Forbidden Susan Johnson (english love story books txt) 📖

Then dressed and bejeweled and perfectly coiffed, she stood at her balcony window very still for an indeterminate time, staring with unfocused eyes on the perfect beauty of Adelaide's garden.

How much of one's life did one barter for love—for happiness?

No answer came readily to mind.

Only annihilating blankness.

The sound of birdsong drew her from her uneasy reverie and she decided to wait for Etienne in the garden.

Avoiding the main staircase, she descended to the ground floor by the servant's stairs, traversed the narrow back hallways, and entered the garden through a doorway used by the staff. The sun was low on the horizon, transforming the shrubbery into magical silhouettes, lacy and translucent on their borders. The birds were quieting, settling in for their evening repose, the frogs in Adelaide's lily pond beginning the first of their night songs. She strolled down the trellised arbor, vined in climbing roses, the fragrance of the early pinks, the Gloire de Dijon, and Sombreuil heady in the balmy air. The wild roses would be blooming at home in the sheltered valleys already, and soon the prairie yellows would be scenting the breeze on the great open vastness of the northern plains. She felt homesick suddenly with the sweet perfume of rose in her nostrils, homesick for the openness of her native land, homesick for the peace her family had established on their isolated ranches in the mountains.

Her dress trailed over the manicured green of the grass, the pale creme dimity a ghostly lightness in the shadows of the arbor.

Her hair was simply arranged in a chignon at her neck, her only ornament sapphire earrings, large teardrop-shaped stones the color of storm clouds. A gift from her father on her eighteenth birthday, she'd selected them tonight for the happy memories they evoked. Hazard had called them spirit earrings because they glowed when the light struck them in a particular way. "Like night visions on the mountains," he'd said. She felt nearer her home when she wore them, nearer the security of her family, protected by the sky spirits, not so alone.

The unpleasantness at the Opéra, the future possibility of recurrences, the entire superficiality of the glittering Parisian society burdened her as she strolled through the perfectly kept garden. Even Adelaide's landscaping reminded her of the discrepancies between her favored life and Etienne's. The parterres were too 'arranged,' the hedges too carefully clipped, the lawn so smooth one could dance on it unimpeded. Or play croquet—a vicious game masquerading as fun. Not a single fallen leaf marred the perfection of the grass; an assortment of gardeners swept the entire area each day as a precaution against disorder. Even the birds were selected with an eye to the colorful scheme and lured with suitable houses and birdbaths, with food sources carefully concealed behind the colorful array of flowers. Gazing up into the sky darkening into twilight, she thought how strangely out of place a hawk would look now, circling this jeweled perfection of a garden. She felt abruptly as though she were a prisoner in this walled and cultivated Eden, as though she too needed wings like a hawk to escape the confining sensibilities of Etienne's world.

Back home in Montana, soaring hawks swept the skies, their territories miles of open country. The Absarokee had lived a life of equal freedom until recently, and her need to experience an existence without undue constraints was bred into her bones. Would her love for Etienne overlook those needs, would Etienne understand the compelling requirements of her upbringing in a culture so different from his? She was no longer sure. Yesterday she might have been. Last week she would have been confident of her answer. Tonight, no assurances came readily to her mind. Tonight she felt an alien… in this garden, in this city of lights. Despite the depths of her love, despite the fact she wasn't certain she could live without him… should she leave.

Standing motionless under the darkening sky, she gazed up into the soft gray velvet of twilight, searching for the first stars of evening, wanting to raise the spirits if she could. Not certain they would hear her so far from the mountains she called home. She began chanting, her voice only a murmur in the warm night air and, shutting her eyes, she carried herself back across the ocean to the cool mountains of her home. When she opened her eyes a moment later, the stars seemed to have shifted, taking their rightful positions in the springtime sky. Even their brilliance seemed to have altered, a new crispness infused the air… the light haze of Paris skies displaced by lofty cloudless tranquility.

Daisy smiled. There was pleasure in the ability to subtly change the world to suit her needs—however temporary. Her soft, "Ahoo" (thank you) drifted skyward. "Tell me what to do, One Above (Baakukkule). Show me the way." She dropped to her knees in a soft billow of fabric, her sapphires glittering like the stars with her movement, their weight on her earlobes, a presence… a link to the soil of home, to family. Her father had mined them near Ruby Bar; even the gold setting was their gold.

She touched the faceted jewel with a light fingertip, felt its coolness. "Help me, Papa. I'm too far from home and so in love, I'm no longer the same." She listened then for a moment, her eyes shut, wanting a sign, willing her father to hear her across the ocean and continents.

"Daisy!"

The sound was faint… far away. He had answered her, she thought for a dramatic moment. The spirits had carried her words through the darkened skies to her father.

"Daisy!"

The sound was closer now. And familiar. Etienne.

She opened her eyes, turning toward the sound. The man she loved was striding toward her, the white of his evening shirt and collar and cuffs a flash of brilliance across the distance separating them. He began to run, the jeweled studs on his shirtfront shimmering in the shadowed light.

"We