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

A pale flickering light appeared momentarily in the distance and then was snuffed out.

"I thought I saw a light," Isobel said, interrupting the silence, "but it's gone now."

"Where?"

"Beyond the trees—to the right."

The condessa strained to see, but her eyesight was not so good as Dona Isobel's. "I can see nothing," she grumbled in disgust. "But you, Isobel. You must keep looking. Tell me if you see it again."

The woman continued watching, and after a while, the light appeared again. "It is a light," Isobel stated.

"Then Patû must be coming home." The old condessa's voice quivered, and Dona Isobel reached out to take her hand.

The torchlight grew stronger and steadier, while the women waited. "There are two horses," Isobel finally cried out in a jubilant voice.

"Does Ruis have Maranta with him? Can you see?"

Again, Dona Isobel held up the lantern and gazed toward the movement in the darkness. "I can't tell. It is too dark—but wait. I believe I can make out something."

The pain in the condessa's neck increased and slowly spread down her arm, but intent upon the figures coming toward the gate, the woman ignored her discomfort.

"Yes. He has her," Isobel said and lowered the lantern.

Through the open gate Ruis rode, with Patû holding the torch, directly behind him. And at the sight of her son with Maranta in his arms, the condessa stepped forward. "You found her," she whispered in relief. "Is she all right?"

"Sim, Mãe. She's all right, I think."

"Praise the merciful Father!"

A servant boy came running to hold the torch. Patû, taking Diabo's reins in his hand, led both horses to the stable, while Ruis, with his burden, disappeared up the steps and through the doors of the sala da entrada.

The old condessa, still by the gate, clutched at her heart and, in a breathless gasp, croaked, "My medicine, Isobel," and staggered toward the woman at her side.

Ruis's muddy boots tracked across the black and white tiles of the upstairs hallway that shone from its recent cleaning. At the door of the apartment, he handed Maranta over to the waiting Sassia.

"Get her some water, Sassia," Ruis instructed. "And when you have bathed her and put her to bed, see that she eats some food."

"Yes, Dom Ruis."

Maranta, in a tired voice, said, "Thank you, Ruis."

He nodded and began to walk from her just as Dona Isobel called his name. Ruis hastened toward the woman, and his frown deepened on his rugged, tanned face. "What is the matter, Isobel?"

"The condessa has had another seizure."

"Did you give her the medicine?" Ruis asked, walking rapidly, making it difficult for the woman to keep up with him.

"Yes, Ruis. But I am afraid it is having little effect, as the doctor in São Paulo predicted. I have sent for the priest, but she wants to see you first."

With giant strides, Ruis walked past the nursery with the iron-grilled door, past his own room, and down the hall to the end room. Cleaning his boots outside the door, Ruis stepped inside and knelt by the condessa's bed. Her dress had been loosened, but no attempt had been made by the servants to undress her. Ruis took her hand in his and held it to his lips. "So you are misbehaving again, Mãe," he scolded in a gentle voice.

She smiled. "I am a perverse old woman, Ruis—and too wicked to join the saints yet." Her smile turned into a grimace at the sudden pain, and she clung to Ruis's large tanned hand until it passed. In a weak, urgent voice she whispered, "My son, you must not let anything happen to Maranta. Take care of her, and see that she and the child come to no harm. Promise me, my son."

"I will watch over her carefully, Mãe."

With his promise, the condessa relaxed, loosening her fingers around his hand. The priest appeared, and Ruis, bending over to kiss Mãe on the forehead, nodded to the padre and left the room.

The fazenda was astir, with servants running back and forth to attend to both Maranta and the condessa. And it was well after midnight before Ruis, already weary from his journey from Sorocaba, had a chance to discard his travel-stained clothes and soak his frame free of grime and dust.

After assuring himself that the condessa was as comfortable as possible, he removed his things from his quarters in the bedroom wing and spent the night on the leather couch in the library, directly across from Maranta's apartment.

Two vows he had made that day—not to antagonize his brother concerning Maranta's welfare, yet promising Mãe that he would watch over her to make sure no harm came to her or the child.

He would have to be extremely careful and on guard. For the fazenda contained potential enemies. There was no telling what someone might do for spite or in a fit of temper—Floresta, or Innocencia—or even his brother, Vasco.

24

Riding into Charleston with the repaired carriage and the horses, Jake was careful when he stopped to ask for directions to the house on the battery. He did not trust Crane Caldwell, and he would be glad to hand over the man's property to Miss Marigold. His money was almost gone, and he needed to find work and a place to stay. His papers declaring him to be a free man had been scrutinized more than once on the way.

It had taken longer than he had thought to get the wheel repaired. Two days had passed since he had left Miss Marigold at the train station.

When Jake arrived in front of the imposing townhouse, it was already late afternoon. As he stopped on the street—not certain whether to take the vehicle into the drive and to the carriage house—he saw a tall, auburn-haired man walk down the front steps. Certain that it was Marigold's brother, Jake smiled and said, "I be Jake, bringin' Miss Marigold's horses and carriage to 'er. Might she be at home?"

"You have made a mistake, Jake," the man said. "Miss Marigold is not