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

“Papa’s first wife is still alive. Do you know what that means, Ginna? It means that he and Mama were never really married. And if they weren’t married, you see where that puts you and Nathan.”

“I don’t believe you, Cassie. You’re making this up, the way you used to make up stories just to scare Nathan and me.”

“Ask Mama. Or better yet, ask Papa. You see, the joke will finally be on the Meadorses—with their family heir marrying you. You were born on the wrong side of the blanket, Ginna. And you don’t even have the right to a last name.”

Ginna sat down in the chair recently vacated by Araminta. Cassie’s story was too horrible not to be true. Always, in the back of her mind, Ginna had known that something would come between her and Jonathan. She had been waiting for it to happen. But never anything so disgraceful as this. What was she to do? The only thing she could do was to confront her father. But what if he corroborated Cassie’s story that she was illegitimate?

“So what are you going to do, Ginna?”

She nervously twisted the emerald and diamond ring back and forth. “I won’t believe you until I talk with Papa.”

“And after he confesses the truth to you, what then?”

Ginna hesitated. “If he tells me that he and Mummy were never legally married, as you avow, then there’s only one thing I can do. Return Jonathan’s ring and then leave Washington.”

“Yes. That’s probably best. You wouldn’t be comfortable living in this city after that. Poor Ginna. You came so close to happiness.”

Ginna’s eyes were moist. “Oh, Cassie, why did you have to tell me such a terrible thing? Especially today. Is it that you can’t ever stand to see me happy?”

“Which would be worse? Going ahead and marrying Jonathan and then finding out later? Or learning about it now while there’s still time to do something about it?”

Ginna didn’t answer. Instead, she crouched down in the chair as if it could protect her from Cassie’s venomous voice. But the damage had been done.

Seeing her look so miserable, Cassie lost patience. Nothing more would be gained by prolonging the conversation. “Don’t you think you should go on to the kitchen to help Harriet with the supper? Stanley will be here promptly at six o’clock. And he doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

A disheartened Ginna rose and left the bedroom. And when she was gone, Cassie smiled. For a brief moment, she felt a glow spreading over her skin, a vivacity that she had not known for some months. Yes, she did thrive on seeing Ginna’s smiles turn into tears. And this afternoon was no different.

She stood up and a sudden pain jabbed her. She put her hand on her belly as the child moved. Strange that she still felt no love for the being that she’d carried for nine months now. The baby had only succeeded in making her more uncomfortable with each succeeding month, sapping her energy. Holding her side, she walked to the mirror and opened her mouth wide. She’d been told that with each baby, a woman lost at least one tooth, as well as her husband’s interest. But from the day since that other woman had come to the house, she had found subtle ways to punish Stanley.

Each night for supper, she’d seen to it that Harriet had fixed the vegetables he couldn’t abide. But he hadn’t been able to complain since he’d been told the physician had recommended them for the baby’s sake. He wanted a son badly enough to endure the unpleasant change in diet.

With a decided heaviness, Cassie walked downstairs and lowered herself into the chaise longue on the screened porch. She picked up her fan and began to move her wrist back and forth in a lethargic motion, while Ginna saw to the supper in the hot, stifling kitchen.

•    •    •

At the law firm of Motley, Anderson and Laird, Stanley sat at his desk and stared out the window. Methodically, he took out his white linen handkerchief, blew his nose, and then carefully refolded the linen as if his life were dependent on getting the edges squared exactly before he returned it to his pocket.

The noise of the typewriter in the outer office reminded him of the letter he needed to send out before the day was over.

He opened the door and called out, “Miss Gregory, will you please come to my office? I want to dictate a letter.”

“Yes, Mr. Quail.”

Martha gazed down at the half-finished brief she was working on for Mr. Laird, who’d already gone home. Then she looked up at the clock. It was a mere five minutes before she was to leave for the day. But she didn’t complain. If she had to stay late, then she would just have to stay.

After gathering up her pencil and dictating tablet, she walked into Stanley’s office. He was standing, looking out the window, with his back to her. He made no acknowledgment of her entrance until she cleared her throat. Then he turned around, walked back to his desk, and sat down. For a moment, he continued to stare at her. Finally, he indicated a chair with his hand. “Sit down, Miss Gregory.”

She did as she was told, poised her pencil to begin writing, and then waited.

“To the Honorable Rad Meadors, U.S. Senate. Dear Mr. Meadors: A matter of grave concern has come to me through a colleague concerning your wife. I feel that I am in a unique position to show that I harbor no ill feelings for the unfortunate turn of events on Thursday last, before the congressional committee, of which you are chairman. I shall be pleased to set up an appointment at your convenience to discuss this delicate matter with you.”

Martha dropped her pencil on the floor and an impatient Stanley frowned as he waited for her to retrieve it.

“Finish the letter in the usual way, Miss Gregory.