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

look over land and possibly buy some. That is, if you don’t distract me too much, darling.”

“I’ll be quiet as a mouse. No, as quiet as a little dogie.”

Jonathan laughed. “You don’t know much about cattle, do you?”

“Why?”

“A motherless calf is about the noisiest creature in an entire herd.”

“Ginna, Jonathan. Over here.”

Morrow waved at them to get their attention. She was seated at a large, round umbrella table with Nanny and David, who was already sipping a large lemonade.

The two wove their way past other tables to the one in the shade. David immediately set down his glass and looked at Jonathan. “Did you see the bearded lady, Uncle Jonathan?”

He laughed. “Yes. And the world’s strongest man. But what you see before you right now is the world’s thirstiest couple.”

“Then we’ll certainly have to do something about that,” Morrow said, and signaled for their waiter.

A short while later, they left the pavilion. They had almost reached the exit gate when Morrow stopped. A short distance away, a small child sat by a flower stand. Like the flowers, the child looked as if she’d remained too long in the sun.

“Oh, Jonathan, there’s the little Andretti girl. Do go over and buy some of her flowers. She looks so unhappy and tired.”

Ginna and Morrow watched as Jonathan walked toward the stand. They saw the child come to life at the approach of a potential customer. Jonathan pointed to one bunch, then another. But a large group of tourists passed by, blocking their view. By the time Jonathan came into sight again, he was heading back to Ginna and Morrow with his arms full.

“Oh, no,” Morrow said. “I didn’t intend for him to buy all of them.”

“Uncle Jonathan, you look like a flower man,” David said.

“And so I am. For you, Ginna,” he said, bowing as he presented her with the roses. “And for you, Morrow. A bunch for you, Nanny. And two bunches for David.”

“I didn’t mean for you to be so extravagant, Jonathan,” Morrow chided.

Jonathan smiled. “Then why did you send me over to the little charlatan? She plainly told me that if I bought all of them, she would give me a good price and then she could go home for the day.”

When Morrow looked back at the flower stand, she saw that the child had already vanished.

That night, as the breeze along the lakeshore provided respite from the hot summer day, Morrow and Andrew lay in bed and recounted the day’s events to each other, as all married couples do once their children and houseguests are sound asleep.

“I wish you could have gone with us today, Andrew,” Morrow said.

“If you remember, my lovely, I met you in a stampede, and it seems that there’s been a crowd of people around you ever since. I’d much rather have you to myself, like now.”

He reached out and took her hand in the dark. “Come closer to me.”

Morrow smiled and moved over into his arms. She lay there, contented, while her mind drifted back to Charleston and the nightmare that had brought them together—two strangers, caught up in a panicked mob, fleeing from the earthquake that had set the city on fire.…

Maum Lena’s happy song in the kitchen drifted through the open windows, answered by the lilt of a Gullah street vender hawking her wares a block away.

To Morrow, standing on the upstairs piazza of the grand old house facing the Battery, it seemed a peaceful aubade to the morning, an affirmation that all was well with the world.

She held the flower basket while Preston’s mother snipped the heavy wisteria blossoms and placed them carefully in the woven reed container. The tortuous-shaped vine threatened to take over the entire top balustrade if not dealt with immediately.

“This has been such a lovely time together, Morrow,” the white-haired woman said. “Do you have to leave tomorrow? Couldn’t you possibly stay another week?”

Morrow smiled. “I’ve already stayed much longer this time than I intended. I really must get back home.”

The woman’s faded blue eyes showed her sadness. “This would have been your home if Preston had lived. And I still look on you as my daughter.”

Morrow’s voice was gentle. “We’ve mourned together, Mrs. Legare, for two years. And somehow I think my being here doesn’t help either of us.”

“I’m a selfish woman,” Juliette admitted. “It’s time for you to make another life for yourself. But somehow, when you’re here, I can still pretend that your wedding is next week. That Preston isn’t really dead.”

Morrow set down the basket and reached out to Juliette in sympathy. The woman smiled, brushed the tear away with her cotton work glove, and then went back to snipping another purple cluster of wisteria.

Down below in the garden, Rook, the small black and white spaniel, began barking. But it was more like a howl than his usual yapping at squirrels.

“I declare, that’s the second time Rook’s howled this morning. He sounds so unhappy. You think there might be something wrong with him? A briar in his paw, maybe?”

“I’ll go down and check if you’d like me to, Mrs. Legare.”

“Yes, that might be the thing to do, Morrow. I’d hate for the little fellow to be in pain and for us just to ignore him.”

Morrow left the piazza, walked downstairs and out through the garden door at the side. She saw the small dog half concealed under the steps. He appeared frightened at something and she immediately became sympathetic. “What’s wrong, Rook? Come out and let me see,” she said as she sat down on the steps.

At first, the trembling dog remained where he was. But when Morrow called to him again, he whined in answer and slowly crawled toward her.

She lifted him into her lap, and he reached up to lick her face. “There’s nothing to be scared of,” she assured him, examining one paw and then another. The pads were smooth and there was no sign of injury.

A shadow fell over the sundial in the garden and a