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

mother in accusation. “You didn’t tell me there’d be so much pain. I wish I’d never listened to you.”

“Hush, Cassie,” Araminta scolded. “Stanley is right outside the door. You don’t want him to hear you, do you?”

“I don’t care.”

“Charles, can’t you give her something to cut the pain?”

“Not yet. Any drug would have an adverse effect on the baby’s breathing. But later, Cassie. I promise I’ll give you something as soon as the baby is born. Now, will you cooperate?”

“That’s right, Cassie. After you have the baby, precious, then Papa will give you something to soothe your nerves.” “Mama!” Cassie wailed.

Stanley could not bear to sit in the hallway a moment longer. He rose from his chair and rushed headlong down the stairs to the dark-paneled library. Once inside, he closed the door to shut out any sound emanating from the upstairs bedroom.

The clock in the hall struck two doleful, reverberating clangs as he hurriedly pulled out a leather-bound book and reached behind it for the hidden bottle.

He stood with his back to the door and took a large swig of liquid, feeling the mellow brandy trickling down his dry throat. God knew, he needed a little Dutch courage for the rest of the night, with Cassie shrieking like a banshee and his head splitting with a headache. He’d been lucky with Maryann’s baby. But what if God decided to punish him by making his legitimate child the malformed one?

With the first draught of liquor offering him a little relief, he took the bottle and sat down in his easy chair. He took another large swig and then finally set the bottle on the nearby table, within easy reach. Allowing himself a drink as each quarter hour struck, he nursed the bottle with long, intermittent swallows until the clock finally struck three and Araminta’s voice outside the door called to him.

“Stanley, the baby has arrived,” she announced. “Stanley, are you in there?”

Quickly, Stanley pushed the empty bottle under the chair. And none too steady on his feet, he rushed to open up the door. “You say the baby is finally here?”

“Yes, Stanley. You have a son. Come and see.”

“Is he all right?”

“Yes. And Cassie, too.”

He missed the first step and barely caught himself. But Araminta didn’t notice. She was already halfway up the stairs, leading the way.

Charles glanced up as the two entered the room. He gave a warning sign for them to be quiet, for Cassie was settling down to sleep after being given the promised sedative.

And so the two tiptoed over to the cradle, where Araminta leaned over and picked up the child for Stanley to see.

As Stanley examined his son, he saw that the baby was bald, with the same shape head as Stanley. He was small and scrawny, like a wizened little man who only needed muttonchop whiskers to complete the family portrait. Seeing him, Stanley felt a profusion of pride and relief.

He reached out and touched the baby’s long fingers. “He looks like me,” he announced.

“Yes,” Charles agreed. “He has your physical attributes.”

“He’s all right?” he asked again.

“A bit underweight,” Charles said. “But healthy otherwise.”

“It won’t take him long to fatten up,” Araminta said. The baby began to squirm, and reluctantly, she placed him back in the cradle before he awoke.

Stanley’s attention turned to his wife. “Cassie had a hard time, didn’t she?”

“No more so than any other mother having her first child,” Charles said.

“But she needs plenty of rest,” Araminta said. “I’ll sleep on the couch in here while you two go on to bed.”

Stanley nodded. “Will you be staying the rest of the night, Dr. Forsyte?”

“No. Since Cassie and the baby are fine, I’ll go on home. Ginna and Nathan are by themselves.”

“Then I’ll help you hitch up the horse.”

Charles looked at Stanley’s bleary eyes. He’d already noticed that his speech was slightly slurred and his gait unsteady. “That’s not necessary, Stanley. It will only take a minute. And I know you’re tired from the long night of waiting. Better for you to go on to bed.”

Stanley took out his handkerchief and wiped his brow. “Yes, that’s true. It’s not every night that a man has a son. It’s an exhausting business.”

The slight creak of the carriage drawing into the driveway at four o’clock in the morning caused a sleepy Ginna to sit up with a start. She rubbed her eyes and reached her foot out to find her slippers. She had come downstairs to wait, and there she’d remained for almost the entire night with Jonathan’s letter clasped to her breast.

Ginna rushed to the back door and waited for her father to come in from the carriage house. When she heard his steps, she opened the door wide. “Papa?”

“Ginna! What are you doing awake at this time of night? Or morning, rather?”

“I was waiting for you, Papa.”

“Cassie has a healthy little boy. And she’s fine, too. I guess you were waiting up for the news.”

“Yes.” So Nathan had won the bet. “Do you want anything to drink or to eat?” she asked.

“No, Ginna. I just want to get to bed.”

Her father looked exhausted. And once again she knew she’d have to wait. She could not ask him to stay up any longer to answer her questions.

“Make sure I’m up by nine tomorrow. I want to have breakfast with Nathan before he leaves.”

“Yes, Papa.” Ginna stayed behind, and after he was gone, she turned off the lights. As she’d promised earlier, she went upstairs and opened the door to Nathan’s room.

The small brown bags were no longer on the window ledge. He had already packed them in his suitcase, she knew. She walked to the bed and stared down at her little brother, so peacefully asleep, with the tiny stream of light touching his pillow.

“Nathan?” she called gently.

He moved slightly, his hand dropping to the side of the bed.

“Nathan,” she called again. “Can you hear me? Cassie has a little boy.”

“Ginna?”

“Cassie has a little boy,” she repeated. “I promised I’d let