Southern Rain (Torn Asunder Series Book 1)

by Tara Cowan

  Such doubts were laid waste to, however, when the final waltz came. There was never anything like the way he looked at her as he had her in his arms, and as for Miss Ravenel, Mrs. Foley was certain no one had ever seen the arch creature wear her heart on her sleeve, but she was certainly looking up into his face with a smile just for him, just as though they had been alone in the room.

  Mr. and Mrs. Ravenel relented the next morning. In the library surrounded by books and a flood of sunshine, they gave Shannon their blessing and even entered the spirit of planning the wedding.

  Shannon was almost tearful when her father kissed her. While her mother, for once entirely pleased with her, stood with both of her hands in hers by the window hashing out plans, Mr. Ravenel extended his hand to John Thomas.

  John Thomas looked at it for just a moment, and was surprised to find that he was honored to shake his hand. He met his eyes, and the man said, “You’re a good boy. I spoke to you as I do those rascals of mine. I hope I didn’t offend you.”

  “No, sir. You take her future seriously, and I am glad of that.”

  Mr. Ravenel studied him. “I believe you do, too.”

  “Yes,” John Thomas said seriously.

  After another of his long surveys, this one much kindlier, he squeezed his arm. “You need to invite your mother and father to Ravenel House, John Thomas. They need to meet her.” They looked toward the window where Shannon stood talking with her mother, in greater beauty than ever, their skirts belling for a pretty picture. “You’ll have some trials, the two of you. You can make her way much smoother if your family feels included.”

  John Thomas nodded, eyes still on Shannon.

  “When do you report?” Mr. Ravenel asked, dragging him out of his thoughts.

  “In May—in Washington,” John Thomas answered softly.

  “No, Shannon, you cannot possibly be married in December,” her mother was heard saying long-sufferingly.

  Shannon was looking mulish. “I do not see why we cannot be. It will give us plenty of time to return for Frederick and Marie’s wedding.” She looked over at John Thomas, color rising slightly. “That is…if you agree, John Thomas,” she said, meeting his eyes.

  “You know I do.”

  “You must not humor her in this fashion, Mr. Haley,” her mother said. “You will soon learn she is headstrong. There is not by any means enough time to order a dress and plan the wedding a daughter of Santarella ought to have.”

  “I believe in this case she may be right,” Mrs. Ravenel’s husband said in his liquid drawl. “We are not without connections in Charleston, I trust. Shannon will have what she needs. If John Thomas’s mother and father are to come to us, they may as well be wed while they are here.”

  Shannon eyes lifted to John Thomas’s. “Oh, are they indeed coming?” she breathed.

  He smiled. “I hope so. I’ll wire them this afternoon.”

  What Mr. and Mrs. Haley’s feelings were upon being informed that their second son was to marry a Southern belle no one could know, for no one had been privy to the conversation in their neatly appointed chamber in Boston the night Mr. Haley had received his son’s telegram. Nor did their emotions become much plainer when they stepped off the train in Charleston on the first day of December. Mrs. Haley’s love for her son was evident in the way she looked at him, forgetting the shocking news for a moment, but Mr. John Ravenel, who had accompanied his son and prospective son-in-law to the train station, could discern nothing else beyond the fact that they were slightly taken aback by their surroundings. Certainly it was unfortunate that a slave auction was that day taking place in the Holy City and that a slightly wild-eyed man was repudiating abolitionists from a platform nearby with a large crowd gathering.

  Frederick was the soul of Southern grace, exerting himself to the fullest to ensure their comfort, and they liked him, having been previously acquainted with and charmed by him. And they were curious to see King Ravenel, as he was sometimes called in the South.

  Mrs. Ravenel, upon greeting them in her expensively furnished home, observed that Mrs. Haley was a plain woman with hair and skin the same color, dressed tastefully but not strikingly, one of her contributions to her son being her plain blue eyes. She was more or less what Mrs. Ravenel had predicted a Puritan would look like. And though her husband was nineteen years her senior, and nearing seventy, it was easy to see that John Thomas’s strong features had been passed from his father.

