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

tongue to tell Ginna about it. But then she thought better of it.

“Oh, it was nothing important. Good night.”

“Good night, Martha.”

By late afternoon of the next day, a tired Ginna walked out of the secretarial school. She had pinned her hair up severely that morning, and with her white blouse, dark skirt, and sad countenance, she hardly resembled the vibrant young woman Jonathan had taken home for tea.

But Allison, seated across the street in her carriage, recognized her nevertheless. “Ginna!” she called out. “Over here!”

Panic swept through Ginna at the sound of her name. She didn’t want to face anyone, least of all Allison Meadors. Shifting the books to her other arm, she began to walk slowly down the street as if she hadn’t heard her name. But Allison was determined.

“Ginna, you can’t run away, my dear. I must talk with you.”

She looked at the woman who had hurried to catch up with her. “Mrs. Meadors, please. I can’t talk with anyone. There’s absolutely nothing to say. Not now.”

“You don’t have to talk. Just listen to what I have to say.”

“Is it about Jonathan?”

“Only indirectly. It’s more about your father and me.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Cassie told you only part of the story. Don’t you want to hear the rest?”

“You mean you know? Papa told you? And you still want to speak to me?”

“He didn’t have to tell me, Ginna. You see, I’m part of the story, too. But it’s much too hot to keep on walking. So won’t you climb into the carriage and ride awhile so that we can get this terrible misunderstanding ironed out?”

Allison’s face was pink from her rushing to catch up with Ginna in the heat. Seeing her discomfort, Ginna said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be so thoughtless. Of course I’ll ride with you.”

“Good.”

Allison turned to retrace her steps to the carriage and Ginna followed. Once they’d climbed into the victoria and Allison had sorted out the reins that had been carelessly tossed aside, the older woman signaled the horses to resume their travel down the road.

Allison headed for home. Ginna recognized the route that she and Jonathan had taken on the day they had become engaged. On the way, she held her books to her breast as if they were a shield against the hurt she now felt.

And the hurt widened in a fuller circle as they approached the driveway and then stopped at the entrance to the rose garden. “Let’s go to the gazebo. We’ll have more privacy to talk there,” Allison said.

Ginna was at a disadvantage, for the gazebo held memories of exquisite happiness and, now, exquisite pain.

“I had a little gazebo like this years ago, at Rose Mallow,” Allison began. “And it was under the flooring that I hid a picture of my beautiful dead husband who had been killed in the Battle of the Wilderness.”

“My father fought in the same battle,” Ginna said.

“I know. I was his wife.”

Allison waited for the words to find recognition and understanding. And as she waited, the air was once again filled with the buzz of bees lighting on the last roses of the summer.

But for Ginna, Allison’s words brought a sudden chill, striking her like a mountain wind that sweeps off the melt-water and blows through the desolate valleys. She shivered and crossed her arms as if to ward off the devastation.

“No. That’s impossible. You’re Jonathan’s mother.…”

“By my second marriage. Just as you are Charles’s daughter by his second marriage.”

“But then that makes Jonathan and me …”

“Unrelated. No, Ginna. Don’t leave. You must hear the rest of the story. Because to know the entire truth means that Cassie will lose her power to hurt you again.”

“Does Jonathan know?”

“Not yet. But I plan to tell him when he returns to Washington.”

“But I can’t be here. I have to get away. I couldn’t face him when he finds out …”

Allison’s voice was soothing. “I know. And I know what a shock it is for you. But your father and I have discussed it. And we both feel that you do need to get away, to sort things out, to come to terms with your love for Jonathan.

“And that’s why I sought you out today before you did anything rash. To suggest that you go for a long visit to Morrow’s house in Chicago.”

“Jonathan’s sister?”

“Half sister. But she’s your relative as well—the bridge between you and Jonathan. She’s the daughter that your father never saw, Ginna. Our daughter.”

“Then she’s my half sister, too.”

“Yes. And she would welcome you with loving arms.”

“I don’t know. I don’t know what to do.”

“You can’t stay at Mrs. Gregory’s boardinghouse forever. Someone is bound to recognize you and ask entirely too many questions that will lead to embarrassment for everyone. No, it will look much better for you to be visiting relatives out of town.”

“I never wanted to do anything that might embarrass Jonathan.”

“Then it’s settled. I’ll wire Morrow in the morning, and you can travel on the train in the afternoon with my friends, the Montgomerys. They’ll be visiting the Columbian Exposition. Morrow and her husband Andrew can call for you at the Richlieu Hotel, where they’ll be staying.”

Allison stood. “Let’s go into the house for something cool to drink. Then I’ll have Browne drive you back to the boardinghouse to pick up your things and take you home.”

Ginna did not protest. She had thought that she was the only one in the world to feel sorrow. But looking at Allison’s face, she realized that she was wrong. Both Allison and her own father had suffered. She knew now that sorrow chose its victims at random—not according to merit or just punishment.

As Browne waited outside the boardinghouse for Ginna to pack her valise, Mrs. Beauchamp and Miss Counts came downstairs and seated themselves in the parlor.

From the window, they watched the flurry of Ginna’s leavetaking, her good-byes to Maggie Gregory and her daughter Martha.

“I wonder where her guardian is,” Mrs. Beauchamp remarked later. “He didn’t seem to be in the