The Roswell Legacy by Frances Statham (parable of the sower read online .TXT) 📗

early-morning conversation had been brief. Otherwise, Allison would have found it difficult not to break down and tell him the truth. But the slight reprieve had given her little respite from the churning in her stomach, the feeling of impending disaster that had even marred her few hours spent alone with Rad since then.

From the moment in the carriage when he’d leaned over to kiss her, she had felt as if she were a scarlet woman, living in sin. And because of it, she had been as skittish with him as one of the mares at brooding time. Yet, in the days that had passed, he’d been too busy to notice—or too polite to comment on her withdrawal from him.

Today, because she had not wanted a witness to her clandestine meeting with Coin, she had ridden to the park on Marquessa, the chestnut beauty that Rad had given her on their last wedding anniversary, rather than coming in the family carriage. The horse was now tied to a hitching post near the entrance.

Unknown to Allison, Charles approached, stood beyond the evergreen hedge, and watched her for a time. She was still beautiful and slender, as somehow he’d known she would be. With the old, familiar stirring at the sight of her, he straightened his shoulders and forced himself to walk slowly in her direction.

“Allison?”

She thought she would be prepared for the sound of his voice, but she wasn’t. A constricting band cut short her breath as she uttered his name. “Coin?”

“I prefer to be called Charles now.”

“Of course.”

The urge was strong for her to look at him fully, directly, to see what time had done to the face she’d loved so long ago. But he was standing against the blinding rays of the hot summer sun.

Quickly, he said, “We need to talk, Allison—not only about Ginna and Jonathan but about us, too. Would you like to sit on a bench, or would you rather go for a walk?”

“Let’s walk for a while,” Allison said. And they began to stroll away from the animals toward the stream where Allison had fled the afternoon of her visit with Araminta. She was aware of his presence beside her, the cool, antiseptic aura of a stranger so different from the warm, ardent young soldier who had fathered her firstborn.

“I”

“Did you—”

“I’m sorry,” Allison said. “What were you going to say?”

“Just that I know what a great shock it was to you, finding out after all these years that I’m still alive.”

“I suppose it was just as shocking to you, too, to discover that I survived the war also.”

For the first time they stopped and faced each other directly. Allison searched his face, looking for the familiar blue eyes, the shape of chin and jaw that had haunted her for so long. And as she met his gaze, she cried out the indicting words that she’d sworn never to utter. “Oh, Coin, how could you marry Araminta? You never even liked her.…”

Her words hung in the air, heavy and accusing, while she waited for the man to defend himself. But she knew that any reason, despite its logic, would never satisfy her.

“When I came home to Roswell after the war, you had completely disappeared.”

“And you didn’t think enough of your own wife and baby to try to find us?”

Her questions, spoken in anguish, were almost more than he could bear. He couldn’t tell her that he had looked for her continuously for two whole years, only to discover that she had already married someone else and had a son by that man. He must never let her know that he had found her—too late. As much as it hurt him to be thought an uncaring husband and father, Charles knew he must allow Allison to feel that she was the injured one.

“I thought you might have gone home to Savannah, if you and Morrow had survived. But Araminta hadn’t heard from you, either.”

“I took a job in the woolen mill to earn enough money to get back to Cypress Manor. But Rebecca and I were treated like criminals—arrested with the other mill workers and shipped northward.”

“And Morrow?”

“She survived, too.”

“Where is she now?”

“Living in Chicago with her husband, Andrew. You’re a grandfather, Charles. A little blond-haired boy that you can never claim. He calls Rad Grandpapa.”

Charles averted his face and tightened his jaw.

“I’m sorry,” Allison said. “I didn’t mean to sound so bitter. Whatever happened between us is in the past. Jonathan and Ginna are the important ones now. What are we going to do, Co—Charles? Araminta said we must not allow the marriage to take place. But that will break Jonathan’s heart.”

“Ginna’s, too.”

“Then what is the answer?”

“I think we should give our consent for the wedding, Allison. No one need know that you and I were once husband and wife. That’s something that we shall always have to keep secret, no matter how hard it is.”

“But what about Araminta? She was never able to keep a secret. And I doubt that I would have the strength to hide this from Rad. Jonathan, perhaps. But never Rad.”

“Then you must tell him, Allison. As for Araminta, leave her to me.”

“And you think it will work? That we’d be able to go through with it, knowing that you and I are still legally …” Allison couldn’t bring herself to finish the sentence.

“Many families were separated during the war. What happened to us was not that unusual, Allison. We both had to make new lives for ourselves. Others did the same thing.”

Charles longed to reach out, to smooth the troubled lines that marred Allison’s brow. “Do you want me to talk with your … husband?”

“No,” she said, much too fast, much too loud. Looking in the direction of children playing near the hedge, she lowered her voice. “Not until I talk with him first. It wouldn’t be fair for him to hear it from anyone else.”

“I understand. When will you do it?”

“I don’t know. If I were brave, I would