Roses Collection: Boxed Set

by Freda, Paula

  "Sweetheart, do you want to make love to me?"

  Carol began to reply, then grew silent. It took her a few seconds to understand the meaning of his question. A truthful answer was most important if she hoped to hold his love. "Yes," she admitted. But I'm afraid, I-I don't know all the moves," she explained the best way she knew, without sounding wanton. "You'll have to help me," she confessed, half-embarrassed and half annoyed with her own ignorance. Biologically, she knew all the facts. But loving and giving of herself selflessly—

  Herb couldn't restrain the chuckle. Carol, this is an amorous, passionate merger of body and soul, for life, for both of us, not a lamb to the slaughter."

  Carol felt the urge to chuckle, herself. That latter expression was exactly what had crossed her mind on their wedding night, and Herb had the ability to guess her thoughts accurately.

  He asked, "Are you still frightened?"

  "A little," she answered truthfully.

  "Would it help to tell you, I'm scared too?"

  "Why?"

  "Whatever you may think, I haven't had that much experience," he said.

  Carol grinned, feeling the ground between them level and lessen her embarrassment considerably.

  "Is that a gloat I'm reading on your face?" Herb inquired.

  "A little," she replied, adding quickly, "but it only increases my love and desire for you." Before he could speak again, she said, "Don't you think we've talked enough?"

  Herb nodded, "Yes, quite enough." Laying her gently on the bed, he kissed her tenderly and she responded with her whole being.

  EPILOGUE

  A teen-aged Alouette sat at her vanity and brushed her long dark brown hair with her normal right arm, guiding the silky strands with her left hand, and arm shorter by a couple of inches. Intermittently, she stopped brushing to view her progress until her hair shone thick and lustrous and hung in natural waves over her shoulders and down her back. Her mother loved her hair and its color, and she never ceased to compliment her. As for her disability, no one in her heaven-sent family seemed to notice. To them she was perfect.

  At school, however, most noticed. Especially the popular girls and boys. Not all of them, but several, the self-absorbed, insensitive to anyone who needed a kind word, the ones who enjoyed showing off their physical perfections by taunting the less fortunate. Her mother understood the latter better than anyone she knew did. And cautioned her never to fall into that category. Better to associate with, or be considered a nerd or a geek, than to grow up self-absorbed and insensitive to the feelings of others. "I fell into that trap in my teens," she told her. "And it caused me many problems. I almost lost the one man I was meant to love and marry. I was very lucky that he didn't give up on me."

  Of course, she meant her father, the kindest, most understanding, gentlest father. Firm, but always open-minded, to a reasonable extent. No wonder her mother loved him.

  A knock at the door interrupted her reverie. She turned in her upholstered seat and standing, straightened her silk robe and adjusted its tie belt.

  "Yes?" she inquired.

  "It's mom. I'd like to talk with you. May I come in?"

  "Hold on, I'll be right there."

  She hurried to the door and unlatched the privacy lock. The lock was not to keep her mother out. Sans notice, Carol had known exactly when the teen-privacy syndrome kicked in. The privacy lock was to keep her younger brother and sister from running into her room at all times, especially when she was dressing.

  Alouette opened the door and hugged her mother. "Good morning, mom," she said.

  "You're not dressed yet?" her mother inquired.

  "It's Saturday morning. We always lounge about in the morning."

  "Yes, of course, but Dad and I would like to speak to you about something important."

  "Is something wrong, mother?" No matter how sure she felt about their loving her, a sliver of doubt lingered that they might one day not want her anymore."

  "Nothing is wrong, sweetheart. Actually, depending on one's perspective, it can be wonderful news."

  "You're pregnant," Alouette guessed.

  Carol laughed. "No, sweetheart." She caressed her daughter's chin. "You are so lovely," she remarked. "Well, why don't you get dressed in your most casual, comfortable loungewear, and come down to breakfast. We'll talk then."

