Seasons of the Heart Read Online Free PDF

Papa. I want so much for you to be friends with Phillip. He’s the most wonderful person—I know you’ll love him.”
    “Of course I will. But the most important thing is that you love him—and that he loves you.”
    “But I want you to meet him. Maybe we could all go out for lunch? That way Stella wouldn’t have to know about it.”

Chapter Four
    D OWNSTAIRS STELLA SAT AT the kitchen table, marshaling her forces. Life hadn’t beaten her. If she could create dissension between Ann and Phillip Coulter, she would do so.
    Yet, in spite of herself, she was vulnerable. The ghosts of her past still lay ready to destroy her. Stella vividly remembered herself at Ann’s age. The resemblance between them was almost frightening. But the parallels in their lives that should have made Stella more compassionate did not. She was so immersed in her self-pity that it left no room for love.
    Stella’s mother, like Ann’s, had died when she was six. But her father, unlike Ann’s, had been unwilling to shoulder the responsibility of taking care of a child. He had eventually placed her in an orphanage in Seattle, where she had remained until she was eighteen. She had then found a job in a small dress shop where she had saved enough money to pursue her dream of moving to San Francisco.
    When Stella stood in front of the Ferry Building and looked up Market Street, she thought, for the first time in her life, that the gods had not perhaps completely abandoned her. After settling herself into a dark, narrow room at the YWCA, she managed to get a job as an alterations lady at I. Magnin’s, which allowed her to come into contact with the most elegantly dressed ladies in San Francisco. Stella had a gift: she was a brilliant seamstress. Patrons began to specially request her services.
    Sitting at Ben’s kitchen table, Stella remembered kneeling on the floor of Eva Coulter’s bedroom, making the final adjustments to the hem of her evening gown. Perhaps it was destiny. If Mrs. Coulter had been satisfied with the original fit of her lovely gown, she would never have summoned Stella to the Coulter mansion in Sea Cliff. But Stella was there and Mrs. Coulter was a gracious patron. She not only gave Stella a sizable gratuity, she also was generous with her praise.
    “You’re an absolute genius, Stella. An hour ago I would have sworn that this dress would never go to the opera tonight, but you’ve done a splendid job.”
    Glowing from the kind words, Stella was just preparing to leave when the door to the bedroom was flung open, and in strolled the most handsome man Stella had ever seen. She was transfixed by the lean, elegant figure in impeccable white flannels.
    Without turning, Eva greeted her brother. “The prodigal returns. I haven’t heard from you in a week. Now hurry, dear boy, and change for the opera.”
    Ignoring her reprimand, he pecked her on the cheek. “You could say that you’re glad to see me.”
    Narrowing her eyes in feigned disapproval, she said, “I’m not.”
    He laughed. “You look divine as usual, dear sister. As if you’d been poured into that gown.”
    “Thank you.” Pointing to Stella, she added, “The one responsible is this genius … Stella—this is my brother, Roger Haas.”
    Until that moment, he hadn’t noticed Stella at all. Suddenly he realized she was quite lovely, with dark hair framing her oval face and eyes the color of dark amber. Were she dressed in Eva’s elegant gown, she would look equally lovely.
    As Roger looked at her and smiled, Stella felt a melting sensation. “Where have they been keeping you stashed away?” he asked.
    “In the back room at I. Magnin’s,” Stella answered, then regretted her comment immediately; it was far too bold.
    Her misgivings were well-founded. Eva looked up sharply and saw the two figures behind her reflected in her mirror. At the sight of Roger’s expression, she said quickly, “Don’t dally, dear boy. I think it’s time for you to