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

A minute or so later he inquired, "Is that not more comfortable, hm?"

She ignored his question and asked one of her own. "Who is Innocencia, Dom Ruis?"

"You are not to call me by my formal title, Maranta. Have I not instructed you to call me Ruis?"

The silence lasted for quite a while until Ruis finally answered her. "Innocencia is my wife. She is a cousin of the family that acts as regents for our child emperor, Dom Pedro II."

"Child emperor? How old is he then?" Maranta inquired, forgetting about Innocencia for the time being.

"He is five years old—which means Innocencia's family is assured of power for many years, unless they continue to squabble among themselves and kill each other off."

The irony was apparent in his voice. The conde, seemingly unwilling to continue the conversation, rode in silence, and Maranta asked no more questions.

After they had ridden some distance with the gauchos ahead of them, he said, "You were kind to think of Mãe's comfort and give up your seat in the carriage. Her illness is far more serious than she will admit. I only hope that Vasco will appreciate her sacrifice in finding you for him."

The conde sounded as if he blamed her for the condessa's illness, and that hurt Maranta. She had not wanted to come to Brazil. And she would have been far happier if the condessa had chosen someone else.

"I am sure anyone would have done equally as well, R-Ruis." Maranta stumbled self-consciously over his name. "I do not flatter myself that the condessa made the trip to Charleston specifically to. . . to interview me."

"You are wrong, Maranta. It was precisely for that reason that Mãe changed her plans and sought you out."

"But why?"

"You are of the same religion, Maranta. That was important. And then, after she saw your little enameled painting that your brother Jason carried with him, Mãe's interest in anyone else subsided."

"She saw the painting?"

"Yes. And I have to agree with her—a beautiful little portrait of twins as opposite in nature as Oxalá is to Iemanjá."

"But I don't understand. . ."

"The sun from the dark moon goddess or 'mother of waters.' I keep forgetting, Maranta, that you are not familiar with our special Brazilian deities."

"No, it isn't that. It's what you said about the painting. You saw it, too?"

"Of course. I was with Mãe in Lisbon, at the home of friends. Your brother was invited to dinner one evening, and he had the miniature with him. He was proud of you for painting it for him. A talent you inherited from your French grandmother, I understand."

"You mean—just one glimpse of an unknown girl's face, and the condessa. . .?"

"Not quite so dramatic," Ruis corrected. "Mãe made a point of getting to know Jason during that visit. She questioned him very closely. And so, instead of returning to Brazil with me, she booked passage with Dona Isobel to Charleston."

"I knew that the condessa brought a letter from Jason for Maman and Papa," Maranta mused aloud. But then, her thoughts turned inward. Maranta couldn't believe that the condessa had chosen her over Marigold. She must have come to Charleston because of her golden-haired sister. But once there, the woman had changed her mind.

"You are noticing the landscape, sim? How it is now turning to reddish purple clay, with fewer trees? It will be good to store it away in your mind, so that on afternoons during the rainy season, you may have something to occupy your time. The pigments and brushes for you are already purchased and stored at the casa in São Paulo."

At the thought of the paints waiting for her, Maranta did not know whether to be displeased or grateful. For it meant that the conde had already planned her leisure time, as well. But also, that she was the one, not Marigold, who had been selected as Vasco's noiva, even before she knew of the existence of the Monteiro family.

Maranta frowned, trying to sort out her emotions. Her pleasure in the paints dulled as she realized that it had evidently not occurred to the arrogant Count of Sorocaba that the Condessa Louisa might have come back to Brazil without Maranta Tabor.

The dogs began to bark excitedly ahead of them, and at this sound the conde said, "They have caught the scent of a jaguar. It is time, menina, for you to get back into the carriage."

9

Down the Avenida Paulista the heavy coach went, into the heart of São Paulo. The magnificent mansions belonging to the coffee barons stood on both sides of the street, framed in the dusk. Maranta shivered at the coolness of the evening air and cast a worried glance toward the condessa who sat upright with effort.

The gauchos, with the dogs, had disappeared at the entrance to the city, and the coach, driven by Rico, possessed only one rider beside it as it crossed the viaduct, passed through the praca, with its fountain in the middle, and made its way to the Monteiro casa.

The small wrought-iron balconies curved outward from the second-story windows, and the red, tiled roofs with ornate decorations at each corner—their curves and scrolls turning upward—proclaimed the wealth of their owners.

It was before the largest house that the coach stopped, halfway down the street. And within minutes, the iron gates had been opened by servants with lamps in their hands. At last, they had reached civilization.

To remove the dirt and grime from the journey in a tub filled with warm water—to sleep in a soft bed again instead of pallet and hammock—that was what Maranta thought of, until she looked at the condessa in the light.

She could not hide her alarm, and the condessa, seeing her reaction, touched Maranta's hand and whispered in a weak voice, "Do not worry, my child. I shall be all right now that I am in São Paulo. The mineral waters have restorative powers, you