  Mrs. Haley had not known what she would say to the daughter of a plantation or what to expect in her future daughter-in-law, and was even more bereft of words when she first entered the parlor at Ravenel House and beheld a beautiful creature with flaming hair and eyes, breathtaking in an emerald evening gown. John Thomas, taking one of the girl’s hands, smiled down at her with such pride that she was moved. Certainly she had never seen her son look just so. “Shannon, my mother and father.”

  Shannon, releasing John Thomas’s hand, moved forward with both of hers extended toward Mrs. Haley and said, “My dear ma’am, how honored I am to make your acquaintance. We are forever indebted to you, you know, for John Thomas. But there is time enough for all of that. How tired you must be after such a journey.”

  Mrs. Haley, a quiet presence with no nervous tendencies, smiled softly and answered unhurriedly, studying Shannon, “Indeed, but not an uncomfortable one. We are pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Ravenel.”

  Mrs. Ravenel, on the watch for any slight mistreatment of Shannon, was not precisely overwhelmed by the warmth of this speech, but it would do. She moved in gracefully, allowed herself to be introduced by John Thomas, said what was proper with charm and magnanimity, and suggested that Mrs. Haley allow her to show her to her chamber, so that she might rest and be refreshed before supper, a suggestion the woman seemed to find odd.

  The dinner was one of the more interesting ones hosted by the Ravenel family. There was a bit of awkwardness between the two heads of household, the elder Mr. Haley more imperfectly concealing his discomfort at being served by enslaved men and women than did his son. A look had passed between husband and wife, fleeting and not very expressive, but telling nonetheless. An endeavor by Mr. Ravenel to engage his guest on the topic of horse racing fell wide of the mark, and they could not speak of their respective businesses without stumbling over the inevitable topic and the treacherous debate of whether slavery was a poison on the economy (it was, in Mr. Haley’s opinion). Even the ladies were experiencing difficulties, their ways of life so divergent as to be almost foreign. And when the bourbon was brought out, Frederick exchanged a look with Marie, who had been invited by Shannon for support.

  But after a sip and a frowning moment, Mr. Haley interrupted the conversation to say, “I say, Ravenel. A tolerable drink. Very tolerable.”

  Conversation ceased for a moment, during which his pardonably surprised son stared. Mr. Ravenel, however, the perfect host said, “Frederick and I are very partial to it. My father laid it out in ’15.”

  This started an excellent conversation on the best ways to preserve wine, which varieties aged the most felicitously, the drinks their fathers had acquired, and the old way of doing things.

  Shannon, smiling with twinkling eyes at John Thomas, went much more peacefully back to her meal. A happy notion struck Mrs. Ravenel to ask Mrs. Haley about the winters in New England, and the troubles they caused with the running of her household, and Mrs. Haley at length allowed herself to be charmed by the Southern ladies around her.

  John Thomas, kissing Shannon before bed, told her with twinkling eyes that he thought it had gone as tolerably as could be expected. “Yes, but it is only the first hurdle of the race, my dear sir,” she answered. “There is no use in being too optimistic.”

  He smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “One of us must be.”

  “Have you told them yet?”

  He shook his head. “I’m going
to now.” Hand on her narrow waist, he leaned in and kissed her cheek. “Go to bed. You look worn to the bone.”

  “Well, I am,” she admitted, studying his face.

  He studied her. “You’re sure.”

  “Entirely,” she said, kissing his cheek and fluttering off, light as a fairy.

  He watched after her for a moment and then knocked on his parents’ door to tell them that he and Shannon had decided to make their home in Massachusetts until they left for Washington. They were delighted, for they had feared Shannon’s influence would keep him tied to the South. In this they wronged her: it had been her suggestion that they do so. Now the only question was how such a creature would manage in their world.

