The Scarlet Thread Read Online Free

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    â€œBut always I had my family … and the other families, Sicilians like ourselves. They kept the old values, the old loyalties, alive. A lot of people didn’t like it. We lived in a hostile world. We learned to fight back, to make our own way. Above all, to be loyal to each other.
    â€œIt was rough. I learned to use my fists; it was my father who taught me to use my brains. He believed in education; he sent me to college. He was proud of me, and he wanted me to do well. I owe him everything. My brother too. He didn’t like school; he didn’t go to college. But he served my father just as I did.”
    Served . It was an odd word. But as he’d said, English was his second language.
    â€œYou’d love my mother,” he said suddenly. “You will love her, Angela, and she’ll love you. Why do you blush like that? Don’t you understand what I’m saying?”
    â€œI’m not sure,” Angela answered. They were walking, the clean wind off the sea stinging their faces in the cool of the evening. “What are you saying?”
    He stopped and took her in his arms. He tilted her face up to his and kissed her gently on the lips. “I’m going to marry you,” he said.
    â€œSteven, we can’t,” she whispered. “Your army doesn’t allow it.”
    â€œIf we have to wait, then we wait. But we’ll be married. There’ll never be another woman for me but you. You know that, don’t you?”
    She closed her eyes, resting against him. She felt safe and loved, and everything seemed possible. Even the end of the accursed war. “I know it,” she said. “And it’s the same for me. I love you, Steven. I’ll wait for you. I want to be with you so much.”
    He drove her back to the hospital. She was on night duty.
    â€œI haven’t a ring to give you,” he said. “I gave my graduation ring to my mother. To keep till I got home. I’ll write and ask for it. I’ll tell her it’s for you.”
    â€œNo,” Angela protested. “I don’t need rings, Steven. Let her keep it for you. Now kiss me. I’ve got to go.”
    â€œI love you,” he said, and took possession of her mouth.
    â€œWhat happens when he’s posted?” Christine demanded. “They’re all going, as soon as the weather’s right. Walt says it’s going to be a bloodbath. He gets killed, and you’re left with a brat! Angela, be sensible,” she begged. “You can’t go through with it. I’ll help you. Look, you’re only just over six weeks. It’ll be a day off with a bad period. No one’ll know.”
    Angela sat up. She had been violently sick in the lavatory and sent to the lounge to lie down. She felt dizzy, but the dreadful nausea had passed.
    â€œI shouldn’t have told you,” she said. “I wish I hadn’t said anything. Have you got a cigarette, Chrissie? I’ve run out.”
    â€œHere. Keep the packet. Thank God you did tell me. You can get away with throwing up once, but what are you going to say if it happens every morning? Don’t you realize you’ll be chucked out and sent home in disgrace?”
    â€œHe wants to marry me,” Angela answered. She lit the cigarette. It tasted bitter.
    â€œHe can’t, and he bloody well knows it,” Christine retorted. “He’d never get permission. One mention about getting married, and they’re posted within forty-eight hours. I wish you’d let me talk to him. Listen, if he loves you, he won’t let you go through with this.”
    â€œYou don’t know him,” Angela said. “I keep telling you, Steven isn’t one of your Yanks. He’s different; he’d want the baby. I just haven’t told him yet. I wasn’t even sure for the first couple of weeks.”
    â€œHe’s no different from any other man.” Christine turned away impatiently.