Southern Rain (Torn Asunder Series Book 1)

by Tara Cowan

  She smiled. “Indeed, they did. I only managed to survive because we broke the journey at Santarella.”

  “Oh, John Thomas, introduce us!” said the girl with the bright eyes.

  He opened his arms, smiling, and she and the youngest member of the family, the Sarah he always spoke of with a sparkle, rushed forward. He laughed, kissing their heads. They were looking at Shannon with shy smiles, and John Thomas beckoned her with a smile. She went forward, feeling a little out of place in her exquisite travel gown, and stood beside him. “This is Shannon, my wife,” he said, his eyes not leaving hers. They knew that, of course, but his lips seemed to savor the word nonetheless. “I shall introduce all of you properly once Shannon has rested.”

  “Your brother has told me so much about you that I feel I already know you,” Shannon said in an accent they found fascinating. She became distracted when she noticed the bespectacled older brother had removed his glasses and was staring at her.

  Mr. Haley said with kind cheer, “I hope you left your mother and father well, Shannon.”

  Shannon inclined her head with a smile. “Indeed, quite well, and triumphant as a result of marrying both of their children off within three months.”

  “Your brother is married, then?” Mrs. Haley asked, eyes softening further.

  “Yes, and on his honeymoon in Richmond,” Shannon answered.

  “A good boy. I believe he is fortunate in his choice of wife,” Mr. Haley said. He was in a benevolent mood. Perhaps he liked the patriarchy he was growing around him. And he had left Charleston in charity with his son’s father-in-law, and charmed by his choice of bride.

  “And he married your cousin?” the oldest girl asked. No, she was only the oldest present. She was Lizzie, and there was Patience, a year older than John Thomas, married to a minister, and living nearby in Weymouth.

  “Yes, our dear Marie,” Shannon affirmed, smiling softly. “We always marry cousins in my family—that was why I was determined to break tradition,” she added lightly, smiling slightly over her shoulder at John Thomas, who gave her a smile but seemed preoccupied with watching his thunderstruck older brother in amusement.

  “And you are from a true plantation?” Sarah said, eyes bright. “With a mammy and everything?”

  “Hush, Sarah,” Mrs. Haley said.

  John Thomas’s attention snapped back, eyes travelling between the actors, wary.

  Shannon’s eyes looked vulnerable, even as her chin lifted. “Yes. I am. It is a beautiful place called Santarella,” she said softly.

  A silence fell over the room. The air was suddenly sizzling with tension, various actors looking uncomfortable, the occasional one on his or her dignity. “Come, you’ll tire Shannon,” John Thomas said. “I can attest to her suffering during her travels, for there was no end to her complaining,” he said, reaching for her hand.

  She was distant and stiff for a moment, but finally gave her hand, her smile not quite her own. “How unhandsome of you to say so!” she said in her soft sing-song voice.

  Miriam was brimming with a smile. “Oh, you are in love! I can see it by your eyes! How lovely!”

  “Miriam!” Mrs. Haley softly chided. “You must not speak of such things.” Naturally, if there had been anything warm in Miriam’s words, their effect was only heightened by her mother’s reprimand. Another slight silence fell over the room. Mrs. Haley cleared her throat softly. “Shannon, you will wish to rest before supper. John Thomas will show you to his room, I am sure.”

  The words had barely left her mouth when a young gentleman in a white shirt and sleeve protectors emerged, looking offended. “Pardon me, Mrs. Haley. But there is a Negro woman in the kitchens.”

  Utter silence descended, as every member of the family looked entirely stunned. The silent ticking of the clock could be heard, the rustle of the wind outside.

  “John Thomas,” Mr. Haley said almost in a whisper, pronouncing each of the names separately. He looked shocked and shaken as he held his son’s eyes.

  Shannon flushed deeply. The subject of Phoebe had been the closest the newlyweds had come to quarrelling during their short marriage. Shannon’s father had gifted Phoebe to her, a traditional honor Southern planters bestowed upon their daughters with love. John Thomas, when they were alone, had been stiff. “Shannon, you must know I cannot keep a slave.” Before she could interject, he said, “I don’t think we could take her into Massachusetts a slave, in any event. There have been Supreme Court cases… I am unsure of the law.”

