Southern Rain (Torn Asunder Series Book 1)

by Tara Cowan

  Shannon swallowed. It didn’t bear thinking of. She attempted a smile. “Well. John Thomas puts a great deal of stock into his precious Mr. Lincoln.”

  Marie paled. “Oh, good heavens. I ought to warn Frederick not to bring it up. He despises him so. I hadn’t realized…”

  “That he was indeed an abolitionist? Yes, I seemed to have suffered from the same misimpression. He set me to rights on that point, however.”

  Marie was not blinded by her flippant, worldly tone. She took her hand. “Shannon, you mustn’t let it come between you,” she said urgently.

  “Indeed, it seems almost impossible to believe sometimes that I am married to precisely the sort of man all of our neighbors would scorn and ridicule.” She swallowed. “That I myself once did.”

  “Shannon, you must learn that we can disagree, even on the material things, and maintain our respect. It is the very core of humanity.”

  “Tell that to the Congress.”

  Marie’s brows drew together. “You mustn’t speak so. Why, Shannon, he loves you to distraction.”

  Tears rose to Shannon’s eyes. She moistened her lips, and then closed them, sitting silently for a time. “You make me feel like quite a spoiled child. I can’t think what overcame me, only I… It has been so long since I have been able to voice such things, or my own beliefs…”

  Marie looked at her sympathetically. “John Thomas does not tell you not to speak your beliefs?”

  “No, but I cannot.” She swallowed. “Sometimes I felt, in Massachusetts, such a traitor. Carrying on at their supper table when any proper Southerner would’ve walked out in outrage, and if they knew how John Thomas truly felt—my family, I mean…”

  Marie studied her for a long time, finally saying, “But you have not been unhappy?”

  Shannon was silent a moment, her blue eyes tragic. “He… He makes be so happy, Marie. He is so gentle and kind… My best and dearest friend.”

  “Oh, my dearest,” Marie said, embracing her. “Such torment you have been in. Indeed, he is a good man, and you must never forget it.” She held her for a long moment, before Shannon finally pulled away, discreetly wiping her eyes. “I…didn’t ask about your mother and father,” she said. “I suppose they are well?”

  Marie, taking her cue, knew further conversation was over, and said with a sigh, “Yes. They want to wrap me in wool, my mother and grandmother. They were discussing all of the merits and disadvantages of my travelling here, as though they had any say, until I was forced to tell them that Frederick was my husband, and if he had no objection, that was an end to the matter.”

  Shannon’s eyes lit. “Marie! Well, done, Cousin! Well done, indeed.” She sobered. “But it hasn’t done you any harm, has it?”

  “No, I am quite well.”

  Shannon pressed her hand. “Have you decided it between you whether my niece or nephew will be Catholic?”

  “Frederick…does not want it,” she said, nodding. “And I…will be guided by him. He must be the master of his household.”

  “Marie!” Shannon exclaimed. “But it means so much to you!”

  “Yes. But I won’t defy him in this, Shannon. This is something I feel strongly, too.”

  Shannon was inclined to argue, but, seeing the stubborn set to her cousin’s chin, something she knew very well from childhood, she decided against it.

  She turned the subject, and asked whether Seymour Christian had yet chosen a bride.

  “No, indeed, I believe he mourns you most sincerely,” Marie answered.

  “I trust he will overcome it yet,” Shannon returned heartlessly, making her cousin laugh.

  After a time, though, her smile fell, and she studied Shannon. “Shannon…we were so worried, all of us, that when you were ill… That is, John Thomas’s tone was so grave that we feared… But of course he would not say so in a letter, and…”

  Shannon studied her before realization dawned. “Oh,” she said, numbly. “No. I…” She looked away. “His tone was distracted because…I nearly died. We…agreed not to say so in the letters because it would do no good, and only cause all of you pain. But there was a time when they did not know…”

  Marie’s eyes welled with tears. “Oh, Shannon!” she whispered.

  Shannon pressed her hand. “And the Haleys…they were so wonderful…”

  Marie beamed. “I am so glad to hear it. I am sure they could not help but love you.”

  Shannon smiled wryly and hesitated before saying very quietly, “It would seem…” She swallowed, uncertain she wished to delve into those depths. “That is, I have been married long enough that by now I…”

  Marie pressed her lips together. “Dearest,” she said softly, looking stricken.

  She shook her head standing. “Forgive me. I hadn’t meant to speak of such things. There, sleep well. I will see you at supper.” And then she fled.

  Washington, D.C., July 1860

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Shannon had barely closed Marie’s door when she was met by Frederick in the hall, his brows drawn together. “Is something the matter? Why were you with her so long?”

  Shannon, setting aside her disordered spirit, said, “You are becoming a mother hen!”

  “What?” He shook his head, as though clearing it of her remark. “Answer my question.”

  “She is quite well, and resting now, your serene highness. We were talking of home. May I not speak with my cousin if I choose?”

