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

“She just might see that what I propose is an obvious solution to the whole problem.” Jonathan smiled. “Now tell me how much you’ve missed me.”

“Jonathan, you’re incorrigible.”

“But lovable, don’t you think?”

Ginna didn’t answer. The effects of the Chateau Leoville still had her brain operating at half capacity. And she couldn’t seem to win an argument with Jonathan even at the best of times.

“It’s a good thing I got here when I did,” he said, breaking the silence. “Otherwise, you would have been fair game for Peter Atwilder.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. Peter was just trying to be kind to a stranger.”

“From the stories at Saratoga, Atwilder is never kind. He selects his victims carefully. And then walks away from the scene of the crime with nary a thought for the young woman he’s ruined.”

“Now who’s sounding Victorian?”

He didn’t bother to answer her. Instead, he let the horse have its head as they reached the stretch along the shoreline near Andrew’s house. They raced by the huge Palmer mansion with its glass porte cochere, and within five minutes, the phaeton was home.

Jonathan drove straight to the carriage house, where he turned the phaeton over to the stablehand. “Better check the horseshoe on the right front hoof,” he said, and then guided Ginna down the concrete path, through the garden, and on to the deserted house.

He took her in through the side door from the garden. And once they were inside, he turned and drew her into his arms. “Darling, I’ve missed you,” he said.

Before she had a chance to protest, his mouth claimed hers, forcing from her the same unbidden feelings that had so unnerved her that day in the gazebo.

“Jonathan,” she finally protested, pushing away from him. “We can’t.”

“There’s no one else in the house, Ginna. Until Andrew brings Morrow home, we’re completely alone. No David, no nanny, no Allie. Just you and me. Promise me you’ll marry me as soon as I can arrange the ceremony, or I swear I’ll take you upstairs and make love to you right now. And then you’ll be begging me to marry you.”

Ginna laughed.

“So you think I don’t mean it?”

He swept her into his arms and began to carry her past the fireplace, past the elongated windows that looked out on the shimmering gray water and onto the stairs.

“Stop being such an idiot,” she said, still laughing, “and put me down.”

“I can’t do that until I get all the way upstairs.”

She didn’t take him seriously, for his eyes were teasing and merry. He seemed to know which bedroom she’d been assigned, for he went directly to it, pushing the door open with one hand and then closing it behind him.

“This has gone far enough, Jonathan. Put me down. Please.”

“All right, Ginna.” With that, he dropped her onto the bed. But before she could get up or even straighten her skirts, he was beside her, pressing her hands against the lace coverlet and staring down into her eyes.

The teasing look was gone, replaced with a serious mien. “I adore you, Ginna,” he whispered. “Tell me that you love me, too.”

Her head still had not cleared from the Chateau. She felt too lethargic to struggle. “Yes, Jonathan, I love you.”

“Darling.”

He brushed her face with kisses, lingering at the corner of her mouth, still teasing her, taunting her, driving her almost to despair. And then his lips were no longer teasing but demanding, full upon her mouth, drawing a sweet ecstasy from her that she wanted to last forever.

“Promise me you’ll marry me, Ginna.”

She wrapped her arms around him, feeling his body against hers. “Yes, Jonathan. Yes.”

Then they heard a child’s voice downstairs. “You think Mommy has come back, Nanny?”

They parted as if a knife had severed them, sharp, clean. Ginna sat up and brushed her hair out of her face. “Quick, Jonathan,” she said, “leave before David comes upstairs.”

“But we’re to be married,” he said. “I see no reason for behaving as if we’ve done something sinful.”

“Please, Jonathan. Go. Now.”

He smiled. “Have I compromised you so totally?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Then you won’t be able to back out now, will you?” He turned around and walked nonchalantly past the door and down the stairs.

“Hello, David. How’s my boy?”

Ginna heard a squeal of delight. “Uncle Jonathan,” David said. “Did you bring me anything?”

Jonathan sounded so normal, as if absolutely nothing had happened upstairs. But Ginna was a wreck. The mirror reflected her flushed face, her disheveled hair, and her twisted bodice. She quickly smoothed her dress, took up her brush, and began to put herself together again. She shuddered to think what else might have happened if the child had not come home in time.

But perhaps nothing else would have occurred. Ginna examined her face again. Yes, Jonathan was right. She had run away from him. Only now he had taken her past all propriety. Marriage was the only way to set things right, as Jonathan must have known all the time.

Feeling the way she did, Ginna knew that she was still bound by society’s rules. She was still a fledgling. But perhaps one day she could be like Morrow, soaring with assurance and freedom. But that freedom to do good would only come with wealth and power. She had learned that much during her few days in Chicago.

The women in the tenements had no power, no control over their lives. It took someone like Mrs. Palmer or Morrow to point the way—to make the men listen and then do something about the terrible conditions of the slums.

But perhaps it had taken the shame of her own illegitimacy to make her sensitive to the needs of others.

With the approach of the second carriage, Ginna put down her brush and walked to the stairs. By the time Morrow came inside, she was leisurely reading a book in the living room, while Jonathan and David sat on the floor nearby playing with the calèche that Ginna had brought her nephew.

Morrow smiled at Ginna and immediately walked over to Jonathan. “I