Read Online Cry for Passion by Robin Schone - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Robin Schone
Ads: Link
hand, Rose grabbed her reticule out of the drawer and flung open the white enameled door.
“There you are, darling!” riveted her.
But the feminine voice was not familiar.
Rose surreptitiously glanced to her left at the mustard yellow house that adjoined her robin’s egg blue house.
A woman in her thirties—Rose estimated she was close to her own age of thirty-three—stood on the stoop of the neighboring row house and hugged a woman who was comparably aged. Together, arms linked, they descended the short steps and crossed the sun-dappled street.
Sisters, perhaps. Or perhaps they were simply friends.
Laughter, pure and free from the taint of betrayal and scandal, trilled behind them. They disappeared behind a four-wheeled cab.
Relaxing, Rose popped an oblong crumb into her mouth: The oatmeal-coated raisin was still moist. She raised her hand—filling her mouth with cookie—and turned to lock the door.
Startled wings whirred up into the air.
“Hello, Rose.”
The familiar voice stole the sunshine and dragged down Rose’s hand.
Dryly chewing, swallowing—the raisins had inexplicably dried to the consistency of pebbles—Rose locked the white enameled door and turned with a smile.
A blue-bonneted woman stood at the bottom of the stoop. She was clearly in an advanced stage of pregnancy.
“Hello, Lucy,” Rose returned, stomach fighting to reject the cookie crumbs it digested. “Should you be here, this late in your term?”
The twenty-seven-year-old wife of Rose’s oldest brother—and mother to his three sons—smiled with maternal contentment. Gently she caressed the rounded curve of her abdomen that marked her fourth pregnancy. “The baby misses his aunt.”
“He’ll miss his mother more if Derek finds you out and about,” Rose said dryly.
“Derek wouldn’t dare hurt me,” Lucy complacently returned, “for fear of you.”
As if any of her brothers had ever heeded their older sister, all five of them taller than she by the time they reached puberty.
A reluctant laugh escaped Rose’s tight throat. “I assure you, Derek has never been afraid of anything, least of all me.”
“We’re all afraid for you, Rose,” snatched away her laughter.
Rose clenched the iron key inside her hand. “Lucy, I appreciate your concern, truly I do, but I assure you, I am perfectly well.”
Lucy had never been reticent. “Rose, many women fear childbirth, but it’s a small price to pay for what comes afterward.”
Always a woman’s life revolved around children and motherhood.
An image of Jack Lodoun flashed before Rose’s eyes.
Stroking his penis. Loving his penis.
“Do you enjoy being with my brother?” she impulsively asked, metal key biting into her fingers.
“I love Derek,” Lucy said, face glowing with happiness and pregnancy.
“But do you love what he does to you,” Rose pressed, “to give you children?”
Shock widened Lucy’s eyes.
Afternoon light glinted off the younger woman’s dark curls, turning brown into red.
Red had glinted in Jack Lodoun’s hair, Rose remembered. But not in his pubic hair.
“Lucy.” Rose took a deep breath. “I will tell you what I told my parents: I love you, but what I do has nothing to do with you. Nor has it anything to do with my brothers. I am just now setting up house, and do not yet have servants or even furnishings.” A small lie: She had basic furniture and linen only. “Much as I would like to entertain you, it is not yet possible. Please do not come back until I invite you.”
Hurt wiped away the glow of Lucy’s happiness. “What shall I tell Derek?”
“Tell him I love him.”
The hurt on Lucy’s face was not abated.
Rose descended the three steps—Lucy was four inches taller than she—and forced herself to reach out and lay her hand on her sister-in-law’s rounded abdomen. A tiny foot slammed into her palm.
“And tell him,” Rose said, keeping her hand over the baby instead of jerking it away as every muscle, every
“There you are, darling!” riveted her.
But the feminine voice was not familiar.
Rose surreptitiously glanced to her left at the mustard yellow house that adjoined her robin’s egg blue house.
A woman in her thirties—Rose estimated she was close to her own age of thirty-three—stood on the stoop of the neighboring row house and hugged a woman who was comparably aged. Together, arms linked, they descended the short steps and crossed the sun-dappled street.
Sisters, perhaps. Or perhaps they were simply friends.
Laughter, pure and free from the taint of betrayal and scandal, trilled behind them. They disappeared behind a four-wheeled cab.
Relaxing, Rose popped an oblong crumb into her mouth: The oatmeal-coated raisin was still moist. She raised her hand—filling her mouth with cookie—and turned to lock the door.
Startled wings whirred up into the air.
“Hello, Rose.”
The familiar voice stole the sunshine and dragged down Rose’s hand.
Dryly chewing, swallowing—the raisins had inexplicably dried to the consistency of pebbles—Rose locked the white enameled door and turned with a smile.
A blue-bonneted woman stood at the bottom of the stoop. She was clearly in an advanced stage of pregnancy.
“Hello, Lucy,” Rose returned, stomach fighting to reject the cookie crumbs it digested. “Should you be here, this late in your term?”
The twenty-seven-year-old wife of Rose’s oldest brother—and mother to his three sons—smiled with maternal contentment. Gently she caressed the rounded curve of her abdomen that marked her fourth pregnancy. “The baby misses his aunt.”
“He’ll miss his mother more if Derek finds you out and about,” Rose said dryly.
“Derek wouldn’t dare hurt me,” Lucy complacently returned, “for fear of you.”
As if any of her brothers had ever heeded their older sister, all five of them taller than she by the time they reached puberty.
A reluctant laugh escaped Rose’s tight throat. “I assure you, Derek has never been afraid of anything, least of all me.”
“We’re all afraid for you, Rose,” snatched away her laughter.
Rose clenched the iron key inside her hand. “Lucy, I appreciate your concern, truly I do, but I assure you, I am perfectly well.”
Lucy had never been reticent. “Rose, many women fear childbirth, but it’s a small price to pay for what comes afterward.”
Always a woman’s life revolved around children and motherhood.
An image of Jack Lodoun flashed before Rose’s eyes.
Stroking his penis. Loving his penis.
“Do you enjoy being with my brother?” she impulsively asked, metal key biting into her fingers.
“I love Derek,” Lucy said, face glowing with happiness and pregnancy.
“But do you love what he does to you,” Rose pressed, “to give you children?”
Shock widened Lucy’s eyes.
Afternoon light glinted off the younger woman’s dark curls, turning brown into red.
Red had glinted in Jack Lodoun’s hair, Rose remembered. But not in his pubic hair.
“Lucy.” Rose took a deep breath. “I will tell you what I told my parents: I love you, but what I do has nothing to do with you. Nor has it anything to do with my brothers. I am just now setting up house, and do not yet have servants or even furnishings.” A small lie: She had basic furniture and linen only. “Much as I would like to entertain you, it is not yet possible. Please do not come back until I invite you.”
Hurt wiped away the glow of Lucy’s happiness. “What shall I tell Derek?”
“Tell him I love him.”
The hurt on Lucy’s face was not abated.
Rose descended the three steps—Lucy was four inches taller than she—and forced herself to reach out and lay her hand on her sister-in-law’s rounded abdomen. A tiny foot slammed into her palm.
“And tell him,” Rose said, keeping her hand over the baby instead of jerking it away as every muscle, every
Similar Books