  An hour later, Alouette chose eggs and sausage links from the breakfast items on the buffet. Carol and Herb employed a part-time cook and au-paire. They both worked at Mark's home branch, Carol part-time since helping establish a small center in town that aided disabled children adjust to everyday life.

  A far cry, Herb pondered, watching the love on his wife's face as she supervised their younger children, Tommy and Marguerite, a far cry from that self-absorbed, catty, young woman obsessed with winning Evan's heart.

  "Dad, mom said you both needed to talk to me?" Alouette asked, sitting at the dining table.

  "We do," Herb said.

  Carol always sat at Herb's right, like Cybelle did with Mark at their home. Alouette took her seat at his left.

  Herb said, "We've made a decision, but we need to know if you have any objection to it."

  Alouette waited to hear, perplexed and wary. It must be a serious decision, she thought, for them to worry she might object.

  "Let me," Carol said, noting Herb's pause as he sought for the right words.

  "Sure," he said. "Go on."

  "I don't know any other way of putting it, but we've decided to adopt another child from your old orphanage."

  Why ever would her parents feel she might object, Alouette wondered, smiling radiantly. "That's wonderful," she said. "Why would I object?"

  "Do you remember little Alfred?" Carol asked.

  Alouette searched her memory. Her friends at the orphanage had been girls in her unit. But a memory surfaced of a small boy, a polio survivor, not treated soon enough, who walked with a brace on one leg. She recalled the nun in charge of the boys' unit, beckoning to him at the end of a lunch recess, to rejoin his group returning to class.

  "I do remember him," She recalled, silently offering a special prayer for him to the Blessed Lady. "I do remember him. Little Alfred, Limpy."

  She saw frowns knit her parents' brows. "Oh, that was mean, wasn't it?" she asked. "I didn't understand at the time, how cruelly words can hurt. I'm sorry. I'll never call him that again."

  It dawned on her what her parents were attempting to tell her. "You're adopting Alfred? That's wonderful, Mom, Dad. And I'll protect him, I promise. He'll need me, especially. He should be about the age I was, when you adopted me."

  Carol turned a joyful expression to Herb, who clasped her hand reassuringly.

  "Thank you, Alouette," Herb said. He gazed at Carol. Her eyes were moist with tears of gratitude. "Thank you, Carol," he said. "Thank you."

  ♥♥

  *****************************

  The Lark and Robin Red

  by Paula Freda

  © June 2016 by Dorothy P. Freda

  (Pseudonym — Paula Freda)

  Smashwords Edition

  Exterior and Interior Bookcover photos

  Licensed by Dorothy Paula Freda from

  iStockphoto

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof. This is a work of fiction; names, characters, places and incidents are a product of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Below the illustration of the two hearts entwined within one

  the card read, "You are the heart within my heart."

  Abby lounged in her shorts and tank top on the window seat, wiggling her bare toes dry. It had rained that morning, a gentle rain, some would call a drizzle, the kind of rain in which she enjoyed running. The short wood bar with its sliding hooks attached to the top of the window's dark wood frame was there for hanging houseplants, but she wasn't that much into green or flowering plants. The h
ooks, though, were great for hanging wet sneakers.

  The window seat was the main reason she had chosen this apartment a few months ago. It reminded her of the one in her parents' San Diego condominium in the sunny state. Her mother had always wanted a wide window with a large seat, to lounge and enjoy reading, one of her pastimes, along with an occasional supporting role in a TV movie. She usually played the mother or older sister.

  Although Abby's parents were retired, they continued to dabble in the Entertainment field. Dad still occasionally edited a script, when asked by a moviemaker who remembered him from his days at the better film studios.

  With all due admiration for her parents' roles in the entertainment industry, Abby herself had never felt any desire to follow in their footsteps. Growing up, what interested her most was watching the make-up artist preparing an actor or actress for their role. So much so, that as she grew into womanhood, she chose cosmetology as her main course of study, and now worked as an assistant cosmetologist in Manhattan.

