Rosemary Danced: Ivy Book One

  Rosemary Danced

  Ivy Book One

  Charley Lynn

  Copyright © 2020 by Charley Lynn

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Also by Charley Lynn

  Cordelia

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by Charley Lynn

  Chapter 1

  “So, do you think this old bucket will last me through seminary?” Pete patted the hood of his battered Toyota. He shaded his eyes to look up at her. The early-afternoon sun was warm for mid-May and the air smelled sweet, like the blooming lilac bushes that lined the south edge of the student parking lot.

  “Doubt it, Pete. I know it was made in Japan, but with over three hundred thousand miles on it, I can’t see that you’ll be driving it for another seven years.” Rosemary tried the driver’s door. “Are you still climbing over the console to get into the driver’s seat?”

  “Yep. That’s my exercise program—climbing over the console several times a day. It’s a good thing I’m only five-six, isn’t it?” Pete winked.

  “Maybe so.” Rosemary grinned. The disparity between their heights was a long-time joke. Pete stopped growing at fifteen, but Rosemary was six feet tall by the time she was thirteen. Pete never made her feel like that either his lack of height or her excessive height bothered him. He was her friend through thick and thin.

  Pete checked his watch. “Gotta go, Rosemary. I have to get to work.”

  “Okay. I’ll see you Monday.” She watched as Pete opened the passenger door, threw his backpack in the backseat and climbed over the middle console. She started walking back to her truck and heard Pete’s car start, the distinctive sound of his car with the wired-together muffler rattling through the lot.

  Rosemary tossed her backpack into the truck, her mind on the things she needed to do during her hour-long commute. “Okay, before I leave town, I need to get gas and pick up my dry cleaning. I have to drop off library books in Ivy before I go home and…” her head popped up when she heard a thunderous crash of metal on metal and shattering glass.

  She whirled to see Pete’s car flying through the air. It came to rest on the grass a few yards from the side door of Roosevelt High School. Horrified, she watched the little car explode on impact, the flames shooting high from the wreckage. Without thought, Rosemary ran towards the burning car, trying to push her way through the gathering crowd, but the intense heat stopped her. She fell to her knees, sobbing. People crowded around, but they stayed away from Rosemary, until a big guy, muscled and brawny, bent over her.

  “Come on, it isn’t safe this close.” The guy squatted down next to her. A second guy, equally as big, squatted down on the other side of her.

  Rosemary didn’t answer the guy; she didn’t move, she just stared at the fire, tears streaming down her face. The first boy shook his head and nodded at his friend.

  “Don’t freak, okay? We’ve gotta move ya.” She didn’t fight them and she didn’t look away from the burning car when they hooked their arms under hers and started to drag her away.

  The first guy muttered. “Becks, go put your truck tailgate down. I’ll carry her.” Rosemary didn’t even notice when she was lifted, carried and gently set down on the tailgate of a pick-up. “Paramedics are coming. Are you hurt?”

  Rosemary finally registered that someone was talking to her. “What?” He repeated the question. “No, I’m not, but Pete…” She stared back at the fire.

  “Yeah.” He looked over his shoulder at the fire. “Maybe don’t look any more.”

  Rosemary started to shake, her teeth chattering. “I can’t…I can’t…”

  He stood in front of her, blocking her view of the fire. “Hey. Take a deep breath. I’m Linc. What’s your name?”

  She looked blankly at him for a long minute, hearing the sirens getting louder. “…Rosemary…Rosemary Bakker.”

  “Rosemary. I know you’re on the dance team, but I didn’t know your name.” He caught her eye and chatted with her easily, attempting to get her focus away from the burning car. He smiled. “You’re not a football fan, are you?”

  “Football?” Rosemary’s nose wrinkled. “What about football?”

  “You’re on the dance team, but I’ve noticed you don’t pay any attention to the players. That’s kinda unique.”

  She shook her head, confused. “I dance. I’m on the dance team so I can dance. Why would I pay attention to the football players?”

  He shrugged, but he was watching for the paramedics. The firefighters had already hooked up hoses and when water hit the burning metal and sizzled, Rosemary whimpered. “He’s gone, isn’t he? He couldn’t have survived that.”

  Linc swallowed visibly before he patted her shoulder gently. “I can’t see how, Rosemary. I’m really sorry.”

  Linc waved at a paramedic and pointed at Rosemary. The man nodded briefly and was beside Rosemary in three strides. He dropped his bag next to her and knelt. “Are you hurt, miss?”

  Rosemary tried to focus on the paramedic’s kind eyes and serious face. “No. My friend…Pete is in the car.”

  The paramedic nodded. He pulled out a blood pressure cuff and wrapped it around her arm. “What’s your name, honey?”

