Daughters of the Summer Storm by Frances Statham (good fiction books to read TXT) 📕

her bouquet; for standing beside Father Ambrose was Crane Caldwell—her future husband.

4

"Did you get the note to her, Chad?" the young man asked, painfully turning his body to face his friend.

"Aye, man. That I did. I gave it to her small brother, standing inside the gate. He promised to take it up to her right away."

Shaun dropped his head to the pillow again, and the pain in his face eased somewhat at Chad's reassuring words.

"Marigold—it's a beautiful name, isn't it, Chad? You know, they call her Souci at home. That's the French name for the flower—all golden, like her hair."

"Don't talk so much, Shaun," the man fussed. "You've got to save your strength to get well." He took the empty bowl from the bedside and placed it in the sink. "I'll be leaving you for a while now, so go to sleep, man."

Chad could not bear to listen to Shaun talk so lovingly about the bitch. He was in this condition because of her and still, she had run out on him, marrying her cousin.

But wasn't that the way the aristocracy lived? Marrying each other, not thinking an outsider's blood was good enough for them? But God! How was he going to tell Shaun Banagher that the girl he loved had married someone else and left Charleston?

And the final blow was to hear the Caldwell fellow brag that Marigold Tabor had played Shaun for a fool, as well. Chad just hoped that no one at Keppie's Tavern would ever make the mistake of mentioning it in front of Shaun.

Shaun was a big man and strong. That was why he had gotten the job in the first place. It was too dangerous for the slaves to load the unwieldy equipment onto the flatboat. Replacing an Irishman was so much cheaper than buying another slave. But Shaun had not minded, for he had wanted the extra money. If only the other man's foot had not slipped, causing Shaun to be caught against the protruding metal spike.

When the pain in his chest returned and his breathing became labored, Shaun gripped the sides of the bed with his hands. He had lost a lot of blood, but he would not die. He had so much to live for. Marigold—her face loomed before him, her long, golden hair catching the glint of the afternoon sun as it had that first time he had ever seen her, sitting in the train like a golden goddess. The image stayed with him until his vision blurred and he lost consciousness.

Maranta sat in the garden with her brother Robbie. A pall had descended on them ever since Marigold had left for Cedar Hill with her new husband Crane Caldwell and his mother, Cousin Julie.

But at least today, Maranta was getting a respite from the condessa's constant demands—to fetch her shawl, or smelling salts, or digitalis that had been prescribed for her heart condition. Eulalie had taken the Portuguese woman with her for a visit into the countryside to see a friend's magnificent gardens, and they would not be back until late.

Robbie, his attention on the last of the sticky, candied apple he was eating, finally stood up and rubbed his hands down the sides of his linen suit, until reprimanded by Maranta.

She took her handkerchief to wipe the rest of the caramel from his upper lip, and as she did so, Robbie looked at her and said, "'Ranta, I. . . I don't like Cousin Crane. Do you?"

Startled at his confidence, Maranta did not answer immediately. She folded her handkerchief and placed it again in the pocket of her dress.

"Cousin Crane is our brother-in-law, Robbie," she explained. "We should all learn to like him, because of Marigold."

"But Marigold doesn't like him either," Robbie stated, with an obstinancy in his voice.

"Of course she likes him, Robbie. Otherwise she would never have married him."

"But that's what I don't understand. She told him that night in the garden that she'd rather be disgraced and in h-hell first. He just laughed when she ran back into the house. But then, she married him anyway. Do you think it was because Shaun didn't come that night?"

Maranta was surprised at her brother's question. But then she saw before her the lackluster Marigold—deep hurt revealed in her gold-flecked eyes. Maranta shivered as she remembered other things—Marigold's certainty that she would marry Shaun Banagher, despite their father's disapproval. And Marigold's impatience to cut off the light and go to sleep.

Had she planned to run away with Shaun Banagher that night? Had Crane stopped them? No, Robbie said that Shaun had not come. But had Marigold been expecting him?

"How do you know so much, Robbie? Were you out of bed that night?"

"Raven woke me," he said, "and then I got thirsty. I came to your room, but you. . ."

The words tumbled out, one after the other, while Maranta sat and listened with a sinking heart. Robbie left nothing out. For it had been a heavy burden on his mind, especially about the note he had lost.

". . . The man gave it to me at the gate. Only I dropped it, and when I went back to look for it, Cousin Crane had it in his hands and he was reading it. I tried to tell Marigold, but she wanted me to go on to sleep. 'Ranta, do you think it was my fault that Marigold had to leave Charleston?" Tears hovered on his golden lashes, threatening to spill over at any minute. "Cousin Crane said that everybody was going to be laughing at her."

Maranta comforted her small brother as best she could, putting her arms around him and hugging him. "No, Robbie. It was not your fault. But you should have taken the note straight to Marigold. You know that, don't you?"

He nodded and pressed his face closer to Maranta.

"But perhaps Crane gave her the note himself," Maranta added, although she knew that possibility was slim.

"Yes, maybe he did," Robbie said in a