knowing this part of Sami had thorns. He had to toughen his skin around her or his injuries would only get worse. Needing to put distance between them before revealing his feelings verbally, he rose from the bed. His movement resulted in the framed poem, written by her mother for Sami’s deceased twin, to crash to the floor. The sound of the cracking glass echoed throughout the room. “Damn it,” he uttered, breaking eye contact with Sami and seeing the cracked glass of the frame. Bending forward to retrieve the broken frame, his head collided with Sami’s. The impact was jarring as both reached for the sore spot where their heads had met. The aftermath of their collision should have been filled with apologies, but the room was silent as they glared at each other.

Viewing her pained expression did little to calm his self-anger. Fearful of voicing his frustration, he shook his head and turned to the closed door. With his hand still rubbing his sore head, he opened the door and exited the room swiftly.

His charge down the hall and across the living room to the outside door was made without comment. He felt Grandma Jo’s eyes on him as he blasted out the front door and slammed it.  The extremely, cold wind from the snowstorm hit him in the face. Dropping his hand from his face, he fought the wind and moved to the edge of the front porch, gripping the railing with both hands.  As his bare hands crushed through the snow that blanketed the railing, he shook
—
not from the cold which encased his jacketless body, but from the emotional surge he was experiencing.  He knew that his actions were immature and even childish, but he couldn’t stop it. Every fiber of his body was impacted. His ever-present, common sense was telling him to control his thoughts. . .to be logical.
Logical?
he laughed.  He needed to detach, to rid himself of his emotions in this case.  He knew he was asking for the moon, but at the moment he wished for it to happen. 

’Baby steps, Mark
,’ Pat voiced in his head.
’You are not a good fairy.  You don’t own a wand to magically bop on her head and make all your dreams come true
.’

Mark chuckled at his deceased wife’s voice in his head. “I would like to bop her over the head, but not with a wand,” Mark answered the voice.

’Think Mark. You got her to reveal the root of her problem
—
the seed which started these roots to grow in the wrong direction.  You must redirect them to more stable ground
,’ she continued.