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

“Let Barge have that smelly bag up front with him,” Araminta continued. “I don’t want anything to spill out and ruin my new dress.”

Ginna noticed the small chocolate stain already on her mother’s bosom but said nothing.

“Here, Miss Ginna. I’ll take the bag,” Barge offered, turning around.

“Thank you, Barge.”

As the wheels began to roll again, Araminta’s voice took up its petulant soliloquy. “I declare, I don’t know what to do with you, Ginna. It’s bad enough for you to be wasting your time in an art class. You have your father to thank for that. But I will not have you parading around Washington like a hoyden. People will get the wrong impression seeing you walk the streets alone like some modern Gibson girl. You have your family’s reputation to uphold.”

The refrain, “I only have your best interests at heart,” was a familiar one to both Cassie and Ginna. Now it was set to the rhythm of the carriage wheels, with Araminta’s occasional shortness of breath punctuating her sentences.

“Well, don’t you have something to say for yourself, Ginna? Some word of explanation for your behavior?”

“I’m sorry. It’s such a beautiful afternoon—”

“It’s a hot, humid day,” Araminta broke in. “No one in her right mind would be risking her complexion in this kind of weather.”

“But I have my sun hat on—”

“Don’t be sassy with me, miss.”

“No, Mummy.”

“No, Mama,” she corrected.

“No, Mama.”

Araminta’s wrath was due partly to the way Ginna looked—like a blossoming rose, so in contrast to her beloved Cassie. And although Cassie had not been the meekest of daughters that afternoon, Araminta had already forgiven her. But she could never forgive Ginna for usurping the beauty that rightfully should have belonged to Cassie, her firstborn.

“Another thing, Ginna. With all of this frivolous art business, you’ve sadly neglected Clara’s supervision. As soon as we get home, I want you to go to the kitchen and help her. Then, after supper, you can shine the pots and pans. They’re quite dull-looking.”

“But I thought we were all going to the theater tonight. Papa told me this morning that he bought tickets for the whole family.”

“The play is not appropriate for either you or Nathan to see. You’ll both be staying home.”

By the time they reached the brownstone, a sad-eyed Ginna reclaimed her artist’s bag from Barge and went upstairs to change into a suitable dress for helping in the kitchen.

Twilight hovered over the Potomac basin a long time before complete darkness set in. The day had been a long one for Charles. His conversation with Rad Meadors that morning now seemed as distant as the evening star appearing in the heavens. But the memory had lingered with him, giving his day a serenity despite the two long, delicate operations he had performed. And he was anxious to speak to Ginna. But first he would have to talk with Araminta and make her understand about the agreement.

Spotting the carriage some distance down the street, Nathan, who had been playing with his friend Pinky, said, “I’ve got to go now, Pinky. I see my papa coming home for supper.”

“Remember what I told you. And don’t be late tomorrow morning. Eight o’clock.”

Nathan began to run down the street to his house. He arrived at the front door at the same time the carriage drew up in the alleyway. He opened the screen door, raced up the stairs, and hurriedly washed his face and hands. His blue shirt had a stain on it, but he didn’t take the time to change. He brushed his hair instead and then raced back downstairs, arriving in the dining room as the supper bell rang.

“Hello, Papa.”

“Hello, Nathan. Did you have a good day today?”

“Sure did. Me and Pinky—”

“Pinky and I, Nathan,” Araminta corrected, taking her seat at one end of the table. “Your English is atrocious.”

“Well, Pinky and I collected tadpoles at the creek, Papa. They’re in a bucket at Pinky’s house, and you can already see them turning into frogs. Their legs—”

“That will do, Nathan,” Araminta interceded again. “Tadpoles and their limbs are not a suitable subject for the supper table.”

“But, Mama—”

“That will do, Nathan.”

“Yes, Nathan,” Charles said gently. “We’ll talk about them after supper, if you’d like.”

“Papa, if one of them lost a leg, do you think it would ever grow back?”

“Nathan, another word about tadpoles and you’ll go to your room.” Araminta’s face reddened in anger.

Charles quickly said, “Where is Ginna?”

“I’m here, Papa,” she answered, taking her seat opposite Nathan.

Charles smiled and said, “Now that we’re all together, shall we have the blessing?”

The supper went as well as usual, no better, no worse, until Charles mentioned the play that night. Shortly before Clara brought in the dessert—fresh strawberries with cream—Charles glanced at his watch.

“I told Barge we’d be ready to leave for the theater at quarter to eight.”

Ginna looked from her father to her mother without saying a word.

With a quizzical expression, Charles examined his daughter’s face. “Well, you certainly are enthusiastic, Ginna. Yesterday, you said you could hardly wait to see Mrs. Pelligrew. Have you changed your mind so suddenly?”

“Papa—”

Araminta cut in. “Ginna will be staying at home, Charles. And Nathan, too. I don’t know what you could have been thinking, to buy tickets for the children. I’ve already told Ginna that she has sadly neglected her duties here. Tonight she’ll be helping Clara shine the pots and pans.”

Charles’s jaw tightened. “If you want Nathan to stay at home, that’s fine. But I see no reason for a young woman who’s engaged to be married to be treated like a child.”

His attention turned from Araminta to his daughter. “Ginna, go get dressed in your new pink organza. The pots can certainly wait another day. And Araminta, I’d like to see you in the parlor. Immediately.”

Nathan’s mouth dropped open at the fierceness in his father’s voice. He looked from his mother to his sister and back again at his father as he left the table.

With a decided pout on her face, Araminta carefully laid