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

one’s head and pretending it doesn’t exist. The sad part about many of these women is that they didn’t start out this way. And each attempt to get them back into working for a living doesn’t last long.”

“I heard about the sweatshops and how little money the people make.”

Morrow nodded. “The woman we’re going to see works for just a few pennies a day. She and her children are nearly starving. It doesn’t seem right, Ginna, when a man like Mr. Field spends seventy-five thousand dollars on a birthday party for his son and then pays women so little to make the clothes he carries in his store.

“But that’s enough from me. Andrew says I preach too much and that the people who really need to hear are the very ones who won’t listen.”

When they reached the tenement, Morrow gathered up the food basket. “Do you mind waiting with the carriage, Ginna? I won’t be but a minute.”

The morning that had been planned so carefully by Morrow was completely disrupted within a few minutes, for as Morrow hurriedly left the Andretti tenement, a bloodcurdling scream in the next tenement spooked the horses, and it was all Ginna could do to calm them down.

“Heavens, what was that?” Morrow asked, turning to Mrs. Andretti in the doorway.

From the reaction of the other women standing in the street, no one seemed to have heard it except for Morrow and Ginna and the horses.

“Mrs. Andretti, what’s wrong? Why is no one going to see about that terrible cry?”

Mrs. Andretti looked cautiously at the group of women. Then she whispered, “It’s Tasha Slavonsky having her baby, poor thing. But no one will help her.”

“In heaven’s name, why not?”

“The girl isn’t married.”

“Well, if no one wants to help her, why hasn’t a doctor been called?”

“Everybody’s afraid they’ll have to pay the doctor bill.”

Morrow’s face showed her fury. “Then I’ll pay the bill. Marcello, do you know where there’s a doctor near here?”

“Sì. Dr. Scaglia. He lives three blocks from here.”

“Then go and fetch him.”

He looked at his mother and then at the women down the street. As he hesitated, Morrow said, “Oh, never mind, Marcello. I’ll go myself. What does the building look like?”

“It’s painted green, signora. And his sign hangs over the door.”

Morrow climbed into the carriage beside Ginna and took over the reins. As the carriage hurried down the street, the group of women parted to allow it through.

“I suppose you heard?” Morrow said.

“Yes.”

“One day, Ginna, women are going to be kinder to other women regardless of their sins. And one day women will only have to work eight hours a day, and children will go to school instead of to the factories and the stockyards.”

Ginna looked at Morrow’s face. The dream was in her eyes, and watching her, Ginna felt an excitement that she had never felt before. Morrow was strong, with a sense of right and wrong that did not depend on what others thought.

And at that moment, Ginna wanted to reach out to her as a sister and tell her the truth.

CHAPTER

25

By Sunday morning, Ginna was in another world, far from the squalor of the ward surrounding the settlement house where Morrow had taken her two days previously.

It was the private club of business leaders and corporate executives, two hundred of whom were self-made millionaires. They were the power brokers of Chicago, whose influence was more subtle than the “gray wolves” that controlled the political precincts. Yet, in the East, they were all considered upstarts, which bothered them not at all. They were far too busy building and trading and forming western empires of their own.

“Good morning, Andrew,” R. T. Atwilder said, extending his hand.

At the same time, Julia, his wife, smiled at Morrow. “I’m so glad you could come and bring your houseguest.”

“Julia, this is my brother’s fiancee, Ginna Forsyte, from Washington. Mrs. Atwilder, our hostess.”

“How do you do.”

The woman stared frankly at Ginna and said to Morrow, “What a pity that she’s already spoken for. There’re so many eligible young men here this morning. I could have been a matchmaker six times over.”

They quickly moved on as other people got into the receiving line. Andrew looked on in consternation as he was separated from Morrow and subsequently buttonholed by a group of men.

“Morrow, hello.”

Lila was a vision in her morning dress—blue, this time, with lace and pearls swathing her throat and bosom. “Do come over and settle a dispute,” Lila said, “between Richard and me.”

Ginna hung back, entranced with the room that might have been in Buckingham Palace, it was so grand. Except for the overdone drapery cornices that were not quite de rigueur, in her opinion. But the oil paintings were magnificent, and, with Morrow occupied, she quietly walked over and stood before a still life with fish and cat.

“It’s Flemish probably,” said a male voice behind her. “Seventeenth century?”

“No, sixteenth century,” she answered without thinking. Then, in surprise, she turned to face the voice.

The young man was tall—almost as tall as Jonathan, but any resemblance ended there. He had a more effeminate build, and there was a blase look about him, as if he were already tired of the morning. But his face changed immediately as Ginna turned around.

His eyes came alive. “Hello.” He drew the word out, as if he’d suddenly made a great discovery. “I don’t believe I’ve seen you before.”

Ginna did not care for his manner. “Probably because I’ve never been here before.” She took a step away as if to return to Morrow’s side.

The young man said, “Please. I didn’t mean to sound impertinent. I’m Peter Atwilder. My mother and father are giving this party. So, in a way, I suppose I’m one of the hosts.”

“Oh. Then, how do you do? I’m Ginna Forsyte.”

“Who are you with?”

“I’m with the Lachlans. I’m their houseguest,” she added.

Peter smiled at the information. “Do you already have a breakfast partner?”

A puzzled look flitted across her face. “I thought