  “Well, I am not. A Southerner is protected if he wishes to take his slave on his travels to the North.” Her chin had been in the air. “And if the slave runs, the Northern state has the responsibility, the Constitutional duty to return it to him.”

  He dragged his hand through his hair. “Well, I will not do it, Shannon,” he said quietly but firmly. And then said nothing more, only watched her. There had been a long silence during which she had stared at him, taken aback. Finally, he had said in a gentler tone, “I will speak to your father in the morning and explain my feelings to him. If Phoebe goes north with us, she goes free. I think you will see that you do not have to keep chains on your servants for them to be loyal to you, Shannon. She loves you, and I honor her for it.” He tipped her chin up until she, flush and all, was forced to meet his eyes. “For I can think of no one more deserving of love.”

  Now, though, she saw it again in the hard line of his jaw, in his shoulders. He did not like the taint of slavery which followed her any more than his family. “Phoebe is Shannon’s servant. We will discuss it later if you wish, Father.”

  There was a cold silence. “Very well,” his father said finally.

  “Where shall I put her, Mrs. Haley?” the outraged servant intervened.

  Anna Adams Haley looked at a loss for a moment before saying with an ounce of frustration, “In the women’s quarters, of course, Peter.”

  “With the other women, ma’am?”

  “Yes, with the other women,” she almost snapped, though perhaps her anger was directed inwardly.

  Another silence descended, and Shannon waited, her thin shoulders stiff. She felt John Thomas’s hand on the small of her back. “I will show Shannon upstairs.”

  She was relieved, although her relief was checked by the knowledge that she must descend the stairs again for supper. She barely saw the halls and rooms as they made their way to the back of the house and crossed a threshold into a bedchamber. John Thomas closed the door quietly behind them, remaining silent for a moment while her back was to him. She pretended to look out the window, but she saw nothing. She could feel his eyes on her, and she flushed with awareness of the scene below. Awkward silence descended for a time, thick and aware, until Shannon said softly, clearing her throat, “Will you unlace my stays?” She would not for worlds send for Phoebe just then.

  “Yes, of course,” he said in an extremely accommodating voice, stepping toward her. Her back was to him, so she could not see his eyes, though she wished desperately to do so. His fingers worked their way down the buttons slowly, leaving a searing tingle everywhere they touched, despite everything. She lifted her cold hands to her cheeks. Then he came to her stays. He lingered over the last one, finally letting it fall from his hands. They stayed frozen. She closed her eyes for a moment and when she could no longer stand it, she turned, struggling to keep the moisture from rushing to her eyes as she met his.

  He looked horrified. “Shannon!” He seemed to search for what to say. “Do not cry!”

  “I’m not,” she said, swiping at her eyes.

  He gripped her arm, unable to bear the thought that he had brought her away from her home only to be unhappy.

  “I shouldn’t have brought Phoebe,” she said softly. “You tried to tell me, and I–”

  “No,” he said, equally softly. “Of course you wanted your maid with you.”

  Sh
e swallowed, taking a breath with her eyes closed. “Your father is angry.”

  “If he assigns blame, it will be with me, since it was my choice to bring her. But he cannot be angry when he knows she is free.” He studied her with gentleness.

  After a moment, she walked away slowly, reaching up to remove her earrings once she was by a vanity. She looked at him for a moment and then held her tongue.

  “What?” he said.

  “They do not want her in this house, John Thomas–”

  He was shaking his head, holding her eyes. “That is not true, Shannon,” he said softly, firmly.

  “Perhaps your mother was merely unaccustomed. But you cannot convince me every servant below stairs is not reeling.”

  He was silent for a moment. “Perhaps. Perhaps not. But you mustn’t attribute faults to them before you even know them,” he said.

  Her eyes flamed momentarily before she said, not thinking to watch her tongue, “I regret to inform you that you have married a shrew, John Thomas. I will do perfectly as I please.”