  Charleston, South Carolina, December 1859

  Chapter Fifteen

  The engagement party far surpassed Frederick and Marie’s, with all of the aristocracy of Charleston in attendance and large dancing sets that lasted long into the morning. Neighbors were agog for a glimpse of Miss Ravenel’s Northern beau and his New Englander parents. Mr. Haley, who had been more charmed by his son’s choice than had his wife, was in an agreeable mood and was treated with so much polite courtesy that he told his wife, as he lay down, that they were not all without hearts, and they would do well to remember it. His conviction that slavery must and shall come to an end was unchanged, however, and he was willing to go almost any lengths to accomplish it, so his wife was unsure what he meant.

  In the week that followed, such a flood of presents flowed in from far and wide, from the simple to extravagant, that Frederick declared it his belief that they would all be squeezed out of the house if Shannon did not soon remove herself from the vicinity.

  “It isn’t every day the belle of Charleston chooses a husband for herself, Frederick,” Marie said, helping Shannon to arrange flowers for their bouquets in the morning room.

  Frederick, reclining against the sofa, smiled. “You are both belles.”

  Shannon smiled over her shoulder at him. “Talk is cheap, my dear brother. We do not believe a word you say. I must find Matilde, and ask whether these will keep until morning if we put them in the cellar in water.”

  As she was walking out, her beau, as he was known in Charleston, was entering. His eyes rested on Shannon with a tender smile.

  “You are beneath the mistletoe,” Marie said, seeing the way Shannon smiled up at him.

  He met Shannon’s smile, put a hand on her waist on the side that faced the door, as though he thought it wouldn’t be seen, and kissed her chastely. This greatly disturbed Frederick, as did the thought that it did not appear at all unnatural for them, and that John Thomas changed his mind and went with Shannon.

  “For the love of–”

  “You cannot mind that he kisses her, Frederick,” Marie said once they had left, arranging the large centerpiece. “They are to be married tomorrow, and they are in love.”

  To this, Frederick did not respond. But he was, however, on the following day, the perfect groomsman and very happy for two people very dear to his heart.

  Shannon’s gown may have been hastily prepared, but that was not to say it wasn’t an exquisite creation, at the very height of fashion. Of cream silk, it fit snugly at the bodice and flowed into a long train, tiny buttons marching all the way from the back of the neck to the waistline. It was given an extra flare of extreme fashion by long sleeves that fit tightly rather than loosely and a collar which was made high to her long throat. The impression was softened by her hair, which was caught up and woven with pearls and tiny white flowers.

  The ladies and slaves attending her in her bedchamber could not breathe when they saw her, and Marie said tearfully, “Shannon! I cannot imagine any princess looking finer.”

  “Yes, thank goodness she is going to Massachusetts,” Elizabeth agreed, eyes twinkling.

  Shannon wore her fine gown like a second skin, handling the train comfortably, smiling and talking calmly as she was ministered to. She and her friends and maids walked slowly down the masterful, floating stairs into the white hall, flowers all around them.

  Shannon and John Thomas were married in the long parlor, with fifty or so persons in attendance, and Marie and Elizabeth Middleton as her bridesmaids. Her mother was tearful, her father stoically miserable. The groom looked quite overpowered when he saw his bride, and she looked up at him with blue eyes made so brilliant by the sunlight beaming through the long windows that she appeared other-worldly. She seemed to be fighting tears, never more so than when her father kissed her cheek and took John Thomas’s hand, placing hers in it.

  Charleston, South Carolina

  Chapter Sixteen

  Adeline, not usually a punctual person, presented herself at the passenger door of the Land Rover at one-o’clock sharp on Saturday. It was a little chilly and rainy out, so she wore her white Loft sweater and blue pants which rolled up at the cuffs. It seemed too advanced in the spring to wear her booties, but she did so nonetheless. It couldn’t be more than fifty-five degrees outside. The weather this year was atrocious.

