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

As he began to direct her toward the waiting carriage, an impatient Jonathan said, “Well, what did you think of the plans?”

She looked up at him. “I’m not quite sure what you’re talking about, Jonathan. The wedding plans?”

“The ones I wrote about in my letter. Have you had a chance to think about them?”

“I’m not sure …” She stopped as they reached the carriage. She nodded to the driver and waited for Jonathan to help her up. When she was seated, he climbed in beside her.

“Browne, take a turn around the square before you start back to the house. We’re in no hurry.”

“Yes, Mr. Jonathan.”

As the horses began a steady trot down the tree-lined street, Jonathan returned his attention to Ginna. “You were saying?”

“At the theater last night, your mother asked me about a letter. But, Jonathan, I haven’t received anything from you since you left. So I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“That’s strange. I posted both letters at the same time—one to my mother and one to you. I felt sure that you would have gotten it by now.”

“But I haven’t. So you’ll just have to tell me what it contained.”

“Oh, no. I think I’ll wait until the letter arrives.”

“Jonathan, stop teasing me.”

He laughed. “We can discuss it later this afternoon. Somehow, just being with you seems more important right now.” He reached over to take her hand. “Do you remember that afternoon in the park when we first met?”

His question brought a smile to her lips. “Yes. But I’ve never told a living soul about it. And you must promise not to do so, either. My family thinks Mrs. Drake was the one who introduced us.”

“When it was really my horse.”

Ginna sighed and relaxed. As they drove around the square with her hand hidden in Jonathan’s, she thought of that April day when she’d taken her watercolors to the park to capture the cherry blossoms and ended up making a portrait of a beautiful horse instead.

“Angel sat quite well for her portrait that day,” Ginna said. “Almost as if she knew I was drawing her.”

Jonathan smiled, remembering his first glimpse of Ginna in the park. She’d had the look of timelessness about her that all great beauties enjoy. And because of it he had realized that she might seem out of place to some prone to judge beauty merely by the current fashion of the day.

Her auburn hair had framed her face in a manner all its own. She’d appeared unconcerned with its look and oblivious also to her young, budding figure hidden beneath a plain blue dress and artist’s pinafore, a figure free from the corsets that others wore in the name of conformity.

There’d been a sweet shyness about her that day that could easily have been misunderstood and taken for aloofness.

“I’ll never forget watching you as you sat on the grassy slope with your sketchbook,” he said. “You were aware of Angel and nothing else. And I was afraid to claim her until you were finished, even though I was already late for an appointment.”

“Oh, Jonathan, I didn’t know that. I’m sorry.”

Jonathan tightened his hold on her hand. “I think I was trying to decide whether you were a mirage. You see, you looked as if you had just stepped out of a French painting, with your long hair half hidden under that ridiculous straw hat.”

“So you think it’s ridiculous, do you? Well, thank you very much.”

“You’re welcome.”

He glanced at Browne sitting on the box and then leaned over to whisper in Ginna’s ear. “I adore you, Ginna. Can’t you tell? And I don’t want to wait much longer before marrying you. When I was at Bluegrass Meadors this time, I wanted you beside me, to see everything that I was seeing, to share my days and my nights, and all my dreams for the future.…”

“And I want to be with you, too, Jonathan. Papa has given us his blessing, so we can go ahead and make our plans. I’ll have to consult Mummy, of course, about the details.”

“Browne, stop dawdling,” Jonathan suddenly called out. “Let’s head for home.”

“Yes, Mr. Jonathan.”

Browne grinned as he turned the horses around and traveled east. He’d pretended not to pay any attention to the whisperings in the carriage, but, in truth, he’d listened unashamedly to everything the two had said.

The horses picked up speed, and by the time the carriage finally reached the curved driveway of the turreted, white clapboard house, with its weathervane catching the glint of the afternoon sun, a still impatient Jonathan said, “Let us off at the garden entrance. I want to show Miss Forsyte something before we go into the house.”

Browne brought the carriage to a stop, and Jonathan jumped down. He held out his arms for Ginna, swept her to the ground, and led her past the rosebushes to the small white gazebo partially obscured by the crepe myrtle trees.

A questioning Ginna looked at him as he lifted the seat cushion and pulled out a small box from underneath it.

“I have a surprise for you, Ginna. Sit down and hold out your hand.”

She did as she was told, while he leaned on one knee beside her and held the small, red velvet box.

“Right after the war, my Uncle Glenn absconded with all the family jewels. But about ten years ago, my grandmother’s ring turned up at an auction in Kansas City. My father recognized it and bought it back, for me to give to my bride one day. I got it out of the bank vault, Ginna, when I was in Lexington three days ago. I want you to have it as my engagement present to you.”

He took her hand and slipped the emerald and diamond ring onto her finger. “Wear it in love and happiness, darling.”

“Oh, Jonathan. What can I say? It’s so beautiful. Thank you.”

He stood, slowly removed her wide-brimmed hat, and, with the filtered sun catching the sheen of her hair, pulled her to her