Love the One You Hate

“Yes, for at-risk young adults.”

“And are you ‘at-risk’, do you think?”

I look down, slightly embarrassed by the subject. “No, but the state seems to think I am. I have made some mistakes—though not in the way you might think,” I add quickly, not wanting her to get the wrong idea. “I just put my faith in the wrong people at times, and I’m still suffering the consequences. It’s made it really difficult to find good jobs and decent places to live. The group home was a good fit for me because the rent was really low and they didn’t care about my past.”

“And you liked it there?”

I think of the cold concrete floors and the hard twin mattress I slept on every night. I think of the other girls I never quite got along with and the loneliness I tried hard to ignore. It’s funny that until this moment I’d never considered if I liked it or not. It simply was my only option. Beggars can’t be choosers.

“It served its purpose,” I say matter-of-factly. “Gave me a place to sleep at night, a consistency I’ve found hard to replicate since my parents’ deaths.”

I look up to find she doesn’t look too pleased. Her deep frown doesn’t sit well with me.

“It sounds worse than it is,” I assure her.

Her lips purse. “Somehow I doubt that.”

“I really should give them another call. I let them know I’d be gone for a few days, but space is pretty limited there and I feel bad taking a spot away from someone who really needs it. That is…if I am really going to stay on here with you.”

She nods quickly as if there’s no doubt in her mind. “I’ll have Frank drive down this Saturday and pick up your things. He can alert the staff about your new address and have your mail forwarded here. That should cover everything.”

Oh good. One more person running around doing my bidding.

“He doesn’t have to do that. I can go myself,” I protest.

“No, actually, you can’t. You and I have an appointment on Saturday.”

I sip my tea—a drink I’m quickly starting to love—and let Cornelia lead the conversation wherever she might like. It’s interesting how easily I’ve given in to her will to keep me here. It’s not exactly worth it for me to fight with her about it. I want to stay here—who wouldn’t?—and besides, I’m starting to discover that my being here isn’t purely for my own benefit. As the days stretch from one to the next and I spend more time with her, I think I start to understand Cornelia’s motives for bringing me to Rosethorn. She doesn’t need another person polishing silver; that’s clear. I think she truly meant what she said when she described me as her companion. Even though she’s surrounded by servants and has more “lunch dates at the club” than any one person might need, I think she still might be a little lonely. After all, I can’t help but wonder if I weren’t here, would she sit in that big dining room all by herself every night? The thought makes me sad.

On top of her suspected loneliness, I get the sense that she feels sorry for me. It comes up on Friday when I prod her, again, about my room situation. I still feel guilty staying in the large suite when everyone else lives in the servants’ quarters. Rita let it slip earlier that day, while she was styling my hair, that I’m staying in the room Cornelia’s daughter used when she was a young girl.

“Surely I don’t deserve to be in there,” I tell Cornelia at dinner.

“And why not?” she demands, suddenly annoyed. “Why don’t you deserve to live in a room as beautiful as that one? Keep up the complaining and I’ll have Patricia switch you over to an even bigger suite.”

I can’t help but laugh at her threat.

But I don’t take her generosity lying down. Even though I’m not allowed to do traditional tasks, I do carve out little things to do here and there that make me feel useful. One morning, Cornelia takes me into her overflowing rose garden and hands me a set of shears so she can instruct me on where to cut them. Then she helps me arrange a little bouquet. Every other day after that, I make sure to go out and snip a few roses so I can arrange them in a vase and set them in the blue drawing room, where she and I meet for tea in the afternoons.

I make sure to read the newspaper Collins includes with my breakfast tray so I have plenty to discuss with Cornelia at dinner.

When she needs to go into town for shopping or to place an order at a gallery or boutique, I accompany her.