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

easy for them inside the mine, where they had to stoop as they worked. For some, it was the first time they had ever been inside the earth. They were used to working in the open, where the sun shone on their heads—not in a dark cavity with water dripping overhead. But they were being paid well.

The blasting began that afternoon along the hillside, to make new tunnels where the track would be laid. Powder caps were pushed into overhead recesses. The new rich veins had been discovered, running at a sixty-degree angle, east to west. And when the vein disappeared into deep rock, the men had only to take a pick and trace it at that angle to find it again. But that was left for the miners. The railroaders were concerned with making the job easier for the miners.

They worked with lanterns to give them light. And at the end of the first day, Shaun was satisfied with their progress. It would get harder the farther back inside the hill they went, but they had made a good start.

Amid all the activity, Crane went back and forth from the mine to the house. And always, Feena was at Marigold's side, a fact that Crane resented deeply—as if his wife needed protection from him.

He brooded over the child, and at the first thickening of Marigold's waist, he felt anger. Her unfaithfulness had to be punished and soon. But all this Crane kept to himself. It would not do for Marigold and Shaun to suspect that he knew.

That evening at dinner, Crane exhibited no outward animosity toward the man. He was enthusiastic about the work done in the mine that day and seemed to be content with the progress that Shaun's company was making.

"If all works out well with the mine," Crane said, "I can stop wasting time with the farming and spend all my time at the mine. I'll leave it up to my neighbors to work their bones to death in the hot sun and wait for drought and disease to come along and destroy their labors."

Shaun laughed. "It seems you have acquired the gold fever, my friend."

"Not a fever—just an appreciation of what gold can mean. The whole countryside is dotted with lost gold and silver mines. And yet, few have tried to find them."

"Perhaps our neighbors have long memories, Crane," Marigold suggested, joining in the conversation.

"Memories of what, Marigold?" Crane asked, irritated at her implied criticism.

"Oh, the greed that broke so many men, and the curse of the Indians when they got tired of having their hunting grounds spoiled."

"Gold is much more important than a few measly herds of buffalo and elk, Marigold," Crane insisted.

"Xualla didn't think so."

Her words caused Crane to smile and look toward Shaun. "My wife has read entirely too much. And her sympathies seem to lie with the murdering redskins, rather than the white men who explored this wilderness. A grave error on her part, don't you think? A woman should never have a conflicting opinion from her husband."

Marigold's face flushed. "It was the white men who were the murderers," she persisted. "When De Soto and his army came to the Carolinas and visited the beautiful Indian queen, Xualla, she welcomed them gladly and treated them well. And what did they do? They made her a prisoner in her own territory. Their greed for gold caused them to act like barbarians rather than honored guests."

"Which only proves that women are too weak to rule," Crane suggested, a smug expression on his face.

"Or it may prove that a woman should never trust certain men," Marigold replied, with honey dripping from her voice.

The meal was over and she stood up. "If you will excuse me, I will leave you two to your brandy." She swept out of the room pretending to be unconcerned at the bent of the conversation. But it was a long time before she simmered down.

Crane's constant derogatory remarks about her reading—as if she did not have a brain of her own to use, but must be content to parrot her husband's opinions—infuriated Marigold. Brought up in a family where each person's opinion was valued, Marigold was not used to such condescension. Of course, she didn't know much about geography of foreign countries—about Brazil where Maranta was living, for instance. But she loved the old legends of the land around her. She didn't actually believe in the curse of the Indians about the mines, and yet, all the old stories surfaced and kept her from sleeping—the avaricious gold hunters sealed into the mine by the Indians and all outward signs of the mine obliterated; the gift of two hundred horse-loads of pearls given by Xualla to De Soto to get rid of him; the gold and copper tools and trinkets that were dug up from time to time in the surrounding fields that had once been Indian burial grounds.

The next day, Marigold was still mindful of these things when Crane invited her to accompany him to the mine to see the progress that had been made. He had never wanted her to go near the mine in the past, and she had no desire to go because of her fear of dark places. But at Crane's insistence, she found herself reluctantly walking along the pathway and over the wooden bridge, with Feena directly behind her.

She lingered on the bridge and gazed down at the water, crystal clear. In the water, next to a rock, she saw several large crawdads, their tails curled under as they backed away from some danger. She smiled at the familiar sight. The cook at Midgard always made sure that the spring contained at least two of the creatures to keep the water pure.

They came to the entrance of the mine, and Marigold hesitated. "What's the matter, Marigold?" Crane asked. "You're not afraid, are you?"

"Of course not." The girl turned to Feena. "You're coming too, aren't you?"

"Oui, ma petite. I am right behind you."

Marigold felt comforted at