The Roswell Legacy Read online

  Today, because she had not wanted a witness to her clandestine meeting with Coin, she had ridden to the park on Marquessa, the chestnut beauty that Rad had given her on their last wedding anniversary, rather than coming in the family carriage. The horse was now tied to a hitching post near the entrance.

  Unknown to Allison, Charles approached, stood beyond the evergreen hedge, and watched her for a time. She was still beautiful and slender, as somehow he’d known she would be. With the old, familiar stirring at the sight of her, he straightened his shoulders and forced himself to walk slowly in her direction.

  “Allison?”

  She thought she would be prepared for the sound of his voice, but she wasn’t. A constricting band cut short her breath as she uttered his name. “Coin?”

  “I prefer to be called Charles now.”

  “Of course.”

  The urge was strong for her to look at him fully, directly, to see what time had done to the face she’d loved so long ago. But he was standing against the blinding rays of the hot summer sun.

  Quickly, he said, “We need to talk, Allison—not only about Ginna and Jonathan but about us, too. Would you like to sit on a bench, or would you rather go for a walk?”

  “Let’s walk for a while,” Allison said. And they began to stroll away from the animals toward the stream where Allison had fled the afternoon of her visit with Araminta. She was aware of his presence beside her, the cool, antiseptic aura of a stranger so different from the warm, ardent young soldier who had fathered her firstborn.

  “I”

  “Did you—”

  “I’m sorry,” Allison said. “What were you going to say?”

  “Just that I know what a great shock it was to you, finding out after all these years that I’m still alive.”

  “I suppose it was just as shocking to you, too, to discover that I survived the war also.”

  For the first time they stopped and faced each other directly. Allison searched his face, looking for the familiar blue eyes, the shape of chin and jaw that had haunted her for so long. And as she met his gaze, she cried out the indicting words that she’d sworn never to utter. “Oh, Coin, how could you marry Araminta? You never even liked her.…”

  Her words hung in the air, heavy and accusing, while she waited for the man to defend himself. But she knew that any reason, despite its logic, would never satisfy her.

  “When I came home to Roswell after the war, you had completely disappeared.”

  “And you didn’t think enough of your own wife and baby to try to find us?”

  Her questions, spoken in anguish, were almost more than he could bear. He couldn’t tell her that he had looked for her continuously for two whole years, only to discover that she had already married someone else and had a son by that man. He must never let her know that he had found her—too late. As much as it hurt him to be thought an uncaring husband and father, Charles knew he must allow Allison to feel that she was the injured one.

  “I thought you might have gone home to Savannah, if you and Morrow had survived. But Araminta hadn’t heard from you, either.”

  “I took a job in the woolen mill to earn enough money to get back to Cypress Manor. But Rebecca and I were treated like criminals—arrested with the other mill workers and shipped northward.”

  “And Morrow?”

  “She survived, too.”

  “Where is she now?”

  “Living in Chicago with her husband, Andrew. You’re a grandfather, Charles. A little blond-haired boy that you can never claim. He calls Rad Grandpapa.”

  Charles averted his face and tightened his jaw.

  “I’m sorry,” Allison said. “I didn’t mean to sound so bitter. Whatever happened between us is in the past. Jonathan and Ginna are the important ones now. What are we going to do, Co—Charles? Araminta said we must not allow the marriage to take place. But that will break Jonathan’s heart.”

  “Ginna’s, too.”

  “Then what is the answer?”

  “I think we should give our consent for the wedding, Allison. No one need know that you and I were once husband and wife. That’s something that we shall always have to keep secret, no matter how hard it is.”

  “But what about Araminta? She was never able to keep a secret. And I doubt that I would have the strength to hide this from Rad. Jonathan, perhaps. But never Rad.”

  “Then you must tell him, Allison. As for Araminta, leave her to me.”

  “And you think it will work? That we’d be able to go through with it, knowing that you and I are still legally …” Allison couldn’t bring herself to finish the sentence.

