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

She watched him reach into his coat pocket. In his hands he brought out the gold locket on its delicate chain—the one she had lost that day she had left the fazenda.

"Where did you find it?" she asked, her eyes showing pleasure at the sight of the necklace.

"Hanging on a broken twig, Maranta, the day you were lost."

But that had been several weeks ago. Why had he waited so long to return it to her? Had he merely forgotten about it? She was happy to see it, whatever the reason for the delay. "I am grateful that you kept it for me. Thank you, Ruis."

Maranta reached out for the locket, but Ruis made no effort to give it up. Instead, his eyes narrowed and he turned the locket over in his hand. "Someone seems to think you need protection in this house."

Puzzled, Maranta took a step closer to see what he was talking about. The tiny symbol, the closed fist with the thumb resting between the two fingers, came into view. How had it gotten there and what did it mean?

"What is it?" Maranta asked.

"It is what we call a figa—a charm," he explained. "Part of the voodoo cult, or macumba."

"Then I shall remove it," she said. "I do not wish to wear something pagan about my neck."

"Perhaps it would be wise to keep it, menina. Whoever put it there would be unhappy at its removal."

Frowning, Maranta said, "My father does not allow the slaves to practice voodoo on Midgard Plantation. And surely, you do not condone this. . . this macumba, either."

Ruis smiled. "We are more tolerant than that, pequena. The old pagan gods are now saints, with Christian names. It is harmless and gives the slaves comfort."

"But I cannot. . ."

"You have much to learn about Brazil, Maranta. After the child is born—and if you are well enough by New Year's Eve—I shall take you to the falls at the river to watch one of their more interesting ceremonies. But come—it is time for dinner. Turn around, Maranta, and let me fasten the locket for you."

He was impatient, and Maranta did as she was told. Silently, she stood, watching in the gilt mirror while the tall, dark Ruis placed the golden chain about her throat and fastened the clasp.

Their eyes met, and for a moment, both stood, locked in each other's glance, conscious only of each other. A sound escaped Ruis's throat, and Maranta, afraid, took a step away from the man, so he could not tell she was trembling at his nearness.

30

The warm, rainy season came to the fazenda, with gray clouds obliterating the brilliant blue of the sky and fresh new shoots of greenery appearing in every direction. Weeds sprouted overnight to choke the tender young coffee plants that hid under twigs and canvas from the heat; vines and undergrowth erased a path that had been there the day before. Inside the plantation house, the rain brought a restlessness that could not be contained by eating and sleeping and waiting for the sunshine.

Day after day, the morning greeted the earth with a drizzling mist, driving the old muçurana from his place near the steps to the distant green vegetation in search of food.

Even Fado in his cage in Maranta's room seemed to be affected by the melancholia that gripped the fazenda. His head drooped, and he was silent. Maranta, concerned for the little bird, asked Sassia to take him out to the sheltered veranda as soon as the clouds lifted and the sun peeked through.

Though it was now the hour of sesta for all in the fazenda, Ruis and his mestiços and slaves continued to work, battling against time to rescue the tender coffee plants from the encroachment of the weeds.

Maranta lay down and tried to sleep, but she could not. Now heavy with child, she was uncomfortable. She'd also been thinking about the condessa's deteriorating health. After her last seizure, Dona Louisa had failed to rally as she should, and most of her days were spent in bed. Dona Isobel, so zealous in caring for the woman, had moved her things into the dressing room adjacent to the condessa's bedroom, in case the woman should need her in the night.

Though it was quiet, it was also humid and hot. Maranta gave up the pretense of resting. She combed her hair, slipped on the loose-fitting robe of white and gold that hung over the chair, and walked down the stairs to sit on the veranda. Sassia would not be pleased that she had left her room, but she would be careful in navigating the steps.

The downstairs door was open, and as Maranta walked silently through the sala da entrada, a flash of green fled down the outside steps and hurried toward the gate. Maranta frowned at the sight of Innocencia—carrying something. There was no telling what the girl was doing.

Maranta looked for Fado's cage, but it was not on the veranda. Was that what Innocencia had in her hands as she ran through the gate? The little green bird?

Forgetting everything but the safety of Fado, Maranta walked down the steps and opened the gate. "Innocencia," she called.

The girl in green was swallowed up by the expanse of green outside. Angry now that she had taken Fado, Maranta followed her. Maranta was upset at herself for having left the bird unattended. She should have sat with him, so that no harm could come to him.

"Innocencia," she called again. Her voice startled the old vulture in the decaying treetop, and he flew to another tree some yards away.

Now more familiar with her surroundings, Maranta continued walking, careful to watch her step. She could not afford to fall or be thrown off balance.

The landscape became alive with sounds—protests at some disturbance in the distance. Maranta followed the sounds, knowing Innocencia must have passed that way.

In the clearing, Maranta spied Fado. His cage was hanging on a tree limb, and inside the cage, the