Read Online A Prologue To Love by Taylor Caldwell - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Taylor Caldwell
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he did not see that. She said, “But, John dear, you simply can’t leave tomorrow! I have so much I want to say to you. Remember, I am alone, and you are all I have left in the world. Except Timothy,” she added with haste, thinking of her son.
He stared at her with sudden penetration. He had totally forgotten, in these last few days while painful negotiations had been going on, that she had refused to marry him and that she had said she loved him.
In her turn Cynthia was studying him also, and she could almost hear his thoughts. She smiled sadly to herself. Dear John. She would try to bring some joy to his stony life; in spite of himself, he enjoyed parts of her existence, though he objectively disapproved of them. When he had said to her, “I can’t live without you,” he had spoken more truth than he knew.
He saw the warm promise in her eyes. He would not be cheated, then. Cynthia might have no morals or honor, but she had a gay way of fulfilling the minor obligations. Why had he been such a fool as to take her word for it that wealthy and distinguished men in Boston wanted her, she a penniless woman with a child? Wealthy men married wealth; they did not marry women with whom they had slept for nothing.
Again he remembered that she had said she loved him. Cynthia was not a liar. He detested himself; she would have come to him without that money, wife or not a wife.
They arrived at Cynthia’s house in the amber dusk of the autumn evening. A little sunlight remained; it fell redly on the burdens of crab apples weighting down the trees in the garden; the fiery fruit stood against the deep and polished blue of the October sky. A woman of responsibility would have had her servants garner all that incredibly lush fruit. But not Cynthia! She had said quite seriously that she preferred to leave it for the birds who did not migrate; she could get along very well without glasses upon glasses of crab-apple jelly in her cellars. “Can you imagine me eating such jelly on my hot muffins in the winter while the birds who do not desert us in the autumn are starving?” she had asked of him.
John did not believe that any human being was of any value at all, except in so far as money was concerned. But he hated waste. As Cynthia tripped away to change he looked gloomily at the endless profusion of pink and scarlet fruit on the trees. She had not even picked the apples and pears along the gray stone wall at the rear! Sometimes she would eat a warm fruit in laughing apology to the damned birds. She had birdhouses on every tree and what she called ‘feeding shelves’ for the winter. As he watched the birds eating the fruit he thought of the night — after that damned gala affair. Her birthday! She was Ann’s twin; her birthday was really in April.
This was only an excuse for the party. But there would be the night, or rather the dawn, after the party, and he began to feel very hot and his face flushed and became moist, and he wiped it carefully with his fine linen handkerchief. He had loved Ann. But this was something entirely different. It was baffling, infuriating, crushing, and, in its way, intolerable.
He heard a stealthy footstep on the thick rug of the drawing room, almost a sliding footstep. He turned. Cynthia’s son Timothy stood on the other side of the fireplace, looking at him silently. Timothy was Caroline’s age, and up to the time of the trust fund John had thought of Timothy as a husband for his daughter. But the boy was now penniless, unless his mother saved some of the new money, which was very improbable indeed.
Timothy was tall, and fair like his mother, and had her gray eyes. Considering that Timothy resembled Cynthia, it was surprising to John Ames that he did not like his nephew. He had many traits of which John approved. He was careful, neat, circumspect, quiet; he did not speak easily and laughed very seldom. There was a seriousness about him beyond his age, not
He stared at her with sudden penetration. He had totally forgotten, in these last few days while painful negotiations had been going on, that she had refused to marry him and that she had said she loved him.
In her turn Cynthia was studying him also, and she could almost hear his thoughts. She smiled sadly to herself. Dear John. She would try to bring some joy to his stony life; in spite of himself, he enjoyed parts of her existence, though he objectively disapproved of them. When he had said to her, “I can’t live without you,” he had spoken more truth than he knew.
He saw the warm promise in her eyes. He would not be cheated, then. Cynthia might have no morals or honor, but she had a gay way of fulfilling the minor obligations. Why had he been such a fool as to take her word for it that wealthy and distinguished men in Boston wanted her, she a penniless woman with a child? Wealthy men married wealth; they did not marry women with whom they had slept for nothing.
Again he remembered that she had said she loved him. Cynthia was not a liar. He detested himself; she would have come to him without that money, wife or not a wife.
They arrived at Cynthia’s house in the amber dusk of the autumn evening. A little sunlight remained; it fell redly on the burdens of crab apples weighting down the trees in the garden; the fiery fruit stood against the deep and polished blue of the October sky. A woman of responsibility would have had her servants garner all that incredibly lush fruit. But not Cynthia! She had said quite seriously that she preferred to leave it for the birds who did not migrate; she could get along very well without glasses upon glasses of crab-apple jelly in her cellars. “Can you imagine me eating such jelly on my hot muffins in the winter while the birds who do not desert us in the autumn are starving?” she had asked of him.
John did not believe that any human being was of any value at all, except in so far as money was concerned. But he hated waste. As Cynthia tripped away to change he looked gloomily at the endless profusion of pink and scarlet fruit on the trees. She had not even picked the apples and pears along the gray stone wall at the rear! Sometimes she would eat a warm fruit in laughing apology to the damned birds. She had birdhouses on every tree and what she called ‘feeding shelves’ for the winter. As he watched the birds eating the fruit he thought of the night — after that damned gala affair. Her birthday! She was Ann’s twin; her birthday was really in April.
This was only an excuse for the party. But there would be the night, or rather the dawn, after the party, and he began to feel very hot and his face flushed and became moist, and he wiped it carefully with his fine linen handkerchief. He had loved Ann. But this was something entirely different. It was baffling, infuriating, crushing, and, in its way, intolerable.
He heard a stealthy footstep on the thick rug of the drawing room, almost a sliding footstep. He turned. Cynthia’s son Timothy stood on the other side of the fireplace, looking at him silently. Timothy was Caroline’s age, and up to the time of the trust fund John had thought of Timothy as a husband for his daughter. But the boy was now penniless, unless his mother saved some of the new money, which was very improbable indeed.
Timothy was tall, and fair like his mother, and had her gray eyes. Considering that Timothy resembled Cynthia, it was surprising to John Ames that he did not like his nephew. He had many traits of which John approved. He was careful, neat, circumspect, quiet; he did not speak easily and laughed very seldom. There was a seriousness about him beyond his age, not
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