  She watched Sir Ravenel exit the house, locking up behind him, looking sharp in jeans and a linen button down. She was glad to see that he wore chukka boots too. His fashion was always on point: she’d give him that.

  “Ready?” he said, clicking the doors unlocked as he went down the steps.

  “Yep,” she returned in a friendly manner. In a few moments, she was buckling her seatbelt, and they were heading toward the Battery.

  There was an uncomfortable silence, so she said after a couple of minutes, “So, you grew up in Georgia?”

  “Yeah.” She thought for a minute he’d leave it there, but he added, “My dad’s originally from Charleston but he’s taught chemistry at Georgia Southern for thirty-seven years now. He met my mom in Statesboro—she’s from near there.”

  “How’d you land in Charleston?” she asked.

  “I did my residency here,” he said, changing lanes to go to the interstate and not, she noticed, adjusting the heat. It was an iceberg in here. Didn’t he know that? “Then I got offered a job at the same hospital. My grandfather was still living then. And my wife—well, she was my fiancée then—wanted to live here.”

  She turned her head toward him, interest unreasonably awakened. “She was from here?” she asked casually.

  “No, Savannah. She wanted to live close to her family, but not too close.”

  “So you took the job, and the rest is history,” she said.

  “Yeah.” He pressed his lips together as if feeling that he’d revealed more than he wished. That line of conversation was officially closed. She glanced at the knobs on the dash. Literally, could he not feel the chill?

  “You can turn the heat on if you want.”

  Okay, she was going to have to stop thinking things in front of him. “If you’re sure,” she said casually, reaching for the knob almost immediately. “How does Jane fit into all of this?” she asked as another long silence developed. They were on the interstate now, the marsh lands flying past them. He was driving a little fast.

  “She’s an old family friend. She was my uncle’s secretary in Statesboro forever. My mom suggested her—she was afraid she was lonely and bored. So I called her, and she said yes.”

  “After…your wife passed?” she asked. “That must’ve been a huge relief.”

  There was a slight hesitation. “No, before.”

  She could smell his cologne. It was teasing her senses, distracting her from the question of why his stay-at-home wife would’ve needed a nanny. His arm was really close—okay, like a foot away, but his hand, his excellent, sculpted, veined hand, lay on the console. Look. Away.

  She refocused her attention outside to the gray skies. It started to rain when they had been driving fifteen minutes.

  “Looks like another beautiful day,” he said.

  Offering conversation
, were we? “Maybe everyone won’t freak out on the interstate.”

  “There’s no need to be nervous,” he said in a voice that, without trying to be, was somehow soothing.

  “I’m not.”

  “You’ve just never ridden with me before,” he suggested, looking over at her, smiling just a bit.

  She met his eyes, flushing a little. But if he was going to be a freaking mind-reader, he needed to expect to be offended from time to time. “I trust you to be safe. At least, I do now.”

  He smiled again. He was pretty free and easy with his smiles today, by his standards. He must feel bad about the Hot Pocket.

  “So, how did you choose your job?” she asked. Gah, what is this, twenty questions, Adeline?

  He lifted a shoulder. “I always had a knack for it, I guess.” That was an understatement.

  “I’m not sure I could do it,” she said.

  “Listen to people’s problems all day?” he asked, glancing at her.

  “Yeah.”

  He was silent for a moment. “There are some days I’d rather talk to wallpaper,” he said, after putting the matter to consideration. Great. He’d seen it. “But they just need a little help. Some of them a lot of help. But they trust you, and it isn’t long before you can’t imagine letting them down.”

  She looked at him, at the planes of his face, studying him. She was touched. He had already struck her as a man who took his responsibilities very seriously. If he was a little methodical and clinical about it all, she was beginning to think that hid deep feelings beneath. She hadn’t seen evidence of them yet, but the thought was tantalizing, almost as much as the fireplace in the library. “I’m sure they need you desperately.”