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

face and he said, "If you will not wear it for me, then wear it for Mãe's sake."

Maranta could not refuse. She remained still while Ruis's hands lifted the cross of pearls and diamonds over her head, and she felt its coldness as it touched her breast. She shivered, remembering Ruis's anger the first time he had seen it around her neck. She had vowed never to put it on again. But it was for Mãe—not Ruis—that she now wore it.

"A touching little scene," Vasco's voice announced as he wheeled himself into the room. "So you have given Maranta the cruzamento. Does that mean, Ruis, that you have no hopes for a son of your own? Now that Innocencia is dead, I would have thought you anxious to marry again."

Ruis's face darkened and his hands tightened against his side. "The child before you is the heir, Vasco."

"A pity that Mãe didn't live long enough to see him."

"Vasco," Ruis warned, but it was too late. Maranta had heard. The baby began crying, and Ruis took the child from Maranta's arms. "He is better off in the nursery, pequena," he said in a gentle tone, seeing the stunned expression on her face. Ruis disappeared with the wailing infant, and Maranta was left alone with Vasco.

"Mãe is dead?" she asked.

Vasco, disconcerted, looked at the grieving girl and apologized. "I thought you knew. I did not realize they had kept it from you."

"When did she die?"

"She collapsed in the chapel, soon after Patû carried you upstairs."

So that was why no one came near her—Ruis, Dona Isobel, or the condessa. Suddenly, Maranta was exhausted. She lay back against the pillows and closed her eyes. "I am tired, Vasco," she said.

He wheeled out of the room and left Maranta greatly troubled and grief-stricken.

Maranta grew stronger as the days went by. But the loss of the condessa continued to grieve her. Each time she held the baby, she lamented the tragedy that had kept the old condessa from ever seeing the grandchild she had waited for—even schemed for. The cruzamento around Maranta's neck reminded her of that fact daily.

Maranta was not the only one affected by this cross of pearls and diamonds. It held a morbid fascination for Vasco. Amused at first, he began to resent it. But then, Maranta would remind him that it was Mãe who had given it to her—not Ruis. Sometimes in the evenings, she would catch Vasco staring at it with fury. But when she tried to go without it for a day, Vasco insisted she put it back around her neck.

"It has its purpose, Maranta," he declared, "for it is a reminder to Ruis that you will never belong to him again, even for one night. You will have to be content to be my own dear faithless wife for the rest of your life—or mine."

When Vasco goaded her too far, Maranta would retire to the nursery with Dona Isobel. The woman who had cared for the condessa for so long continued to sleep in the small dressing room adjacent to the condessa's large bedroom—almost as if the woman might have need of her during the night. But gradually, the loyalty she gave to the condessa was transferred to the child, and she watched carefully over him. It was for the condessa's sake, Maranta knew.

Vasco planned the baptism for Christmas Eve, a fitting time for an infant to be blessed. And Maranta, knowing of Dona Isobel's fierce love for the child, asked Vasco if the woman might be allowed to serve as godmother.

"If you wish, Maranta," he said. "And shall we get Ruis to be godfather? It will give me pleasure to hear Ruis addressed as 'Tio' when the child begins to talk."

Christmas Eve arrived and the family gathered in the chapel. Floresta, holding onto the three-year-old Tefe, watched the proceedings from her nook in the gallery, while below, the child that Vasco claimed as his legitimate son was sprinkled with holy water.

As godfather, Ruis held the child in his arms, and Dona Isobel stood beside him. At the sight of the dark-haired baby in the man's arms, Maranta was transported back to another world—another christening—to that of her little brother Raven. All the feelings of that day, so many miles distant, overwhelmed her—the fierce, possessive look of her father toward her mother and the baby, and Maranta's own innocent certainty that she would be allowed to enter the convent.

Now, little over a year later, she wore a priceless cross about her neck, but she was no nun. Married to one man, she had borne a son to another. Vasco, watching her, saw her shiver despite the heat in the chapel, and a satisfied glint sprang into his eyes.

Paulo Alvares Honório—the names Vasco had chosen for the child. The padre pronounced each syllable distinctly. He was now properly recognized by the church. And through it all, the baby, Paulo, in the exquisite handmade heirloom christening gown, yawned in his sleep.

33

Marigold was not dressed, though it was mid-morning. Her locket was gone and it upset her. Several times she'd looked through the small box on the marble-topped night stand and the larger jewelry box sitting on her dressing table, but it was not to be seen.

Where could she have left it? She remembered having it around her neck on the previous afternoon. But did she take it off? Did she drop it somewhere? She had been so distraught the night before that she had gotten undressed for bed in a daze. Shaun was leaving, and that was all she could think about.

Perhaps the catch had broken while she was cutting the flowers or arranging them on Feena's grave. At least, those were two places to begin looking.

Marigold put on the dull blue silk dress that she and Juniper had altered, adding the panel in front to make the dress larger. She made a face at her bulging figure in the mirror and then sat down to brush her hair.

After