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

The girl was dressed in a fashionable blue velvet cape, and tiny pointed black shoes peeked from underneath her skirts. Her immaculate appearance caused Marigold to pull her woolen robe closer to her body and run her fingers through a tangled mass of golden curls.

"My, you do look tired, Marigold," the girl said. "But I guess that's to be expected, traveling in your delicate condition."

Getting no answer, she continued in her airy, high-pitched voice. "Mama says you're in disgrace for the way you married Shaun. But I told her you were never one for convention and she agreed. But since Shaun and Papa are business partners, I told Shaun I would be glad to come and see you, Marigold. He seemed to think you might need cheering."

"That was kind of you, Docia, to come," Marigold said, forcing herself to be polite.

"Really though, Marigold. Do you think it was fair to Shaun to marry him when you're expecting Crane's baby?"

Marigold had already chastised herself for that very reason, but hearing Docia say it brought out a sudden perversity.

"How do you know it's Crane's, Docia?" she asked with a bland expression in her topaz eyes.

The shock registered in Docia's face. "You don't mean—you can't mean that. . . that the baby is Shaun's?" The girl blushed and quickly looked down at her shoes.

"Would you like a cup of tea, Docia?" Marigold asked, changing the subject without answering.

"No—thank you. Suzie is waiting downstairs for me. I must be going." The shocked look remained on Docia's face as Marigold walked to the bedroom door with her.

"I. . . I can let myself out, Marigold. I know you have to watch the stairs."

The girl fled down the steps, and Marigold went back to her cup of tea and brioche, suddenly feeling much better.

Marigold had barely managed to dress before she had another visitor. This time it was someone she longed to see—her own mother.

"Souci, mon enfant," the woman said, taking the girl in her arms.

"Maman," the girl replied. "Oh, how I have wanted you, Maman." She had kept the tears back for so long, but now she was a child again, needing comfort. Marigold began to weep, and her mother murmured soothing words, giving her daughter time to release her pent-up emotions.

Finally, Marigold lifted her head and said, "Is Papa very angry with me, Maman, for marrying Shaun?"

"He does not know yet, Souci. Your papa is still in Columbia at the nullification convention. I am sure he will not be happy that you have flaunted tradition. But it's too late to do anything about it." Eulalie smiled and said, "But we must not stand here and waste time. I brought Callie with me so that she can help you pack. If you will show her. . ."

"Pack?" Marigold repeated. "Why?"

"Shaun wants you to be at Midgard for the next few months. He thinks you will be safer there."

Marigold was frightened. Why was Shaun sending her away? Was he already regretting his hasty decision to marry her?

Seeing the bleak look on her daughter's face, Eulalie said, "Souci, Charleston is in an uproar, getting ready to defend itself. President Jackson has declared the action in Columbia treasonous, and his troops and ships are on their way to Charleston Harbor."

"Papa and the others vetoed the tariffs?"

"Oui, ma petite. The ordinance they passed prohibits the customs officials from collecting the tariffs. And if President Jackson attempts to use armed force, then we will be absolved from the other twenty-three states. It is a precipitous situation, Souci. President Jackson has called the delegates 'traitors' and has vowed to hang each one from the nearest tree."

"Not Papa. He can't hang Papa," Marigold said, upset over the news.

She had little to pack. Putting on her black cape, Marigold walked to the waiting carriage. With Callie and her mother, she traveled down the street, away from the Palladian-design house. Along the battery, men were already at work, stacking bags of sand and bales of cotton high along the wall.

The political controversy was grave. By the first week in December 1832, John C. Calhoun had resigned as Vice-President of the United States and returned to his native Carolina. The state legislature met and promptly elected him a senator, to take his seat in Washington after the Christmas holidays.

Robert Tabor, coming home from Columbia, said little to Marigold about her marriage to Shaun. He seemed to be preoccupied with the delicate political situation and voiced his concern to Eulalie.

"I have never before been impatient for Christmas holidays to end," he said, "but this impasse hanging over us makes me wish for January immediately."

"Is it because of Monsieur Calhoun?" Eulalie asked.

"Yes. No one knows what President Jackson will do when John goes back to Washington. It doesn't help matters that Jackson has just discovered that when John was Secretary of War he voted to censure him for his unauthorized military foray into Florida in '17. Some think he will allow the man to take his seat in the Senate, but there are just as many who feel sure John will be arrested for treason the minute he reaches the city."

"If there is such danger for him, then why did the man agree to go back?" Eulalie asked.

"Because he believes this issue has got to be settled, one way or another. A nation can't trample on the rights of some of its people and expect them to remain silent. If we are not allowed to veto an act that is unconstitutional and detrimental, then he fears for the Union."

A seamstress, sent by Shaun, came to Midgard to sew new dresses for Marigold, a welcome diversion from all the political talk around her.

The materials were beautiful—the rich, warm velvets, the heavy crepes. It was a shame that her figure would not do justice to them.

Madame Reynaud did not act surprised to see Marigold. She said nothing about her previous visit to her workroom with Crane, nor about the dresses of white that she had