  “Rosemary.” Her teeth chattered and her body shook.

  “Okay, Rosemary. I’m going to check you out. It doesn’t look like you’re hurt, but I need to make sure.” He wrapped a blanket around her shoulders. He went through a short series of questions while he assessed her. “Do you want to go to the hospital?”

  “No, but…” Tears started again. “I want my mom.”

  “Can we call her?”

  “Yeah. I don’t know where my phone is…I…” Rosemary looked around. The parking lot and side yard of the high school was chaos. Fire trucks were on the street next to the school, the water arced towards the now-smoking hunk of metal that had been Pete’s car and people were watching from the strip mall across the street. Teachers and staff monitored the crowd of students, keeping them back. Rosemary didn’t notice the man watching her intently from the far end of the parking lot. She also didn’t see the disheveled man
with the gray ponytail watching from across the street. The spring sunshine was warm and pleasant but the smell of the breeze was acrid. “I think my phone is still in my truck.”

  “I know which truck is hers; I’ll go look.” Linc jogged away.

  When her backpack was placed next to her, she looked up at Linc in confusion. “Why do you have my backpack?”

  He smiled kindly. “Find your phone, Rosemary. If you call your mom, I’ll talk to her. You want her to come and get you, right?”

  Rosemary nodded. Silently, she located her phone and found her mom’s contact information. She handed the phone to Linc. “Her name is Margie. Margie Masters.” Linc turned away and talked into her phone for a few minutes.

  “She’s on the way.” He handed Rosemary her phone and her keys. “I took the keys out of the ignition and locked your truck.”

  “Thanks.” Rosemary huddled in the blanket, quietly watching the horror. She wasn’t aware that Linc hovered at her side; she was barely aware of the paramedic announcing that she wasn’t physically hurt. She merely nodded when he suggested that she see her regular doctor the next day. Instead, Rosemary stared at the car that had held her best friend, the burned metal with the windows blown out that was soaked from the water poured on it. She knew, but she couldn’t see, didn’t want to see, that her friend was dead and gone. She didn’t see her mother running towards her.

  “Baby?”

  “Mom?” Rosemary started to cry again at the sound of her mother’s voice.

  “I’m going to take you home, honey.” Margie took her hand. Rosemary climbed down off the truck’s tailgate and followed her mother obediently.

  Her step-dad John was standing on the driveway waiting for them. He unbuckled Rosemary’s baby brother Jared and lifted him out of the baby seat.

  “Take your mom’s hand, Rosemary.” Wordlessly, Rosemary followed her mom as Margie led her to the couch. John brought her a cup of tea. “Did you eat lunch today, Rosemary?”

  “I think so. I’m not hungry, anyway.” She stared out of the large front window at her mother’s colorful bed of blooming tulips until she saw the school bus stop at the end of the driveway. Rosemary watched while her twin sisters, Leesa and Lara, jumped off the bottom step, pushing each other to be the first off the bus. It looked like they were arguing, which wasn’t unusual. Her twelve-year old brother Caleb followed the twins, smilingly unaffected by his sisters’ argument. Just behind Caleb, Connor followed solemnly. Almost fifteen years old, Connor rarely smiled. Typically, he wasn’t smiling today.

  The noise level in the house escalated as soon as the kids hit the back door. A few minutes later, baby Jared started to cry. Connor carried the fussy baby in and sat across from Rosemary, expertly settling Jared on his shoulder and patting the baby’s back. “You okay, Rosie? Mom told me about Pete.”

  Her eyes filled. “We’ve been friends since we were in day care.”

  “I know, Rosie.” Her brothers, the oldest of them holding the youngest, sat with her quietly until supper was ready.

  Rosemary picked at her food, letting the dinnertime chatter roll over her. It wasn’t until they were almost finished that she started to cry when her sisters started to argue about doing the dishes.

  It reminded her of an argument between Pete and two older guys from their home youth group. They were all at church camp, the three boys working on one side of the large dining room and three girls working on the other side. The two guys working with Pete frequently took advantage of the age difference by making Pete wash the tables. Pete rarely got angry, so when he did, it was noticeable. Rosemary was shocked when Pete threw a wet cloth at them, his eyes narrowed with anger. When the sopping wet cloth hit the bigger of the two boys in the face, Pete turned red but stood his ground. ‘Fine!’ The older boy sneered. ‘I’ll wash the stupid tables.’

  “Oh no,” she whispered, tears running down her cheeks.

  Connor jumped up. “Come on, Rosie. I’m taking you to the studio.”

  She tried to smile. “I’m okay, C.T., really. Stay and finish your dinner.”

  “I’m done,” Connor said gruffly. “Come on.”