  Financially, she did well. But not so well when it came to her love life. Not that she lacked beaus. She had no false modesty as to her looks. As the old song went, she was Lovely to Look at. Blessed with a canopy of brown wavy hair, silky to the touch, her oval face, wide hazel eyes that in the sunlight hinted at light green, as if in her case, nature hadn't quite decided, and tall, slim, curvaceous figure, she rarely failed to attract admirers. Those same admirers told her that she was beautiful inside and out, good natured, innately kind and giving, and fun to be with. Most didn't point out her one big flaw until a few months in her company — her preponderance to speak her mind, her ability not to feel embarrassed easily — outspoken, forward, with a wide smile that tended to give her a comical expression, detracting from her beauty and their continued pursual.

  Abby had been raised free-spirited, by parents who gave her the freedom, ability and reasons to like herself. As an Englishman she once dated phrased it, her unabashed forwardness and her bodacious free spirit. All qualities in her case that made it easy for others to trust her words, knowing she would never say one thing and mean another. But those same qualities predisposed her to expect the same in others, and trust them as easily, whereas most of her acquaintances found those qualities a hard act to follow. The young men attracted to her outward appearance, hated her free spirit, and the traits her parents admired and had encouraged in their daughter.

  Women snickered behind her back — they didn't dare make fun of her to her face, unless they welcomed a quick reprisal. No, don't fool with Abby! she'd heard them whisper. As a result, she had never been privy to a best friend, until Julie came into her life. The sweetest, most patient, honest, tolerant young woman Abby had ever known.

  The terms unabashed forwardness and bodacious free spirit would never apply to Julie, a timid shy flower, desperately in need of a friend, and the love of the kind and gentle young boy in high school who she had never quite forgotten.

  Abby had formerly lived in a midtown high rise, and from the day that Julie moved into the apartment opposite hers, the two had clicked as if their friendship had originated in heaven. Abby's outwardness complemented Julie's shyness. Julie, newly married, never ceased attributing her happy ending to Abby's interference in her love life. Small wonder that she was now trying her hand at matchmaking for Abby.

  A lark, on a tree branch, in the garden outside the bay window, sang sweetly to a prospective mate close by. But the lady ignored the call, fluttered her wings and flew away. Abigail laughed. "Exactly, little lady," she scoffed. "Don't fall for that line. It's spring and romance is in the air."

  The lady lark who had ignored her suitor's melodious notes, settled on the branch of another tree. Her new perch did not escape the eye of the gentleman lark. Abby watched him as he left his perch and flew upward to settle a few inches from her. Again he began his melodious notes. Again the lady lark disdained his efforts and flew to another branch. Abby would have enjoyed continuing to watch the courtship, but if she intended keeping her date with Johnny, then she had to hurry and dress.

  She glanced down once more at the card he'd sent her. "You are the heart within my heart." Inside, he'd signed, Your friend, ever faithful, John Sands.

  Six months, and he still hadn't tired of her, or her insistence on their keeping their relationship platonic. A kiss here and there, a hug, flowers, at least the kind that didn't make her sneeze. Movies, picnics in the park, birthday parties. She liked that he didn't pressure her for more. It would make their parting easier, when he finally did tire of her. Be that as it may, she had to admit that John Sands appeared different from anyone she'd dated. And her repertoire would fill a black book.

  "I'm no lily-white innocent," she told her reflection in the mirror above her low dresser. "But," she added, emphasizing the sweep of her brush through her hair to negate the image the remark evoked, "I'm not a hussy, or a loose woman. Neither am I a fool!" She threw the brush down on the bureau top. "I've loved and been dumped."

  Jason's face reared into her thoughts. Oh, how she'd loved him. Believed all the lies, and trusted him totally. Those years in college with him as her sweetheart had been wonderful, straight out of a romance novel, until graduation day. She sensed something was wrong between them when he glanced at her a moment after they'd thrown their graduation caps triumphantly into the air. She caught the disdain in his eyes and realized what it stood for. He was free. And she was no longer necessary to ease boring or stressful moments between study and relaxation.