  “Many families were separated during the war. What happened to us was not that unusual, Allison. We both had to make new lives for ourselves. Others did the same thing.”

  Charles longed to reach out, to smooth the troubled lines that marred Allison’s brow. “Do you want me to talk with your … husband?”

  “No,” she said, much too fast, much too loud. Looking in the direction of children playing near the hedge, she lowered her voice. “Not until I talk with him first. It wouldn’t be fair for him to hear it from anyone else.”

  “I understand. When will you do it?”

  “I don’t know. If I were brave, I would stay up and talk with him tonight after his committee meeting.”

  “The longer you put it off, the harder it will be.”

  “Don’t you think I know that? I’ve hardly slept at all for these past five days, waiting for you to come back to town and get in touch with me.”

  She made a move to go, but Charles reached out to stop her. “Don’t leave yet, Allison. Please. Let’s sit down by the stream and talk. There’re still so many things I want to know about you and Morrow.”

  And so, under the shade of a gnarled oak, Allison sat down. She removed her riding hat and smoothed her hair. But then she picked up her riding crop and twisted it in her hands as she stared in silence at the rippling stream.

  “Is … Rebecca in Washington with you?”

  “No. She died several years ago. But she has a daughter, Allie, who’s almost her carbon copy. Allie works for Morrow now.”

  Charles took his handkerchief and mopped his brow. He didn’t realize he had been holding his breath for her answer. He relaxed somewhat. “I suppose Rebecca named her for you.”

  “Yes.”

  “Tell me about Morrow. Is she as beautiful as her mother?”

  “She’s far lovelier than I ever was,” Allison answered quickly. “Although she has my coloring—blond hair and the violet eyes—she also has some of your mannerisms. The same smile. And sometimes the way she holds her head to the side, waiting for an answer, reminds me-—” Allison suddenly stopped. “You’re doing it now.”

  “What?”

  “Leaning to one side, as if to catch every syllable I’m saying.”

  Charles straightened immediately. “I wasn’t aware.”

  “And Ginna? Who does she resemble?”

  “That’s right. You didn’t see her the other day, did you?”

  “No. Araminta had sent her away.”

  “She has Araminta’s hair. But that’s the only feature she inherited from her. In every other respect, she resembles my sister Anna Rose. You remember when we were first married we used to go together to put flowers on her grave.”

  Allison suddenly stood. It was not good to remember too much of the past. Especially now. “I have to go.”

  He was still loath to lose her. “But we’ve settled so little.”

  “That’s true. But we can do nothing for our children’s happiness until I tell Rad about the terrible nightmare that has encompassed us all. After that he’ll want to talk with you, I’m sure.”

  “Allison, I wish it hadn’t happened this way. Oh, God, I wish that—”

  “No, Charles. Don’t say any more. The past can’t be undone.”

  For the first time, Charles Coin Forsyte looked old. The bleakness in his eyes spoke of unf
ulfilled dreams that had shattered in the uncompromising wake of reality. He watched as Allison turned her back and began to walk toward the entrance.

  Then he rushed to catch up with her. “I presume you came by horseback?”

  “Yes, I rode Marquessa. I thought it would be better if I didn’t come in the family carriage.”

  The sounds of the animals in the zoo reverberated through the air—the shrieks of mynah birds and the trumpet of an elephant combining with the roar of a lion. Allison and Charles, walking together toward the exit, passed a bench where the young mother Allison had seen earlier was sitting with her sleeping child in the buggy beside her.

  She followed their progress, as she had watched them the entire time. What a fortunate decision she had made to spend the afternoon in the park. Stanley Quail would be extremely interested in the news that his enemy, Senator Meadors, had a wife dallying with another man in a public park for all the world to see.

  CHAPTER

  8

  At the Female Art Institute, Ginna and her friend, Martha Gregory, sat near one of the studio windows and dipped their brushes into the same pot of gold leaf. Their dresses were protected by large white aprons, already smudged with various pastel hues from the paint pots.

