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

Allison stood. With an air of nonchalance, she said, “I’ll let Morrow and Jonathan entertain you for a little while, Rad. I’ll be back later.”

Allison left the hospital room and walked down the corridor to the room that had been reserved for her. Rad’s recovery had been miraculous so far, and she had Charles to thank for that. But, according to Dr. Meeks, he was still not out of danger. The break in the leg had been severe, and because of it, there was always the danger of an embolism from blood clots. But she mustn’t think of that. Especially now.

Forcing herself to remain calm, she casually glanced about the room—an antiseptic green square, sparsely furnished with bed, nightstand, and chair. One small mirror on the far side and one small, wooden cross over the bed were the only wall hangings to break up the expanse of that ugly shade of green that was so depressing to the spirit.

But from the open window, a scent of new-mown grass drifted through the room, and the neighing of horses from a passing carriage brought relief from the monotonous tranquillity of the afternoon.

The sounds and the smells triggered a memory, so long ago, when she had stood in the meadow with her child, Morrow, and Rad had come galloping toward them on Bourbon Red.…

The sound of bells in the corridor brought Allison back to the present. She glanced at her watch. Twenty minutes had now elapsed. Long enough for her to return to Rad’s room without appearing overly solicitous. She smoothed her hair and left the room, pausing long enough to allow two nurses rushing down the hallway, with the life-saving machinery, to pass by.

With a sense of alarm, Allison watched as they approached Rad’s door. Allison began to rush also. Could something have gone wrong in that short period of time she had been away?

With a sinking feeling, she saw Jonathan and Morrow emerge from Rad’s room, as the machinery disappeared inside.

“What’s wrong? What happened?”

“I’m sorry. You can’t go in, Mrs. Meadors,” a nurse said, barring her entrance. “Dr. Meeks is with your husband now.”

“Jonathan? Morrow? Tell me! What happened?”

Seeing the tears in Morrow’s eyes, Allison imagined the worst. And when Morrow did not answer, she turned again to her son. “Jonathan?”

“Come, Mother. Let’s find a quiet place to sit down.” He put his arms around her and led her from the door.

CHAPTER

37

Several weeks later, on a summer afternoon at Bluegrass Meadors when the birds flitted through the trees and the blue haze clothed the pastureland where the young colts romped, Allison stooped down and picked up a clump of rich, tobacco loam. Instinctively, she crumbled the dirt into dust as her eyes swept over the land.

She was surrounded by memories, each playing against the others in a polyphony of sound—voices from the past; years that opened to her like the bluebells and then were gone, replaced with the wind blowing through the trees, with the scent of cured tobacco, fresh mint from the herb garden, and the strong, sweet odor of leather washed down by saddle soap.

In the background, the redbrick house with its white columned porch stood as it had the first time she’d seen it—magnificent and warm, reminding her of her childhood home and a way of life she’d lost because of the war. But through Rad, she had regained her heritage—and more.

His imprint was on the land; his voice, part of the evening sounds. Everywhere she looked, he was there—racing along the whitewashed fence that lined the drive; jumping over the railings. And yes, even urging his horse up the steps of the house itself, marring the winding stairs with the hooves of his horse, as he became the impatient lover with Allison in his arms.

She had come so close to losing Rad on that fearful afternoon, nearly a month ago, when the clot had broken loose and gone to his lungs. But he had survived, and now his recuperation was assured.

But how she missed being with him at that moment. Yet she knew it was best for him to remain at Morrow’s house in Chicago, while she came back to attend to business matters and to close the house in Washington.

She hoped he had done the right thing by resigning from the Senate. His injuries would slow him down for a while, but once he was well, he might not take that readily to retirement. And it would not be good for Jonathan to have his father around all the time now that he had taken over the entire running of Bluegrass Meadors.

Even Ginna had brought a newness to the old house, with the family portraits hanging on the walls. Allison smiled as she thought of how busy Ginna had been in her studio. Allison’s portrait now hung beside Rad’s in the formal parlor, and Jonathan, the equestrian, gazed down from his place in the upstairs hallway.

No, Ginna had no need of another woman in the house all the time, either. And perhaps it had been a mistake to lease the house in Washington. But it was too late now. They had already promised it to Edgar and his wife.

With her mind sorting out her problems, Allison did not see the carriage driving up until it was nearly beside her. As she looked up, she recognized Royal Freemont from the neighboring plantation. Frail and stoop-shouldered, he wore the same old-fashioned suit that she had sewn for him nearly thirty years before, when she was destitute for money and the war had not yet ended.

“Good afternoon, Royal.”

He tipped his hat. “Afternoon, Allison. Saw you from the road and decided to come up and ask you how Rad is getting along.”

“Much better, thank you. But it was touch and go for a while.”

“When is he coming home from Chicago?”

“Not for at least another month. He’s at Morrow’s now and will stay there until I close up the house in Washington.”

“Edgar’s