  He sighed. “Yes. I don’t know how Haley bears with you, truly I don’t.”

  Shannon smiled, tucking her hand through his arm and leading him toward the stairs. “You have always had excessively poor taste, except in choosing Marie. There, I shall forget the note of truth in your voice and take you to my husband, who shall pour you some wine.”

  He glanced once more over his shoulder and then allowed himself to be led. John Thomas, sitting at the desk in the study, smiled at them as they entered, extending his hand toward Shannon. She gave hers, and he kissed her fingers, saying, “You do not favor very much, you know, to my eternal joy.”

  Shannon smiled, and Frederick said, sitting down and looking disgusted by this display, “Stow it, and pour me this wine I was promised.”

  “Did Shannon promise you that? Oh, but I have banned alcohol, in all of its forms, from this house.” Frederick’s eyes widened as he studied his friend, and he paled slightly just before John Thomas started smiling.

  “Much too gullible,” Shannon said.

  “Oh, to the devil with you!” Frederick exclaimed, blushing slightly, which made John Thomas laugh.

  “Much too easy to believe, I should say,” John Thomas said, getting up and pulling a decanter from a cabinet.

  “No, no, I don’t think you’re a prude,” Frederick rushed to assure him. “That was Shannon!”

  “This is excellent news,” he said, uncorking the bottle and pouring.

  Shannon shot her brother a heated look and said, “It is untrue! When have I ever said such a thing? When?”

  “I can’t recall,” Frederick said, feeling closed in. “Perhaps… Yes, it must have been when he very first came to Santarella—before…before you knew him, of course!”

  “Indeed?” John Thomas said, handing Shannon her glass first.

  “No! Take it back!” she demanded hotly. “You said he swam the Thames when you were both drunk–”

  “I was not drunk,” John Thomas protested mildly, apparently following the thread.

  “-just after I asked what a Congregationalist was, and you said you couldn’t work it out but that he was not a stick.”

  “Didn’t you know?” John Thomas asked her with mild interest, handing Frederick his glass.

  “No, and of all of the most abominable things in the world, I despise, and loathe, and spurn a snitch!”

  “A snitch
!” her brother demanded.

  “Yes, especially an untruthful one!”

  “I question the advisability,” John Thomas said philosophically, resuming his seat, “of having a house full of Ravenels. It makes me almost glad I shall have to leave you to work.”

  “Well, perhaps Shannon didn’t say that, I don’t remember,” Frederick said, shifting uncomfortably. “There, don’t eat me! And John, you won’t be angry with her, will you?”

  “I am fuming. The situation is past repair.”

  Frederick smiled. “There. I knew he would not take offense, Shannon.”

  “Through no fault of your own!”

  “No. You haven’t the ability to anger him, I think,” Frederick said, sipping his wine.

  Shannon started for the door, smiling over her shoulder at John Thomas. “Don’t I?” she asked her husband.

  He flushed, and she laughed. “I thought not. I regularly enrage him, Frederick, if only you could believe it.”

  “Well, I don’t believe it. John is never angry.”

  Shannon tossed her husband another look, and he looked at a loss for words, sending her a slightly penitent look. “Indeed,” she said, laughing and departing.

  “What was that?” Frederick demanded as soon as the door had closed, leaning forward to look at the door with brows drawn. “If I’ve caused an argument between you, I’ll leave this instant!”

  John Thomas leaned against the desk, crossing his arms and holding his glass in one hand. “Of course you have not. Shannon was teasing me.”

  “I know, but you would not lie and say she never makes you angry. I’m shocked, Haley. I thought you had her firmly on a golden pedestal.”

  John Thomas looked at his wine. “That wouldn’t be fair to Shannon. I try not to do that, though I grant you it is difficult sometimes.”

  “I didn’t say keeping her off a pedestal would be difficult: don’t accuse me of such a thing.”

  John Thomas smiled. “I know you’d knock out the teeth of anyone less devoted to her who said she was less than perfect.”

  Frederick grinned, sitting back. “Well, that’s true, I suppose. How is the old girl?”

  “Frederick, I am going to have to knock your teeth out!”

  Shannon’s brother laughed. “Alright, how is my dear sister?” His features sobered as he looked up at him. “We were so worried.”

  “You have nothing to fear now. She’s fully restored. I wouldn’t let her go out to parties if I thought differently.”

  “Taking Washington by storm, is she?”

  John Thomas set his glass aside, getting up. “Indeed.” He said no more, causing Frederick to take a second look at him. “Come, would you like to see our defenses on the Potomac? I’ll ask Shannon, but I think we have time before we dine.”

  “By Jove, yes!” Frederick said enthusiastically.

  John Thomas smiled. “You shan’t abandon Santarella and join, will you? I can’t afford to have your father as my enemy.”

  “No, that is behind me now. But, my God, I still love ships!”

