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

For the rest of the day, Allison was strangely absent. Instead, she sent Crete over to help Clara in the kitchen and to receive the food offerings from the various neighbors.

That day passed. The night came and then morning. And when the private interment, with only a graveside service, took place in the afternoon, Allison stood apart with Rad at her side, while Jonathan took his place with Charles and Ginna. Nathan, who had been sent for from school, held his father’s hand. And Stanley Quail was a part of the family group, too, representing Cassie, who was still in bed after childbirth.

The cemetery was a peaceful one, in a green meadow with wildflowers visible before the forest of trees beyond. But as the minister began the service for the dead, few of his words were heard. Each was thinking his or her own thoughts—of praise, of blame, of guilt and sorrow combined with tears, of loss and relief at Araminta’s demise.

Charles was aware of Allison. He had seen her as he’d stepped out of the carriage with Nathan. He tried not to be bitter at life, not to continue the dreadful thought when he’d first seen Araminta’s inert body—that he was free now. That if something happened to Rad, too, then … But no. He must put that out of his mind. Only think of Ginna and Jonathan. Their happiness, which Araminta had sought to destroy. And little Nathan, so baffled at the death of his mother.

While Charles was struggling to put Allison out of his mind, she was retracing the distant past—the happy times at Cypress Manor with her brother Jonathan, her son’s namesake, before he’d brought Araminta home as his bride. Araminta had been chic-looking then, with her coquettish demeanor hiding a certain pettiness that had eventually caused such heartache in the family. Poor Jonathan—to be disillusioned so soon. And her poor invalid father, with his last days spoiled by Araminta. But now Araminta was gone, too. And Allison prayed for forgiveness for remembering the petty things about her former sister-in-law.

Standing in the background with Allison, Rad was one of the few who truly grieved at Araminta’s death—not because of the woman herself, but because of her husband. For if he were in Charles’s shoes, Rad knew exactly what he would be thinking. With Araminta’s death, he was one step closer to getting Allison back.

Yet he was the one who had defended Allison’s meeting with Charles in the park. He’d acted as if it were with his urging that the two had met. His manner had surprised Stanley that afternoon, summoned as he was to Rad’s office to discuss the so-called delicate matter he’d referred to in his letter.

And he’d felt almost sorry for Stanley when he’d casually brought up the subject of the woman and child he was keeping in the townhouse. Stanley’s face had turned a sickening shade of green, almost as if he were ill. That had been the end of any threats on Stanley’s part. And he’d paid the large fine, too, without objecting. But it was Awbrey, his aide, who’d discovered the incongruity in Stanley’s righteous pose. He had Awbrey to thank for deflecting Stanley’s gossip about Allison.

“… And bestow thy blessing upon these dear children …” The minister continued the eulogy, the prayers, as the bereft continued their private thoughts.

Stanley Quail exhibited an unrequited sadness etched across his face. To those present, he seemed the epitome of a grieving son-in-law. But the truth of the matter was that he couldn’t have cared less about Araminta.

It was Maryann who occupied his thoughts that afternoon. Because of Rad Meadors, their alliance was ending. And all he could think about was his last conversation with Maryann.

“It’s a sickness, Stanley—between you and me,” Maryann had said finally. “Heaven knows, I’ve tried to stop it before it caused any more anguish for us both. But now I have a chance to be free—to marry someone and have a reasonably normal life.”

“And who is this man who would take another man’s mistress for his wife?”

“He thinks I’m a penniless widow with a child. He knows you’re my half brother and that you have been supporting me.”

“But I can’t do without you, Maryann. You’re the only one who’s ever been able to satisfy me or to match my need.”

“But you have a wife now, Stanley. You’ll have to look to her for comfort from now on.”

“But she can’t be my wife again for a number of weeks. Surely you won’t deny me comfort while she’s still recovering from little Stanley’s birth.”

“No, Stanley, I won’t be that cruel. But once she recovers, then it’s all over between us. It’s for your good as well. I know how strapped you are for money, having to pay the fine. It will be a relief for you not to have to support me anymore.”

“But I can’t bear the thought of another man touching you.”

“You’ve already spoken of denial, Stanley. Please don’t deny me my one chance for happiness and self-respect.”

“Then come into the bedroom, Maryann. I need to hold you.”

A few minutes later, with the curtains drawn, he lay beside her and caressed her lustrous, beautiful hair. “Do you remember the yellow ribbons I gave you that afternoon in the deserted cottage?”

“Yes. So many years ago. They’re still packed away in my small trunk. When you were in England, I’d take them out occasionally and look at them.”

“Get them out, Maryann. Now. I want to remember that afternoon—the first time I ever made love to you.”

He watched her as she walked to the foot of the bed and opened the curved lid of the hobnailed metal trunk. Her naked body was still firm, but with a ripeness that had not been visible when she was twelve. He continued to watch while she brought the faded ribbons back to bed and stood.

Like an ancient ritual, he took the ribbons and bound her hair. “We’ll always be one body, Maryann. Remember this