Rubies Sapphires Red White and Lavender Blossoms Read online

  Rubies, Sapphires, Red, White and Lavender Blossoms

  by Paula Freda

  Smashwords Edition

  Clean Inspirational Romance Novellas Tetralogy Omnibus

  Novellas by Paula Freda

  Blossoms in the Snow

  Lilac in the Spring

  Blue Sapphire in the Straw

  Orange Blossoms in December

  Copyright September 2011 thru 2013

  by Dorothy Paula Freda

  (Pseudonym - Paula Freda)

  Bookcover Insert Photos & Angels photo

  Licensed by Dorothy Paula Freda

  from iStockphoto.com

  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.

  Dedication

  With thanks to the Blessed Trinity, and to my Dear Lord Jesus and his Blessed Mother Mary whose strength, guidance, and her Holy Rosary, are my anchor in this troubled world, I dedicate this book to my husband, Domenick, whose love, patience and kindness over the past 43 years have kept my dreams and view of the romantic alive and vibrant.

  Paula Freda

  NOVELLA ONE - Blossoms in the Snow

  CHAPTER ONE

  Blossoms in the Snow

  by

  Paula Freda

  Dorothea, Dot for short, checked the mail. It lay bundled haphazardly on the polished mahogany wood mantle beneath the hall mirror. Bills, magazines, ads, urgent notices that usually turned out to be "order now for discounts and savings." Nothing for her today. Her parents, who were late risers, were still asleep. A pity, thought Dot, as they would miss the refreshing feel of the brisk morning air on this her very special day, the sixth of February.

  In Europe, the feast day of one's namesake was often celebrated as joyously as one's birthday, and February 6th was, until some years ago, celebrated as the feast day of her patron saint, Saint Dorothy of Caesarea in Cappadocia. Although Dot and her parents hailed from Long Island, and lived presently near Garrison, overlooking the Hudson River, her genealogy traced back to Palermo, Sicily. Her great-grandparents and her grandparents had celebrated Feast Days as enthusiastically as birthdays. They had carried the tradition along with them when they disembarked at Ellis Island in 1921.

  A frugal lot, the men had worked in horticulture, the women in retail shops, among them garment shops, hat and dress and accessories, and flowers. They had done without luxuries, and scraped and saved so that now three generations later, their offspring owned and operated successful firms in various industrial fields. Dot's parents, leaning more toward the aesthetic, had opted for a prosperous chain of florists shops that catered to the ordinary citizen as well as to the elite. Dot, her sister, Alessandra (Ale) and her brother, Anthony (Tony) lacked for nothing.

  Continuing with their Italian heritage, her family never ignored Feast Days. The extended family party planned for tonight included over a hundred guests. They would sit and socialize comfortably at the linen-covered tables under the huge party tent on the front lawn of her parents' gracious two-floor smooth white stone dwelling.

  In the center of the expansive lawn, stood a life-size alabaster statue of Saint Dorothy, posed in the process of handing an angelic child a basket containing apples, cinnamon bark, a cluster of cloves, and three roses in full bloom. Dot's grandmother who also bore the name of Dorothea, had commissioned the sculpture during her youth. Dot's parents were proud to retain the statue, as Saint Dorothy was also the patron saint of gardeners and florists

  Inside the foyer, the morning light played gently with the orchid pattern on the door's opaque glass panes and polished dark mahogany frame, creating bright spots and shadows, and casting them playfully on the wide wood staircase, and the wrought iron scroll baluster and hand rails leading to the upstairs. Dot opened the closet door on the left and took out her wool cashmere coat, the tan one, slipped into it, and buttoned it to the top. The brass knob on the front door felt cool against her fingers as she unlocked and swung open the door and stepped outside.

  The grounds, quiet and serene for the moment, within a few hours would be bustling with a 100 guests and a score of servants and catering personnel carrying trays of champagne and hors d'oeuvres, in preparation for a feast day celebration in her honor. Dot breathed in the brisk cool air and sighed, "Dear Saint Dorothy, I need a miracle."

  By mid-afternoon guests of all sizes were milling about the lawns, chatting, a drink in one hand, and the other hand waving assorted patterns in the air to emphasize whatever it was they were communicating to their present companion. Dot stood by the stone balustrade that bordered the side of the property and formed a barrier to the sloping hill that led down to the river. She smiled, more in resignation. For the most part, the guests were good people and Dot appreciated their coming to celebrate her feast day. Some were poor; some were richer than her parents. Some were married, accompanied by their spouses, others accompanied by a friend. Then there were the singles—the girls on the lookout for male companionship. And, of course, the young men who'd be willing to jump off the balustrade and roll down the hill into the river, if she promised to marry them and endow them with her inheritance.

  She had dated some; Jim, for one. He didn't really need her money; just the assurance that if he ran out of his, he could fall back on hers. Then there was John; intelligent and suave, cosmopolitan—on the outside, that is. Cold as frost and ego-centered on the inside. A conversation with him, was all about him.

