"Not for you though, huh?" he asked.

"Well, yes and no It is exciting, but I can't deny that I miss the quiet nights, the sight of an owl, or the fresh breezes combing through the corn stalks, the sight of the geese in formation going south or north, the deep aroma of freshly turned earth. Let's just say there is music in both places, but entirely different from each other and equally moving," I concluded.

He walked without speaking. We were almost to the gate.

"Of all the girls here, you're the most interesting to me, Honey," he said.

"Me? Why? Cinnamon is the actress and filled with great stories about spirits and stuff. Ice comes from a much harder place, with stories that will make your hair stand up, yet she has so much softness inside her. And Rose. Rose is very beautiful to watch. Her walk is a dance."

He laughed.

"You're the best public relations agent they'll ever have, only you left out yourself. You're the first farmer's daughter I have ever met," he added.

"So."

"Didn't you ever hear any of those jokes about the farmer's daughter?"

"No," I replied with some suspicion. Tony had said something resembling this. I recalled. "What sort of jokes?"

"There's all these jokes about traveling salesmen who break down in a storm and ao to the farmhouse where they take him in for the night and the farmer's daughter sleeps with him."

"They don't tell those jokes where I live." I said.

"I bet not. Well, it doesn't matter. You obviously don't fit any stereotype,"

We stepped out of the compound and onto the sidewalk.

"We go left." he said. nodding. "Getting back to you. You come from what anyone here might call the hinterland, yet you have a certain sophistication that is especially apparent in your music. Yes. Ice is going to sing her way out of poverty. Cinnamon acts almost as a means of self-defense. I agree that Rose is pure grace and beauty. She couldn't help but be what she is, just as you said. But you, you play classical music on a violin and were brought up with the sound of cows mooing and farm equipment grinding. Who'd expect you to take up a violin and play like you do?"

I nodded, stared at the sidewalk as we strolled, and smiled softly to myself.

"I don't play it. It plays me," I whispered.

"Huh?"

"I had an uncle who was killed in a plane accident. He was the one who put the violin in my hand. Literally. He bought it for me and paid for my lessons."

"Amazing," Howard said. "I have to tell you. Honey. You are the most sincere one."

"No. I'm not."

"I think you are. Down this street," he directed. The apartment houses did look full of rich people. They had private gates and security guards and little gardens, "There," Howard pointed. There was a fence at the end of the street. Across the way, over the highway, was the East River, just as he had promised. "Well?"

"Very unexpected. You're right. How did you find this again?" He smiled.

"A friend of my father's lives in that building," he said, nodding at the apartment house on our left. "He has a private elevator that opens only on his apartment."

"Why did you tell me you discovered it by accident?"

"I thought it would sound more romantic."

"It did," I said. "but I didn't need the

embellishment. The truth isn't necessarilydull."

He laughed and squatted by the fence.

"Relax." he said, patting the space beside him. "Have a seat." I looked at the ground with some trepidation.

Tags: V.C. Andrews Shooting Stars Horror
Source: readsnovelonline.net