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

day? Was it night? Why was everything so quiet and deserted?

She lifted her hand to push the coverlet back. She had lain in bed too long, her body on fire. That much she knew. Gradually, she began to remember other things—a feeling of cool hands attending her, forcing her to drink, placing cold cloths on her hot brow. The enervating fever that drew the life out of her—

Maranta touched her forehead. It was cool. She was not dead. She was alive, even though death had beckoned to her.

She had borne Ruis's baby. Maranta raised herself and pushed aside the draperies. There was no cradle in the room. She had heard no cry during her illness. Did that mean. . .?

If only it weren't so dark. If only someone would come—to tell her what had happened.

The sounds from outside filtered through the shuttered windows. The twitter of birds and the low plaintive singing—a sad song—greeted her.

Then a door opened, and Sassia with a tray in her hands came into the room. She set the tray on the table near the window and lit a candle, casting a dim light over the room.

"Sassia?" Maranta called.

The black girl turned in surprise toward the bed. "Senhora," she said, her face breaking into a smile at the sight of Maranta's sitting up. "You are awake."

"Sassia," Maranta repeated in her weak voice as she held out her hand to the servant in a gesture of entreaty. "Tell me—the baby—"

Her voice quavered and she could not go on. Sassia took pity on her and replied, "He is a fine one—that baby—and growing so big every day."

"It is. . . a boy?"

"Yes, senhora. A boy."

"But where is he?"

"In the nursery with Naka and his wet nurse."

Maranta frowned. Innocencia was in the nursery. Didn't they know she might harm him? But no. Innocencia was dead. She had forgotten.

"Dom Vasco is a proud papa. He is already making plans to have the baby baptized by the padre in the chapel," Sassia offered.

"But the conde. . ."

The loud voices across the hall disrupted their conversation as a door opened. Quickly, Sassia doused the light. In the darkness, she whispered, "Senhora, you must pretend to be asleep. Do not let them know that you have awakened."

Sassia drew the silken draperies around the bed and turned her back to straighten the things on the table near the window.

Frightened at the urgency in the girl's voice, Maranta lay still, her dark eyes closing as the men came to the bedside.

"As you can see, she has not recovered." It was Ruis speaking. "It has been over a week now since the birth of the child. And so the chances are slim that she will ever get well."

"A pity," another man said in his nasal voice, "that she cannot be brought to justice. She should be made to pay for the murder of our sister."

"I have told you before," Ruis growled. "No one knows who poisoned Innocencia. It could have been anyone on the fazenda."

"But this one was the last to see her alive—Floresta has sworn. And you cannot deny that they had quarreled."

"We will not discuss it," Ruis replied. "Come, and let us not disturb her further."

The door closed again, but Maranta was too afraid to open her eyes. Did they think she was the one who had poisoned the girl? Innocencia's brothers?

Later, Sassia slipped back into the room. "They are gone, senhora. Now I can open the shutters and give you something to eat."

"But Sassia. They acted as if I were the one responsible for Innocencia's death."

"Yes, senhora. But Dom Ruis will not allow them to take you away."

"I had nothing to do with it," Maranta said in a disturbed tone.

Did Ruis think she had poisoned Innocencia? And if the men came back, would he give her up to them?

The desire to see her child kept Maranta from going to pieces. She must remain calm. She would not let them frighten her. "Sassia, I want to see my baby. Will you bring him to me?"

"Naka will bring him as soon as you are prepared to have visitors. Dom Ruis is pleased that you are better."

While Sassia bathed her and brushed her hair, Maranta said, "What does the condessa think of the baby?"

The brush stopped for a moment and then Sassia resumed working. "Everyone in the fazenda thinks he is a beautiful little boy."

She had to be content with the girl's answer. Later, she would see the condessa herself and ask her.

Expectantly, Maranta sat up in bed and faced toward the door. Her hair had been twisted into a coronet, held by the beautiful jeweled comb. It felt good to be between fresh sheets, to be wearing the delicately embroidered white robe, and to be waiting for the first glimpse of her son.

Naka came to the bedside with the small bundle in her arms. "He is heavy, senhora," Naka said. "A greedy one—this fine criança de peito." Maranta had no trouble following the Portuguese words, punctuated by the hearty laugh.

She held out her arms for the child. Pushing back the blanket, she stared down into her baby's eyes—dark sapphire eyes—and hair, blue-black as a crow's. His skin was a shade darker than that of Maranta, she noticed, holding his tiny hand in her own. The resemblance was there—to Ruis, and to Vasco, too. He was a Monteiro. There was no mistake.

While she held the baby, murmuring endearments to him, Maranta became aware of the tall, dark man standing at the foot of the bed—watching her. The two servants discreetly disappeared.

Searching for something to fill the sudden silence, Maranta said, "The condessa—she has seen him?"

Ruis ignored her question and continued staring. With a step he came nearer the bed, and the light from the window caught the object he held in his hands—the cruzamento.

"I have brought something that belongs to you, amada."

Maranta shook her head.

"It is yours, Maranta," he insisted.

She drew back, holding the baby against her breast. At her action, a distressed look crossed his