  Jason. He was nice to spend an hour or so with. He smiled when he was supposed to, and frowned when the conversation deemed it appropriate. A college graduate in engineering and structural design, he worked in his father's architectural firm, along with two of his brothers—a worthy occupation and a father's pride and reassurance of passing on his business to worthy offspring. Life with him would be pleasant. Dot shook her head. Where was the spark?

  "So why isn't the party queen with her guests?" a deep voice drawled.

  Startled, Dot turned around and raised her eyes to face the speaker. Readying for a witty retort to a familiar face, the words died on her lips. She faced a stranger, albeit a well dressed stranger in a dark grey semi-formal tux, on the tall side and of medium frame, who looked to be in his early thirties. He had a face you might call country, the kind you might find on a Nashville stage, but his voice was definitely northeastern seaboard.

  "Well?" he urged.

  Dot realized she was staring. "Uh‒who are you?"

  He laughed. "Oh, you don't remember?"

  Dot gave him the proverbial reply." Should I?"

  The stranger paused, reflecting, studying her face.

  Inexplicably, Dot felt self-conscious. She considered herself short. Her parents insisted that 5' 3" was not "short" but average. She maintained her figure and her health by constant care about what she ate that included most quality foods, but in the correct portions, and non-abusive exercise that included walking rather than driving short distances. At the age of fourteen she had weighed a hundred sixty-five pounds. During high school she had finally learned to control her eating and her weight. And now, at age 21, she had managed to slim down to a hundred and twenty-five pounds, and scrupulously to maintain that weight.

  The stranger continued to watch her. Perhaps he waited for her to recollect where they had met. Dot shook her head. "I'm sorry, I honestly don't remember ever meeting you." Maybe the question was only a line often used to start a conversation or—a pickup.

  "No," he
finally spoke. "You wouldn't remember me; you were only six." He had her attention. "Let me introduce myself. I'm Theo‒Theo Scaloni. I'm the In-house Corporate Lawyer at your Uncle Albert's firm."

  Dot searched her memories. As an adult, she occasionally visited Uncle Albert at work. She did not recall ever seeing Theo. But as a child, age six—yes, her father had once taken her with him on a visit to his brother at work. Uncle Albert owned a construction company that had started small and expanded over the years into a profitable and well-respected business. He valued accuracy and timeliness in his dealings with customers. Dot peered up closer at her conversant's face. Yes, country, as she had deemed on first sight. Hard lines, but a semi-rigid jaw softened at the moment by an inquisitive smile, or was it an impudent quirk of the lips. Dot met his gaze. His eyes were beautiful. Set nicely apart above a roman nose, their color an azure blue like the cloudless sky above her this afternoon. A memory stirred.

  "Oh, my goodness, yes. I do remember you."

  His smile widened. "Do you remember what you made me promise?"

  "Something to do with—" Dot felt her face grow warm. She lowered her gaze to her white pumps. "Oh, for heaven's sake, I was only six," she gasped. It was a marvel that the memory had returned with such clarity. She had watched a television movie, the evening before her visit to her uncle, where a promise made between two young people in love had endured tragic events and falsehoods. Her mother and father had watched the movie with her, and when she had asked why keeping the promise was so important, they had tried to explain to her, as parents will do, the moral of the story, so that when she grew and found love, she would remember what to look for in a good man to marry.

  That was a time in her life when she was learning to discern right from wrong. The movie and their advice had made a strong impression upon her child's mind. The next day at her uncle's firm, she had spotted Theo sitting behind a huge monitor—modern technology for that time. He had looked at her and the resemblance to the hero of the movie, especially the eyes, had struck a chord in her child's mind. She had run over to him and quick as a hummingbird, had made him promise that he would marry her one day. He was definitely the good man her parents had described the evening before."

  "Oh, my Lord!" Dot exclaimed. "And you remember that?" she asked, chuckling.

  "A promise is a promise," he replied, with an impudent, but good-natured grin.

  "Well, I release you from that promise," Dot replied, "And no hard feelings," she added with her own decisive, impudent, but good-natured grin.

  She could have sworn she saw disappointment on his face, but so fleeting, she assumed it was merely an instant's pause to compose a witty rebuttal, a rebuttal that never came as the bandleader called her name. It was time for the birthday cake.

  With all the fanfare as the cake was rolled in, she lost track of Theo, not knowing what table he was at. But his face, now permanently joined to the resurfaced memory, still brought a flush to her cheeks. And when the band returned after the cake and coffee had been served and began playing again, she was kept busy dancing with guest after guest to think more of him.

  As the afternoon wore on and the party came to a close, the guests filed before her, wishing her the best and saying goodbye. Their expensively wrapped gifts were piled high on a table in the corner, too many to open as she might have, at a more intimate celebration. Between the music and the hundred voices talking and laughing, the scene before her grew slightly blurred until it suddenly cleared to crystal sharpness.

  "May I call on you next Friday evening?" Theo asked holding her hand longer than the required handshake.

  He had strong hands, and his fingers felt warm and comforting. "Ne-Next Friday?" she stammered, her right hand held captive in his. "I-I have to check my calendar." Except for a couple of luncheons with her old college mate, her calendar was empty. She had graduated only a few months ago with honors from her two-year Liberal Arts Course, and was now taking a year off to decide where her future lay.