  Caleb spoke up. “Sissy, he’s worried. Let him take care of you. Otherwise, he’ll clomp around here and growl at the rest of us.”

  Rosemary laughed for the first time in hours. She kissed her little brother on the cheek. “Okay, Caleb. Come on, Connor.” They went out the back door after Connor picked up his backpack and Rosemary’s. They crossed the back yard and entered the side door of the triple garage. Climbing the stairs, they let themselves into the studio. Rosemary sighed.

  “Your happy place,” her brother observed.

  “Definitely my comfort place,” Rosemary agreed. The second floor of the oversized triple garage was essentially a one-bedroom apartment with a large open dance floor equipped with a ballet barre. A small bedroom, a very small, efficient bathroom, a small TV area and tiny kitchen, a sewing area and a huge walk-in closet made the studio, as the family called it, Rosemary’s comfort place. Open-beamed ceilings made the space feel even larger.

  Rosemary sank into a chair, feeling the effects of the horrible day. Connor didn’t speak, but he watched her out of the corner of his eye. She had been taking care of him since he was born. Even before she was old enough to be responsible for him, she had watched out for him, tirelessly seeing to his comfort. They had relied on each other when their ex-stepfather had done his best to let them know he didn’t want them. Because of these things, the boy was eerily in tune with his older sister. They both cared deeply about their brothers and sisters, but there was a depth to their relationship that only their mother truly understood.

  Margie came out after the younger kids were in bed. She found Rosemary sitting on her bed, staring out at the dark backyard. “Honey, I know it’s early, but you’re exhausted. Why don’t you go wash your face and I’ll find your pajamas.” Rosemary nodded.

  A few minutes later, Margie pulled back the blanket and sheet so Rosemary could slip under them. Rosemary yawned and burrowed into her pillow. “I love my new sheets.”

  Margie chuckled. “I know you do, baby.” She tucked the covers around Rosemary’s shoulders. “Connor’s going to sleep on the couch outside your room tonight.”

  “He doesn’t need to. He’ll sleep better in his room.”

  “I’m staying out here, Rosie. Don’t argue.” Connor frowned fiercely from the doorway.

  Rosemary squinted at her brother. “Yeah, you’re scary. Almost makes me forget you’re the same little boy who wore your underwear backwards for a year because you liked to be able to look down and see the action figures printed on them.”

  Connor flinched. “Geez. Don’t ever tell anybody that.”

  Rosemary carefully did her hair and make-up. Wearing a black suit and a silver-gray blouse, she met her step-dad downstairs.

  “You look beautiful, Rosemary.” John kissed her temple. “Are you okay, kiddo?”

  “I’ll be fine.” She looked up. “It’s a beautiful day.” She let the sun shine on her face for a moment before she held out her keys. “Would you mind driving? I don’t feel up to it.”

  The large Methodist church in Des Moines, the same church Rosemary had attended until she moved to Ivy, was packed. Rosemary loved this church and the memories it held. She’d met Pete here at the day care, attended Sunday School with him here and spent countless hours with him at church activities. Sunlight streamed through the stained-glass windows and the lights were low, making the sanctuary feel peaceful and other-worldly.

  Pete was praised for his work with the mission outreach program and the homeless shelter. His brother Tad spoke of Pete’s love of his family, his friends and his love of God that he had intended to share as a pastor. When the minister said they should rejoice for Pete as he entered the Kingdom of Heaven, Rosemary couldn’t do it. She tried; it wasn’t as if she didn’t wish him joy and happiness, but she couldn’t make herself rejoice.

  She
watched Pete’s mother, sitting three rows ahead of her, crying into a handkerchief while Tad’s arm held her tightly. Mrs. Noah’s shoulders shook while the choir sang “It is Well With My Soul.” Rosemary couldn’t look away, although she felt like she was intruding on the poor woman’s grief. As she watched, a bubble of light hovered over Mrs. Noah and her son Tad. The light wasn’t blinding; it was more like a subtle lightening and brightening around the two of them. She leaned forward slightly, fascinated with what she was seeing. The light seemed to envelop Pete’s mother and brother for a few seconds longer before it faltered slightly, faded and disappeared. Mrs. Noah’s shoulders lifted as she looked at Tad. Tad tightened his arm around his mother and he slowly smiled.

  Rosemary felt a warmth surround her, like a cosmic hug bringing unconditional love and support. She felt Pete close to her and knew that he was well and happy. She also felt the beginnings of peace come over her.

  After the funeral service, John drove them to a large cemetery a few miles from the church. After a short interment ceremony, Rosemary stepped into the sunshine while John chatted with the minister. When Pete’s brother approached with his mother, she smiled sadly and hugged them both. Mrs. Noah held tightly to Rosemary’s hand.