The Roswell Legacy by Frances Statham (ebook pdf reader for pc .TXT) 📕

“The longer you put it off, the harder it will be.”

“Don’t you think I know that? I’ve hardly slept at all for these past five days, waiting for you to come back to town and get in touch with me.”

She made a move to go, but Charles reached out to stop her. “Don’t leave yet, Allison. Please. Let’s sit down by the stream and talk. There’re still so many things I want to know about you and Morrow.”

And so, under the shade of a gnarled oak, Allison sat down. She removed her riding hat and smoothed her hair. But then she picked up her riding crop and twisted it in her hands as she stared in silence at the rippling stream.

“Is … Rebecca in Washington with you?”

“No. She died several years ago. But she has a daughter, Allie, who’s almost her carbon copy. Allie works for Morrow now.”

Charles took his handkerchief and mopped his brow. He didn’t realize he had been holding his breath for her answer. He relaxed somewhat. “I suppose Rebecca named her for you.”

“Yes.”

“Tell me about Morrow. Is she as beautiful as her mother?”

“She’s far lovelier than I ever was,” Allison answered quickly. “Although she has my coloring—blond hair and the violet eyes—she also has some of your mannerisms. The same smile. And sometimes the way she holds her head to the side, waiting for an answer, reminds me-—” Allison suddenly stopped. “You’re doing it now.”

“What?”

“Leaning to one side, as if to catch every syllable I’m saying.”

Charles straightened immediately. “I wasn’t aware.”

“And Ginna? Who does she resemble?”

“That’s right. You didn’t see her the other day, did you?”

“No. Araminta had sent her away.”

“She has Araminta’s hair. But that’s the only feature she inherited from her. In every other respect, she resembles my sister Anna Rose. You remember when we were first married we used to go together to put flowers on her grave.”

Allison suddenly stood. It was not good to remember too much of the past. Especially now. “I have to go.”

He was still loath to lose her. “But we’ve settled so little.”

“That’s true. But we can do nothing for our children’s happiness until I tell Rad about the terrible nightmare that has encompassed us all. After that he’ll want to talk with you, I’m sure.”

“Allison, I wish it hadn’t happened this way. Oh, God, I wish that—”

“No, Charles. Don’t say any more. The past can’t be undone.”

For the first time, Charles Coin Forsyte looked old. The bleakness in his eyes spoke of unfulfilled dreams that had shattered in the uncompromising wake of reality. He watched as Allison turned her back and began to walk toward the entrance.

Then he rushed to catch up with her. “I presume you came by horseback?”

“Yes, I rode Marquessa. I thought it would be better if I didn’t come in the family carriage.”

The sounds of the animals in the zoo reverberated through the air—the shrieks of mynah birds and the trumpet of an elephant combining with the roar of a lion. Allison and Charles, walking together toward the exit, passed a bench where the young mother Allison had seen earlier was sitting with her sleeping child in the buggy beside her.

She followed their progress, as she had watched them the entire time. What a fortunate decision she had made to spend the afternoon in the park. Stanley Quail would be extremely interested in the news that his enemy, Senator Meadors, had a wife dallying with another man in a public park for all the world to see.

CHAPTER

8

At the Female Art Institute, Ginna and her friend, Martha Gregory, sat near one of the studio windows and dipped their brushes into the same pot of gold leaf. Their dresses were protected by large white aprons, already smudged with various pastel hues from the paint pots.

“Do you think you’ll finish your entire set of china before the wedding, Ginna?”

Ginna carefully traced the delicate swirl design on the teapot dome and then laid down her brush. “From the way things are going at home, I’ll have enough time to finish ten sets.”

“Why? What’s wrong?”

Again Ginna hesitated. “Martha, sometimes I think that Mummy doesn’t want me to get married at all.”

“But if she’s anything like my mama, she surely won’t want you to be an old maid. According to Mr. Rouchard’s Book on Culture, any lady who remains unmarried has few options. Teach school, if you have the intelligence for it, or take in boarders, if you have the house for it.” Martha suddenly giggled. “My mother is doing everything to make sure I soak up plenty of culture. She thinks that’s the only way to attract a husband. But she would die if she found out what I’m actually doing on Tuesdays.”

“Aren’t you going to music class?”

Martha shook her head. “Can you keep a secret, Ginna?”

“Of course. That’s what friends are for.”

“I’m learning how to use the typewriter. I’m going to become a secretary in a Washington office.”

“Martha, you aren’t!”

“I am so. Typing’s a whole lot more fun than sitting here painting china.”

“But what will your mother say when she finds out?”

“We might be genteel, but we’re poor, Ginna. We’ve been poor ever since Papa left us and went west. But Mama has always been too proud to admit it out loud, even to me, until two months ago when I asked about going to college. You should have seen her face. It was the hardest thing she’s ever had to do—telling me I couldn’t go.”

“But I thought you said your mother had her heart set on your marrying one of her boarders—that bachelor congressman.”

“That’s all she talked about from the time Mr. Cleveland got married to that young Miss Folsom. She tried everything to get Mr. Wells interested in me, but then she finally realized it wasn’t doing a bit of good. Mr. Wells is a bachelor and every sign indicates he’s going to stay a bachelor.