  “Do you think you’ll finish your entire set of china before the wedding, Ginna?”

  Ginna carefully traced the delicate swirl design on the teapot dome and then laid down her brush. “From the way things are going at home, I’ll have enough time to finish ten sets.”

  “Why? What’s wrong?”

  Again Ginna hesitated. “Martha, sometimes I think that Mummy doesn’t want me to get married at all.”

  “But if she’s anything like my mama, she surely won’t want you to be an old maid. According to Mr. Rouchard’s Book on Culture, any lady who remains unmarried has few options. Teach school, if you have the intelligence for it, or take in boarders, if you have the house for it.” Martha suddenly giggled. “My mother is doing everything to make sure I soak up plenty of culture. She thinks that’s the only way to attract a husband. But she would die if she found out what I’m actually doing on Tuesdays.”

  “Aren’t you going to music class?”

  Martha shook her head. “Can you keep a secret, Ginna?”

  “Of course. That’s what friends are for.”

  “I’m learning how to use the typewriter. I’m going to become a secretary in a Washington office.”

  “Martha, you aren’t!”

  “I am so. Typing’s a whole lot more fun than sitting here painting china.”

  “But what will your mother say when she finds out?”

  “We might be genteel, but we’re poor, Ginna. We’ve been poor ever since Papa left us and went west. But Mama has always been too proud to admit it out loud, even to me, until two months ago when I asked about going to college. You should have seen her face. It was the hardest thing she’s ever had to do—telling me I couldn’t go.”

  “But I thought you said your mother had her heart set on your marrying one of her boarders—that bachelor congressman.”

  “That’s all she talked about from the time Mr. Cleveland got married to that young Miss Folsom. She tried everything to get Mr. Wells interested in me, but then she finally realized it wasn’t doing a bit of good. Mr. Wells is a bachelor and every sign indicates he’s going to stay a bachelor. All the china painting and music lessons are merely a waste of time and money.”

  “But how will you ever go about finding a job?”

  “That’s one good thing about Mr. Wells. I know he’ll help me when the proper time comes. That is, when I get my certificate for the course.”

  “Ladies, it’s time for cleanup now,” a woman’s voice said from the other end of the long, barnlike cavern. “Just leave your china on the tables. It will be safe until tomorrow.”

  The teacher began to circulate around the room, speaking to one and then another pupil. When she reached the space shared by Ginna and Martha, she beamed when she saw the teapot Ginna had been working on. “What a lovely work of art. I’m sure some young man will be most appreciative to have his morning tea poured from such an exquisitely painted teapot.”

  “Thank you, Miss Radnick.”

  In the same manner, she scrutinized the other pot beside it. But her smile became a little more fixed as her eyes turned from the china to Martha herself. “If I were you, my dear, I would work on some brilliant, scintillating breakfast conversation. Perhaps then your future husband will not be so disappointed in your lack of artistry.”

  “Thank you, Miss Radnick,” Martha parroted, pretending not to notice the gentle insult.

  As they walked out of the redbrick building, Ginna saw the family carriage. But instead of Barge, her father was waiting. “Oh, Papa has come for me,” Ginna said, pleased. “Can we give you a ride home, Martha?”

  “No, thank you. I’ll just run along. And promise me, you won’t tell a soul what I told you in confidence, about the typewriter.”

  “You have my word, Martha.”

  The two parted company, with Martha hurrying up the street while Ginna rushed to the carriage.

  “I thought you were still out of town, Papa.”

  “I got home around noon,” Charles commented. “So I decided to take off the rest of the day.” He held out his hand to help Ginna up. And once she’d found her place beside him, he signaled the horses and began the leisurely drive toward home.

  They had gone only a few hundred yards when Ginna, her parasol shading her face from the sun, said, “I’m glad you came for me, Papa. There’re so many things I need to talk about. And it’s much easier here than at home.”

  “What things, Ginna?”