  No response was forthcoming behind her. She waited in silence. “Then in that case, I will see you at supper,” he said quietly, stepping toward the door.

  She swallowed a lump in her throat. “S…Send Phoebe to me at six o’clock.”

  “Yes, I will,” he said, and left.

  Shannon, awakening from her nap, looked around to find that the sun had gone down considerably, with just the slightest vestiges of light left. Arising in her bloomers and corset, she looked around her. She had fallen asleep on the verge of weeping because she had been forced to say such a thing to him. She had then had no interest in doing more than pulling back the covers and climbing into the bed. But now, looking around her at the neat, primitive furniture, the somehow appealing emptiness and plainness, she thought of John Thomas here in his boyhood. She smiled softly, if a little sadly, smoothing her hand over the simple white coverlet, taking in the pale gray walls and large armoire with no adornment.

  She looked at the clock above the mantle and saw it lacked ten minutes to six o’clock. While she waited on Phoebe, she lit a few candles and then walked to one of the windows and looked out. Land, mostly flat with a gentle roll here and there, stretched out seemingly for miles, though it couldn’t be that much, for John Thomas had told her the farm was much smaller than Santarella. She saw sheep in a pasture, nuzzling their lambs and grazing. She reached for the curtain and held it tightly in her hand.

  The door opened softly, and she looked over her shoulder as Phoebe entered with a dinner gown of cream satin with a modest neckline which bowed widely but came within a few inches of her collarbones. There was a bit of lace at the bodice and sleeves, and its craftsmanship could not be hidden, but it was the plainest gown she owned. Phoebe’s instincts had never led her astray.

  Shannon walked forward rather wearily, and then lifted her arms while Phoebe secured her hoops. “Have you settled in, Phoebe?” she asked.

  “Yes, ma’am,” she said softly. “Mrs. Haley come down and showed me where I could keep your dresses. She asked me how many there were, and when I tole’ her, she said they’d nevuh fit in Mistuh Haley’s armoire.”

  “That was kind of her. I’m glad that is settled. I believe I will likely retire early tonight, so I shan’t keep you waiting long.”

  When she was in her dress, Phoebe did up the buttons and then, at the simple vanity, fastened her necklace and began to brush her hair.

  “You want braids, ma’am, looped at the ear?”

  “No, you know they give me the appearance of a Roman emperor. Just parted and in a simple twist—you may tie some braids up in it, if you wish.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  When she was dressed, she went out into the hall, trying to remember her way to the stairs. The floorboards creaked beneath her slippers, and the hall almost wasn’t wide enough to accommodate her hoops. She pressed her hand against her middle in a vain attempt to still her nerves—and was surprised to find they had nothing to do with the Haleys and everything to do with John Thomas.

  John Thomas waited for Shannon in the foyer and moved closer to the stairs when he saw her appear at the top. Her skirts were wide, her waist tiny. She looked dainty, and too fragile for a Northern winter. And a Northern family. He regretted almost everything since her arrival, from his family’s reception to the scene between them upstairs. He was uncomfortably aware of his own judgment, and that she must have felt ostracized simply for breathing. What on earth would the Ravenels think?

  There were many things he loved about South Carolina, but Shannon had not been wholly happy there, a little on the outside of her family for reasons too complicated to fully understand. He had wanted it to be different here. It would be, if he had anything to say in the matter.

  She reached for the banister and came down, the stairwell lit with a sconce here and there. When she reached him where he waited, she stayed on the bottom step, searching his face, her blue eyes kicking him in the stomach. So exquisite. He could still scarcely believe she was his, and that they were here together.

  “I hope you rested well,” he said softly. His eyes scanned her face. It was so much less than he had meant to say.

  “Yes, quite well,” she answered. There was a stiffness in her shoulders, which had never masked her fragility from him.

  He was hesitant, unsure how to proceed after the scene above stairs. “I checked on you once, and you were sleeping like a baby.”

  She seemed to thaw a little, a little smile playing at her lips. “No, no, I never slept as a baby.”

