The Glorious Prodigal Read Free Page B

song was one of Leah’s favorites. She had heard it sung at many weddings, and it never ceased to touch her emotions. As the singer’s smooth voice filled the hall easily, Leah could sense the pathos in it, and suddenly she discovered that his eyes were fixed on her. She knew that oftentimes some entertainers had the ability to make everyone in the hall think they were singing or speaking directly to them—but this was no illusion. Their eyes locked, and as Stuart Winslow sang the words, Leah found herself unable to turn away.
    As soon as the last note of the song ended, she saw Winslow put his violin down and come straight across the room. Walking right up to her, he smiled and said, “Our dance, isn’t it?”
    “Why don’t you keep on playing, Stuart,” Mott said.
    “Why, Mott, I don’t mind,” Leah said. It was the first time she had seen Mott angry, but it would be rude to refuse the man’s invitation. “You don’t mind, do you?” she asked gently.
    “I suppose not.”
    “Thanks, Mott.”
    Turning to Leah, Stuart said, “Come along. This is one of my favorites.”
    It was a waltz, and Leah found herself moving easily across the floor. As she had suspected, Stuart Winslow was a marvelous dancer. She followed his lead effortlessly.
    “I’m Stuart Winslow.”
    “Yes, I know. My name is Leah Freeman.”
    “I hate to begin a relationship like this, but I must tell you, Miss Freeman, that you’re the most beautiful woman in the room.”
    Leah laughed. “That sounds like something your friend Ace might say.”
    “Ace has no taste in women, but I do. Do you live here? What about your family?”
    As they danced Leah spoke of herself and what she did. “I’m a typewriter,” she said.
    “Oh, you’re a smart young lady to learn that.” They spun around the room, and he asked abruptly, “Do you have a regular beau?”
    Leah hesitated, then shook her head. “Not really.”
    And then Stuart Winslow smiled. He had an olive complexion, and his teeth were very white against his skin. She saw a small cleft in his chin, and he wore a small neat mustache.
    “Well, I’m available,” he said and laughed softly, “and this is your lucky day, Miss Freeman.”
    “Well, there’s no modesty about you.”
    “Oh, I’ve got all kinds of modesty. But I’ve got a feeling about the two of us, Miss Leah, if I may call you that.”
    Leah listened as he spoke and enjoyed the dance tremendously. Stuart Winslow had a way with women, she knew, but somehow she felt he was half serious beneath his light bantering.
    Mott came up immediately after the dance and nodded curtly. “Our dance, I think, Leah.”
    “I’ve got to play awhile, Miss Leah,” Stuart grinned, “but save another dance for me.”
    “Of course.”
    Leah turned to Mott and they began a two-step. Mott did not speak, but he was obviously not pleased. “What’s the matter, Mott? Have you had trouble with him before? Don’t you like him?” Leah asked as they moved across the ballroom.
    “Nothing to like about him.”
    “What’s wrong with him?” she asked curiously.
    “He’s a wastrel. Comes from a fine family. His father is one of the leading citizens here in Lewisville, and his mother’s a fine woman. Richard Winslow and his wife, Diane. I think a great deal of them.”
    “What does he do?”
    “He owns two stores—one here and one in Fort Smith—and is thinking about opening a third, I understand. He’s a good businessman.”
    “I thought Stuart was very attractive.”
    “All women think that. I hate to talk about a man behind his back, but young women aren’t safe with him, Leah.”
    Leah did not answer. Somehow she knew there was truth in Mott’s words, and yet as she continued to dance, she kept thinking of the words Stuart had said: “ This is your lucky day . . . .”

    “Hey, Ace, we’ve got a little job to do.”
    Ace Devainy looked over at Stuart and grinned. “You’ve got trouble in your eyes, boy. I know it. What are