  Her eyes became sad. “To start with … Why does Mummy hate me so much?”

  “Ginna, darling, what makes you ask such a thing? We both love you very much.”

  She reached over and touched her father’s hand. “I’ve never questioned your love—for either Nathan or me. Or even for Cassie. But while you were gone, Mummy sent me away when Jonathan’s mother came to call. And she won’t tell me anything at all about their visit. She doesn’t want me to marry Jonathan.” Her eyes pierced Charles. “You do like him, don’t you, Papa? If you didn’t … if something happened to keep me from marrying the man I love, I think I would die.”

  Charles had wrestled with his own feelings all the way from the park. He was no stranger to the emotion his daughter was now confessing. But he knew that even though people might talk of a broken heart, the malady was seldom fatal. It was something one learned to live with, like a hair shirt, constantly chafing and reminding one of the hurt.

  “Don’t worry, pet. Your mother just has to get used to the idea of losing you. And once the weather is cooler, she will more than likely be herself again.”

  “The weather won’t help.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Oh, Papa, you’ve pretended for so long that things would get better with Mummy, with each change of season. And I’ve always loved you for it. But I’m an adult now. There’s no need for us to pretend anymore. She’ll never change. Mummy is Mummy. And that’s that.”

  “But—”

  “Several days ago, Nathan told me about Rudy.”

  “Oh, Ginna, I’d hoped that you’d never find out.”

  “I guess Nathan couldn’t keep the secret any longer. He wasn’t supposed to know, either. Poor little Rudy. He was such a sweet and gentle dog. He didn’t deserve to be chloroformed, Papa. I knew I couldn’t bring him with me to America. But I’d found such a wonderful home for him. Why did Mummy have him put to sleep instead?”

  “Sometimes, Ginna, I think your mother wants to hurt people because she’s been hurt. She lost Cassie’s father in the war, for one thing.…”

  “If she loved him so much, then why did she tell him that she hoped he’d get killed by the Yankees rather than come home after the war?”

  “Who told you that?”

&nb
sp; “Cassie. A long time ago.”

  “Ginna, Cassie was terribly young when her father left. If she happened to overhear the two of them fussing, she must realize now that adults sometimes say things in anger, things they don’t really mean.”

  Ginna sighed and tucked her hand under Charles’s arm. “Papa, I hope you’ll champion me just as strongly as you do Mummy.”

  “Wouldn’t you rather have Jonathan Meadors wearing your colors instead of your tired old father?”

  “You mean …”

  “He’s a fine young man from an excellent family, and I see no reason why the marriage shouldn’t take place as planned.”

  She laughed with delight. “I knew once you came home you could make things right again.”

  Her confidence in him was too encompassing. Although he could wield a scalpel with unusual dexterity to help others, he was powerless to heal his own wound. As for his daughter Ginna, he might be able to persuade Araminta to behave herself for a short time. But he couldn’t guarantee that it would last.

  “Don’t expect miracles of me, Ginna. I’ll do my best. That’s all I can promise.”

  “Thank you, Papa.”

  In the turreted white house where the ceiling fan on the side porch lazily turned with the slight evening breeze, Allison glanced over the freshly set table.

  For the past hour she had been rehearsing her lines, as if she were an actress ready to walk onstage at Ford’s Theatre. “Rad, I have something to confess.” No, that sounded too much like an intentional sin. She started again. “Rad, you remember my telling you that Coin was killed in Virginia?”

  No matter how she tried to frame them, the words still sounded foreign, like a monologue chosen for her by an unsympathetic playwright. But if she felt sorry for herself in being forced to say them, she felt equal sympathy for Rad, so unsuspecting of what the evening would bring.

  She adjusted the bowl of musk roses, gathered from the garden. A small dark ant fell from the nectared sepal of a full-blown rose and landed on the white tablecloth. Like an Indian apologizing to a deer before drawing his bow, Allison murmured an apology even as she quickly removed the ant from the table.