  He returned home with his parents to start his new life. "Goodbye, Good Luck."

  When she had confronted him, demanding to know the why, his arrogance and pride, his narcissistic nature she had mistaken for emotional neediness, had all come forth, a deluge of the tediousness of their relationship. He'd paid his dues, he told her, borne with her unbearable jester's traits, her talkativeness, her outlandish style of dress, her stubbornness, her embarrassing forwardness. But college was over and he was free to pursue his dreams without any woman's clawing hold.

  "Why didn't you say these things to me before? I would have done everything in my power to change, to keep your love."

  "Exactly, Abby, why I bore my distaste quietly. I didn't want your recriminations hanging over my head, interfering with my studies. We had some fun. Had the necessary distraction when we needed it. But it's over now. We can move on. There's nothing to hold us back."

  She stood in front of him, tears sliding down her cheeks. The word distraction cut deep. "I was merely a distraction to you?"

  "Oh Abby, don't try a guilt trip on me."

  "Guilt trip?" she asked, befuddled.

  "Yes, guilt trip. That's what you do best, you know. You can't help it. It's your intrinsic goodness, your wanting to help everyone, whether they want your help or not. You make people feel sorry for you because they see your open earnestness, your receptive character, your willingness to trust and be trusted."

  "Those are truly serious flaws, aren't they? The hardest kind to change," was all her broken heart would let her say.

  She'd turned away then, realizing at last their relationship had been a farce that he'd borne with patiently to avoid any pressure points during attendance at college.

  That was the last relationship she ever entered. The last man she ever allowed herself to love.

  Abby studied her reflection in the mirror once more. The memory had evoked new tears. At least she hadn't applied her makeup yet, and therefore wouldn't need to refresh it.

  The doorbell rang. Abby glanced at her wristwatch. Nine o'clock. A beautiful day! Right on time. John was always punctual. What did he really think about her, she wondered.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Abby peered through the security eyehole. Yup, it's him, she whispered to herself. A handsome, tall, hulk of a man, brown wide-set eyes, and dark reddish blonde hair, tapered at the sides and back, and parted at the crown to the right in a soft wave. His grey V-neck pullover, over the sky-blue dress shirt, cl
early outlined his broad shoulders.

  She took a deep breath to compose herself, and opened the door.

  "Come in, John."

  "Hello, beautiful," he greeted.

  She smiled.

  He paused, studying her smile.

  "Okay, what's wrong?" he asked.

  "What makes you think anything is wrong?"

  "Your eyes, the forced smile. I'd swear you were on the verge of crying."

  No use trying to fool him. He had the ability to see right through her. "Right, you're right. Unhappy memories, choosing this morning to resurface."

  "If you make me a cup of coffee, I promise to listen, if you feel like talking about them."

  This time her smile was sincere. "He's not worth talking about, but I'd love to share coffee with you. Come on in."

  "He? I have a rival, then?" John asked, entering.

  "You might have had, some years ago." She led him to the kitchen aisle and the high back stools. "Sit down while I pour us the coffee."

  The aisle had electrical outlets on both sides. Abby kept her coffee machine on it with the dark brew always hot, along with sugar/sweetener, creamer, teaspoons, and a mug tree.

  John hitched his brown slacks, cuffed at the hems, and sat and lifted two mugs off the tree. Abby poured the coffee, two thirds full. He took his black; Abby varied between black, sugar and cream, depending on her moods. This morning she omitted the sugar and cream.

  John took a couple of sips, then settled back in his seat. "Okay, spill it. What's the matter?"

  There was such warmth in his gaze. Only her mom and dad looked at her that way. And he was so easy to talk to, as if he were truly interested in what she had to say. Even as a child, she'd been loquacious to the point of annoyance. Over the years, she had learned to sense that annoyance, but she never found it easy to curb her talkativeness.