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

to make sure my daughter was all right. I’ll be going now.”

Harriet rushed to get Araminta’s parasol for her. And she merely shook her head as she watched the plump woman climb into the carriage and disappear down the street. Then she picked up the tray and headed upstairs for Cassie’s bedroom.

To Araminta, her short visit with Cassie was unfulfilling. She had meant to tell her about Allison. And Jonathan, too. But Cassie had cut her off.

The heat of the afternoon was almost unbearable. Araminta took her handkerchief from her purse and wiped the tiny beads of perspiration from her upper lip. And in the safety of the carriage, she tugged at her corset stays, much too tight and uncomfortable. Then she again reached into her purse, this time for a small tin of sweets.

The candy had partially melted, but Araminta was now adept at savoring all of the chocolate, even the tiny traces caught in the ridges of the tinfoil.

After the first piece was gone, she chose a second piece and immediately began to feel better.

CHAPTER

12

“It’s settled, Ginna. Mr. Wells has recommended me for a position in a law firm. I’m to go for an interview this afternoon.”

“That’s wonderful, Martha,” Ginna whispered, glancing at the art teacher on the other side of the room. “And I have good news, too.”

“What is it?”

“Papa has given his consent.”

“For your marriage to Jonathan?”

Ginna nodded.

“Oh, Ginna, I’m so happy for you.”

“Well, he actually hasn’t gotten Mummy’s okay, but he will. He promised.”

The two suddenly became absorbed in their work as the teacher began to walk in their direction. “Is there a problem?” she inquired.

Martha smiled. “Ginna was just giving me some pointers. I think I’ve been a little too liberal with the gold. What do you think?”

Miss Radnick put her pince-nez to her eyes and stared at Martha’s work: a coffeepot that matched the teapot of the previous day. “Yes, Martha. You’ve had a rather heavy hand, I must admit. You mustn’t be too extravagant. Just enough decoration without any undue ostentation. That’s by far the best.”

“Yes, Miss Radnick.”

Once the woman’s attention was diverted to another group working on the far side, Martha again began to whisper to Ginna. “The law firm is Motley, Anderson and Laird. Have you heard of it?”

Ginna’s face did not reveal her surprise. So Martha might be working for the same firm in which Stanley was a junior partner. She prayed for Martha’s sake that he would not be the one to interview her. If Stanley had anything to do with it, Ginna knew that Martha would not get the job.

“Yes, I know the firm,” Ginna finally admitted. “Which one of them will you be seeing?”

“Mr. Wells talked with Mr. Motley, so I expect he’ll be the one interviewing me. He owes Mr. Wells a favor, so the prospects are good.”

“Oh, Martha, I do wish you well, if that’s what you really want to do.”

“I have my heart set on it, Ginna. And I’ll be so disappointed if I don’t get the job. I’ve been a financial drain on my mother long enough. It’s time I started bringing in some money to help her.”

Ginna hurriedly changed the subject. “Martha, if everything works out, will you be one of my bridesmaids?”

The young woman’s face lit up. “Of course. I’d love to, Ginna.”

“Jonathan is supposed to get back to Washington day after tomorrow. We’ll start making our plans then.”

Ginna made no further pretense of working. She was worried about Martha. And she debated whether to tell her that Stanley Quail, her brother-in-law, was a member of the firm of Motley, Anderson and Laird. But no. Martha might become too nervous if she were warned ahead of time about Stanley’s feelings on women in the work force.

Heaven knows, Ginna had gotten an overdose of his thoughts and feelings every morning at breakfast during those three months she’d been a guest in his house. To him, studying art was all right, a genteel thing for a young woman to do, like baking cookies or taking long walks—chaperoned, of course.

But then, when Miss Radnick had seen her horse drawings and consequently recommended her as one of the artists to work on the special Smithsonian display of The Horse in American Culture, Stanley had clearly showed his disapproval. But Miss Radnick had won in the end.

She would always be grateful to Miss Radnick. If it had not been for her, Ginna never would have worked with Jonathan on the special project.

“You’re a thousand miles away, Ginna,” Martha said.

She smiled. “I know. I can’t stop thinking about Jonathan and how lucky I am.”

And yet there were so many things that were unresolved. For a brief time, Ginna had blossomed and felt a certain independence. After all, it was nearly the twentieth century. But then, with her return to her mother’s rigid care, the new independence had vanished. Yet, with her father’s blessing, that independence of spirit was finally emerging again. And her love for Jonathan now overshadowed her fear of Araminta.

When the china-painting class was over, Ginna put on her large straw hat with a wide brim. At the entrance to the building, she turned to Martha. “Good luck in your interview,” she said as they parted company. And Martha responded by smiling and holding up two locked fingers in a gesture of hope.

Ginna looked across the street. The family carriage was not in sight, and rather than hire a hack to take her home, she hoisted her canvas artist’s bag over her shoulder and, despite the heat, began to walk briskly.

She had walked only two blocks when she heard the sound of a carriage approaching and then an all-too-familiar voice. “Stop the carriage, Barge.”

Ginna looked up into her mother’s face and her shoulders immediately slumped. “Hello, Mummy,” she said.

“Ginna, I’m surprised at you. Get into this carriage immediately before someone sees you.”

All trace of independence vanished. Ginna obeyed, climbing into the carriage and taking her