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

“I won, didn’t I?” the sleepy voice murmured.

“Yes, Nathan. Now go on back to sleep.”

Ginna tiptoed out of the room and walked along the hallway to her own room.

The persistent ringing of the doorbell awoke Ginna. The sunlight flooded her room as she sat up, completely disoriented. She hopped out of bed and grabbed her robe, struggling with one of the sleeves as she raced to the landing window to see who could be calling at such an ungodly hour.

“Clara,” she said, hanging her head out the window. “What are you doing out there?”

“All the doors are latched, Miss Ginna. I can’t get into the kitchen to cook breakfast. And Maudie’s waiting out back to start on the ironing.”

“Well, stay there and I’ll come downstairs to let you in.”

A few minutes later, with Maudie sent on her way, Ginna went back upstairs to get dressed, while Clara started breakfast. But Ginna tuned out the stirrings in the kitchen, with Clara talking to herself as usual. Her ears were alerted for the first sign that Nathan and her father might be waking up on their own. As the minutes went by without any indication of either, she finally knocked on their doors.

“Time to get up, Nathan.

“Time to get up, Papa.”

And so, by half-past nine, the three were seated together at the breakfast table.

“You have everything packed, son?” Charles inquired.

“Ginna packed almost everything for me last night.”

“Well, there’s something she couldn’t have packed since she didn’t know about it.” Charles smiled as his eyes took in the small, hunched figure, trying so bravely not to embarrass himself with a display of tears.

“What, Papa?”

“There’s something for you on my office desk. A going-away present.”

“May I get it now?”

“Yes, but you mustn’t open it until you’re on the train with Mr. Graves.”

Nathan quickly disappeared and then returned to the breakfast table. He held the small package up to his ear and shook it vigorously. “What is it?”

Ginna laughed. “I hope it isn’t breakable, Papa.”

“It might be, Nathan. So, if I were you, I wouldn’t shake it so hard. Just put it in one of your pockets.”

“What color is it, Papa? You can tell me that, can’t you?”

“Green.”

The doorbell rang and Charles took out his watch to check the time. “That must be Mr. Graves now.”

“I’ll answer the door,” Ginna said. “And I’ll get Barge to put your suitcase in the carriage, Nathan.”

“Let’s go upstairs, son. For one last check, to make sure you’re not leaving anything you need.”

Ginna rushed down the hallway to the front door. The man on the steps was young: in his mid-twenties, with glasses magnifying his robin’s-egg-blue eyes, and his immaculate lightweight suit a little too large for his thin frame.

“Mr. Graves?”

“Yes.”

“Please come in. I’m Nathan’s sister, and he’ll be downstairs in a moment.”

“I’m a few minutes early, Miss Forsyte.”

“We were just finishing breakfast. May I offer you something to drink? A cup of coffee or tea, perhaps?”

“No, thank you. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll just wait outside with the carriage.”

Everything became convoluted, with Barge seeing to the luggage while Clara ran out with the packed lunch. Then Nathan appeared with his father. A hug, a kiss, a wave were part of the family vignette as the two servants, a father, and a sister watched one small boy leave his home with a stranger. Toward the end of the street, Nathan looked back with sad, doleful eyes as Charles and Ginna waved one last time.

For Ginna, the morning had built to a fever pitch. Nathan’s departure was the final straw, coming so soon after the arrival of Cassie’s baby and the bombshell that her half sister had so expertly left at her feet.

Turning quickly to her father, Ginna said, “Papa, may I ride with you to the clinic this morning? I really must talk with you and I can’t wait any longer.”

“It’s that important?”

“Yes.”

“All right.”

The entire length of the street was made up of identical three-story brownstones. Despite the steady clop of the horse, the carriage appeared to be going nowhere until one noticed the changing colors of the front doors—blue or red, mustard or black.

For Ginna, the doors were a blur and she barely saw them. She automatically smiled and waved to people at the gates without really seeing them, either. And even the morning air seemed alien, fusty and gray, with no promise but scalding heat.

“All right, Ginna, out with it. You’ve remained silent long enough. What’s bothering you? Besides Nathan’s departure.”

“You must promise to tell me the truth. No matter how much it hurts.”

Charles took his eyes from the road and stared at his daughter. Somehow he had a premonition as to what she was going to say even before she said it.

“Papa, Cassie told me that you and Mummy were never legally married because you already had a wife. And that Nathan and I have no right to your name. Is that true, Papa?”

Charles swore and stopped the carriage at the nearest hitching post. What a devilish thing to happen. He should have known that spite and jealousy would not allow the family secret to be kept. Damn Araminta.

In his mind he searched for the appropriate words. What could he say to make his daughter understand? How much should he tell her?

“Ginna, your mother and I were married in good faith,” he began. “And you and Nathan have every right to my name. What Cassie said is only partially true—that my first wife is still alive.”

“But I don’t understand.…”

“Ginna, during the war, many tragedies occurred: soldiers were killed, whole families disappeared and were never heard from again. That’s what happened to us. Except that the news of my death was erroneous. I was merely wounded. But when I finally returned home, my wife and child were gone. I spent two whole years searching for them, Ginna. Then I gave up.

“Araminta was my best friend’s widow. We had both lost our loved ones. And rather than spend the