  He smiled softly, holding her eyes. He was surprised to find fear in hers. She seemed to see in him a help, and he wanted to wrap her in his arms and tell her he would shield her from everything. But Shannon rejected physical contact when she most needed it and was difficult to reach even with words. He merely covered her hand solidly and said calmly, “I thought I might properly introduce you to them while they’re all in the parlor.”

  “Yes, alright,” she said. He helped her down the bottom step and threaded her arm through his.

  They walked to a long, rectangular room where the ladies were sewing and the gentlemen were chatting. All conversation ceased upon their entrance until Lizzie, regal and elegant, said softly, “I hope you rested well, Shannon.”

  “Yes, indeed. Your home is very peaceful,” she said in her loveliest Charleston accent, including Mr. and Mrs. Haley in her reserved smile.

  Mr. Haley inclined his head. “It is always so pleasant when we return from Boston. Your room will have a view of the pastures, I believe.”

  “Yes, the lambs are very charming,” she said, looking up at John Thomas. “Properly introduce me, then,” she said with a smile, a little shy.

  “Alright,” he said softly, touching the small of her back. “My brother Adams,” he said, indicating him. “He is the eldest of us, and far more scholarly than I.”

  She smiled at the young gentleman, built on slightly smaller lines than her husband and favoring his mother more, plainer. When he came before her, she offered her hand and he took it, covering it with his other rather than kissing it, which she thought rather respectful. “I had not thought it possible,” she teased gently. “Are you above Shakespeare, too?”

  He looked startled. “Certainly not. Is my brother?”

  John Thomas looked down at her, eyes twinkling. “I merely said I preferred–”

  “You see? As if anyone could truly prefer anybody. We shall have Shakespearian chats, Mr. Haley, and leave my husband to his miserable Homer.”

  He agreed to it distractedly, polite and dignified.

  Lizzie, when they were introduced, said she was glad to have another sister, and that Shannon’s pearls were very pretty. She was a year younger than Shannon at nineteen, but she and John Thomas had kept up a steady correspondence during his travels. Lizzie
was reserved, and perhaps carefully concealing the mourning any sibling must feel upon the marriage of another sibling, and she always flushed when she began talking to Shannon, perhaps shy due to her exoticism (to her) and social standing.

  There seemed to be an easy friendship between John Thomas and Charles, who had, as John Thomas put it, shared the cradle with him. It was easy to see, though, that Charles was more given to levity, his tone of mind not quite so refined. Adams was refined but did not share his spirit. Shannon saw in a glance why John Thomas had formed a close friendship with her brother.

  Charles said everything that was proper, welcoming her to the family and asking well-chosen questions about South Carolina and the sea islands, gently joking that he could not see why such a beauty had chosen his brother, which made everyone smile.

  Miriam was seventeen, and the prettiest of the girls. She had a sweet smile that reminded Shannon of her husband and earned the girl a lovely twinkle from her fascinating sister-in-law.

  Vincent was fourteen and uncommonly well-behaved. Sarah, the baby, was obviously the delight of the family, and equally the despair.

  “Oh, Sister, where did you get your gown?” she asked, eyes sparkling.

  Shannon smiled, thinking her adorable in her linen bonnet and drooping sash. John Thomas’s eyes were tender as they rested on her. “Madame Persaud made it for me in Charleston. She is a lady who pretends to be French but is instead from New Orleans,” Shannon said, smiling when the girl’s eyes lighted.

  “Oh, but how can she be so very bad when she makes such lovely gowns?” she said, almost reaching to touch it. She lifted her eyes to Shannon with rapt admiration. “Are all of your gowns so lovely, Sister?”

  “Yes, all of them,” John Thomas said, eyes warm.

  Shannon flushed slightly. “My father spoils me.” It wasn’t precisely the truth. Shannon, always accompanied by her mother or her mammy, bought whatever she wanted, and the shopkeepers presented her father with a bill, which generally caused a great deal of grumbling, though he always paid them. Her mother had always bought as she chose, so perhaps he knew it was a lost cause.