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

the barn. She could not afford to wake Sesame, and so she saw to the horses herself. They whinnied when she removed them from their stalls to hitch to the carriage.

Marigold listened, but no one came to see about the noise in the stable yard. While everyone else at Cedar Hill slept, Marigold opened the gates and started down the road away from Cedar Hill and toward the river.

The tall cedars, blue gray in the semidarkness, gave way to green full-leafed hardwood trees that lined the road to the ferry. The sun came up, spreading its glittering light over the road and filtering through the trees.

Would Jake be awake? Marigold wondered. Would he cross the river in time to get her safely on the ferry before Crane could stop them?

The horses, sensing her urgency, rushed down the road and stopped at the water's edge. Marigold, her unruly hair hanging down her back, stepped toward the bell to give the signal to Jake.

She jumped as the peal magnified itself, the air carrying its dismal clang over the whole countryside.

Oh, please hurry, Jake, she pled silently while her wary eyes turned to the road to make sure she had not been followed. Back and forth she paced on the muddy red bank while she waited for some sign of movement across the river.

The rattle of chains on the opposite bank told her that Jake had heard her signal and was now casting off. Marigold watched as the raft-like structure came slowly over the swollen waters of the river. The rain of the previous evening made it more difficult than usual for Jake, and Marigold's heart missed a beat each time the ferry was dragged off its course by the swiftly running current. But each time it happened, Jake took the long pole and guided it back.

Again Marigold glanced at the road behind her. More nervous than ever as the time lapsed, she could not tell if the sudden pounding was a horse galloping down the road, or her own heart beating in her ears.

Then, she saw the figure on horseback in the distance. It was Crane, she knew, coming to take her back to Cedar Hill. The bell had awakened him.

The raft was almost to the bank. Marigold ran to the carriage, and before Jake had time to finish hooking the last chain to the planks on the bank, she moved the carriage forward.

"Cast off, Jake," she shouted. The horses cantered down the bank, pulling the carriage behind. With all her strength, she tugged on the reins, and the horses drew up only inches from the end of the raft.

"Miss Marigold, what's the matter?"

"It's my husband. He's after me, Jake. Hurry!"

The black man took his pole and shoved the ferry from the bank. His muscles rippled in the early morning sunlight, and Marigold began to tremble.

The shout came from Crane. "Stop, Jake," he ordered. "Bring the raft back."

"No," Marigold whispered.

Jake's hands became slack on the pole. His worried face looked at the man on the bank and then to Marigold, and his look reflected his indecision.

On the opposite shore, Crane stood, a smile on his lips and a relaxed air to indicate his certainty that Jake would obey him.

"Miss Marigold?" Jake questioned.

"If you take me back, he'll—he'll kill me."

Her words had the desired effect. Jake's eyes narrowed at the sight of her swollen face, and his muscles began to work again, digging the pole into the water to continue the journey across the river and away from Crane Caldwell.

Seeing the movement away from him, Crane became livid. "Jake, didn't you hear me? I order you to return my carriage and my wife to me immediately."

Jake continued to move the ferry in the opposite direction.

"You'll spend the rest of your life in irons, Jake. That, I promise you," Crane shouted, his raspy, hoarse voice carrying over the water.

Marigold, hearing his threat, realized the dreadful position in which she had placed her friend, Jake.

"Oh, Jake, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to get you into trouble because of me."

"Where're you goin', Miss Marigold?" he asked, ignoring Crane's words and her heartfelt apology.

"To Charleston—to my parents."

"You plannin' on drivin' that distance all alone?"

"I have no choice," she answered.

Marigold glanced again across the river. The horse was still in sight, but Crane had disappeared. Then she saw her husband pushing a canoe into the water.

"He's following us, Jake," Marigold's distressed voice announced.

The black man turned to look toward the wobbling canoe and, in a reassuring voice, said, "He won't get across the river in that, Miss Marigold. The water's too swift."

A few feet from the bank, the canoe overturned. And minutes later, a waterlogged Crane crawled out onto the muddy bank, while the overturned canoe drifted downstream.

Jake's strength propelled the ferry to the other bank, but before he fastened the chains to the metal rings, the man took one last glance at Crane, who stood shaking his fist at them. Turning to Marigold, he said, "Wait, Miss Marigold, at the top of the hill, while I get some things out of the house. With Mr. Crane so mad, I can't stay here. I might as well come with you."

A few minutes later, to Marigold's relief, she sat back on the cushioned seat of the carriage, while Jake crooned to the horses, urging them at top speed down the road.

Each time they stopped, Marigold hid her face from view with the long, black mourning veil that she had worn to Julie's funeral.

Curious people turned to look at the slim figure dressed in black from head to toe. But the mystery of the obviously bereaved woman, with only her driver to accompany her, went unsolved.

"Not even a maid to travel with her," one elderly woman commented at the first inn. "Looks as if she's running from something, if you ask me. Wonder who she is?"

Marigold ignored the speculative comments and kept to herself, wearing the disguising veil until she and Jake were on the road again.

By the third