Margaret's Story: Third Novel in the Florida Trilogy by Eugenia Price

Author:Eugenia Price [Price, Eugenia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, General, Historical, Romance
ISBN: 9781630263737
Google: 0Ln7oAEACAAJ
Amazon: 1618580108
Publisher: Turner
Published: 2012-12-04T06:00:00+00:00

Early the following month, after Margaret and Easter and Betty spent days readying him for a long visit in the city, Seton, at his own insistence, boarded the steamer George Washington alone, under the captain's care, for Fernandina. For the first few weeks, he and his grandmother wrote letters together—Seton adding his own version of the exciting life in Fernandina to enclose with hers. Then early in the next year, 1849, Margaret received this from her mother only:

Fernandina

2 January 1849

My dear Margaret,

It was generous and kind of you and Lewis to allow Seton to stay with me during Christmas. I'm sure you missed him dreadfully at Hibernia and it still seems ridiculous to me that your entire family did not find it convenient to come here for the Holy Season. Our doctor could have cared for puny little William. I am, of course, pleased that you have named him for your uncle, the intrepid captain, but your William does seem a weakly, slow child. My real joy is Seton and daily he lifts my darkness to let in his cheerful light. If I do say so, he seems deeply fond of me. I beg you to let him stay until spring. I have tried to be generous with you and Lewis. Please be generous with me.

Margaret slammed down the letter unfinished—thankful that she had gone to her room in order to read it alone first. Lewis, who adored his son William, would not appreciate such remarks about the child. Of course, it was fine that her mother loved Seton. But the boy was already in danger of being spoiled, although she had to admit he showed few signs. But why did her mother find it necessary to criticize poor William?

Annoyed, upset, Margaret began to walk about the room, moving an object here, another there—brushing off imaginary dust, straightening an already straight doily on her dresser. Her mother could still strip her of all defenses and leave her helpless to do anything but agree—or indeed, to appear selfish.

I wish Mother had given us nothing—not one stick of furniture, not one mirror, not a single picture for even one wall, she thought, her mind blazing. At least, I asked for none of it. She gave to us freely, I hoped. Oh, how I hoped.

We need Seton here! His father needs him. His brothers—I need him. I want him. He's my son. Let Mother will everything she owns to my brother George. All my heart really cares about anyway is the big silver bowl—but let her will that to George, too. If she leaves me nothing. I won't be poor because I have Lewis and— She stopped the ugly thoughts. Stopped them dead. Stopped pacing about the room and let her eyes fall on the cherished oil painting of her father which stood in its ornate gold frame on the bedside table.

"Poor Mama," she whispered, picking up the picture to kiss the image of her father's sensitive face. "Oh, Papa, poor Mama. Poor me, for that matter.

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