  With his left hand he reached into the chest pocket inside his tux jacket and withdrew a business card. "My cell phone number is on the back. Let me know."

  Their fingertips touched as she accepted the card. "Ye-Yes. I-I'll let you know." What was the matter with her? Dot thought. Why was she stuttering? Where was her usual serene, composed self? Why was she not withdrawing her hand? And when he finally let go, why did her fingers grow suddenly cold?

  He gave her a disarming smile, then turned and left.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Should she call, or not? Why call in the first place. Dot could not explain why she even considered his request, but she had spent the better part of the week debating with herself. Of all her suitors, none had evoked such a response in her. He wasn't any handsomer than her other suitors. Except perhaps his eyes. They were the most beautiful sky blue she had ever seen. And the challenge—yes, that was part of it, a definite challenge in their expression—and in the disarming smile. Try me, you'll like me, it seemed to say. Well, maybe she should accept a date with him, just to prove him wrong. Disarming, my foot. Smug and arrogant was more like it.

  For the twentieth time that week, Dot shook her head, chiding herself. She was reading faults into his expression of which she had no proof. Just because he exuded self-assurance didn't make him arrogant. They hadn't spoken much. It might prove interesting to find out more about him. After all, he had not demanded that she call him; nor had he pestered her for a date. He was leaving the decision up to her.

  A friendly luncheon with lots of people around them might prove enjoyable. He wasn't really a stranger. Upon her inquiry inside the foyer embellished with polished dark mahogany woodwork, her parents acknowledged his acquaintance. Her father even referred to him as "A fine young man, a hard worker. I remember him." And her mother added, "Your uncle suggested him, among others, for the guest list.

  "A lawyer." Dot raised her eyebrows. "Funny, I remember him seated at a simple desk in front of an old computer, and thinking—a clerk—what my six-year-old mind equated with a young man behind a small desk and an old computer?"

  "Oh, he started out as a clerk, years ago," Dot's father said. "He worked his way up while attending law school, took his bar exams and passed with flying colors. My brother offered him the position left open by his retiring predecessor. And Albert has never regretted it."

  "Why all the questions?" he added."

  "Has he asked you out?" Dot's mom inquired.

  "Yes," Dot admitted.

  "And—" her mother waited.

  "All right," Dot came to a decision. "He asked me to call and give him a date and time." And as an afterthought, "He is single, isn't he?"

  Dot's father laughed and placed his arm about her shoulders in a bear hug. "I would have told you if he wasn't, the minute you asked about him."

  Dot felt her face grow warm, and even warmer, when her mother added, chuckling, "Vincent, she's blushing!"

  "Has our little girl finally found someone who's managed to turn her head?"

  Dot shrugged his arm away, but kissed his cheek affectionately. "That's not easily done," she said.

  "Amen to that" her mother added. "Come along, Vincent, we're late. Want to come along, Dot," her mother added. "It's the International Flower Show at the planting fields arboretum. They're showing some new exceptional hybrids from roses and lilies. An unusual flower. Dad and I are considering growing them and selling them in our stores."

  "No, Mom, not this time," Dot declined. "But tell me all about it when you get back. I have an important call to make. Have fun." She hurried up the elegant staircase to her room.

  Dot glanced sharply at her cell phone lying on her floral quilt. It's now or never, she told herself. She walked to her oversized twin bed and picked up the cell phone, clicked on the touch screen and tapped in the phone digits. She didn't need to check his business card for the phone number. It was fresh in her memory for all the times this past week that she had stared at the card debating w
hether to call or not.

  She held her breath as his phone rang. On the fourth ring, his answering machine answered. "You've reached Theo Scaloni. He's not answering, but if you'll leave your name, telephone number, and business, he'll get back to you presently." Dot clicked off the screen. "Well, buster, you had your chance," she muttered, and flung the phone back on the quilt.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Dot stayed in her room for the remainder of the day and seesawed between disgust and reason. He wasn't there. She should have simply left a message. She could call him tomorrow. She ought to just forget about it, forget she had ever met him, forget those blue eyes and the warm comfortable clasp of his hand. Foolish to think the man was sitting home waiting for her call. He had probably forgotten even meeting her. Silly girl, she chided herself.

  In the morning, she rose early and walked to her parish church, attended Mass, then stopped for breakfast at a local diner she had frequented since high school. In her grandparent's youth it had been an ice cream parlor, updated to a luncheonette in her parent's youth, and some ten years ago, turned into a glass and aluminum plated eatery. If the exterior was colored cold silver, the interior had maintained its cozy atmosphere of a serving counter and grey and pink upholstered booths. The food was good and the waitresses pleasant. Dot settled in an empty booth by a window.

  "May I?" a self-assured voice asked. Dot glanced up. Any reply she might have made died on her lips as she met his slightly amused gaze. "May I?" he repeated, holding back a chuckle as she stared up at him, shock plainly visible on her features. "I saw your number on my ID caller. Sorry I wasn't there to answer."