  Shannon had already been asleep when John Thomas retired, having lingered, talking with Frederick until late in the night. They now attended the Trinity Congregationalist Church, and morning dawned on a pretty Sunday, but they had agreed before their guests arrived not to attend since the travelers would need rest.

  She arose while the house was still quiet and went down to the kitchen to talk to the cook and Mrs. Hensley about breakfast before overseeing its placement on the board in the dining room. It consisted primarily of cold cuts, fruit, and bread, so it would keep.

  That finished, she went to stand at the window, looking out onto the street, where the occasional carriage trotted sedately past, women in bonnets and men in ironed shirts, bound for their various houses of worship. She crossed her arms, staring into nothingness, thinking on her conversation with Marie and her increasingly conflicting emotions about John Thomas’s politics. She felt such a traitor to her home and family by not arguing with him when he attended abolitionist meetings or donated money to such causes. And yet, she had felt such a traitor to him yesterday, talking to Marie, that she had avoided him; it had been easy enough to do with guests in the house. Guilt consumed her again as she pictured him sleeping above stairs, innocent of the knowledge that she had betrayed their bond in her unguarded language. He would never do so to her.

  She stood looking out the window close to thirty minutes before she heard a stirring at the doorway. She recognized his walk and looked over her shoulder. He smiled gently at her. “You are awake early,” he said.

  “Yes. And you are a slugabed.” He smiled in that gentle, distracted way, taking in her features. She said softly, “I’m glad you were. Sometimes I think you never sleep.”

  “You look beautiful,” he said, eyes roving her face.

  “I shall not dispute the statement,” she answered, “though I question whether you were listening to me.”

  “I always listen to you.” She could not deny the truth of the statement. Guilt consumed her, and affection surged. She closed the slight distance between them, touched his jaw, and turned his head to kiss him, which caused him utterly to lose his senses. He claimed her mouth, his touch gentle and reverent. She would have enjoyed it merely because it was him, but he had always had a way with such matters. He drew her against him slowly, hands moving from her waist to her hips as her hands slowly moved up his chest. Shannon heard a noise, which slowly entered her consciousness, and she broke away.

  At the doorway stood Frederick and Marie, both averting their eyes.

  Shannon flushed, clearing her throat, reaching up self-consciously to touch a loose curl. There was the faintest tinge of color at John Thomas’s cheekbones, but he placed his hand on the small of her back.

  Marie cleared her throat, saying, eyes twinkling slightly, “Something smelled so delightful that we were drawn from our chamber. It must be the bread, I think. Shannon, does it have blueberries in it?”

  Shannon cleared her throat, moving forward to the sideboard, skirts rustling. “Yes, indeed. I shall send the recipe home with you. It is Mrs. Haley’s.”

  “How delightful!” she said, asking about New England breads, while Frederick continued to look flustered. John Thomas could not quite meet his eyes yet. He received his plate to fill from Shannon, giving her an apologetic smile.

  John Thomas said to Marie once they were seated, “Is there anything in particular you would like to do today? We are at your service.”

  “I should dearly love to go rowing on the Potomac,” she answered, smiling, in perfect harmony with him.

  “It will be too hot for that, I think,” Frederick said, looking at her.

  “I shall be alright,” she said softly.

  “I’m afraid I will have to agree,” Shannon said. “A handsome lieutenant rowed me last week, and I thought I should perish, to say nothing of him.” A smile touched John Thomas’s lips.

  “Indeed?” Marie asked.

  “Yes,” John Thomas answered. “Unless it rains this morning. Then it might be cool enough this evening, although the waters might be choppy.”

  It did indeed rain, which led to a series of merry parlor games, some fierce competition between brother and sister, and the development that being raised in a houseful of children gave Lieutenant Haley the upper hand in most every game.

  “Oh, I cry foul!” Shannon said, leaning back in her chair when he once again soundly triumphed. “And he comes from such a quiet household!”

  He smiled, collecting the jackstraws, and Marie said, “Were you the best of your brothers and sisters, John Thomas?”

  “Charlie and I could always beat poor Adams, and Patience was very good, too. We taught all of the younger ones to play, and Miriam was soon beating all of us.”

  “Miriam! Yes, of course!”
Shannon said, laughing. She turned her head to Marie, who was sitting on the sofa. “She is the sharpest little minx! And she will be quite beautiful, too, when she is grown.”

  “She haunted Shannon’s every step while we were in Massachusetts,” John Thomas said. “I daresay she has now copied every style she ever wore.”

  Shannon said, “Not every style, I hope,” eyes downcast.

  When she looked up, John Thomas was giving her a look, his jaw hard, eyes narrowly focused. She flushed, hoping her guests hadn’t caught the note of challenge in her voice.

  “But Boston must be a very fashionable society, I have always thought,” Marie said, apparently unaware, turning the conversation in that direction.

  When the afternoon came, the rains cleared away, and the men rode out to judge the safety of the river. When they returned, the ladies were waiting in the foyer dressed in light-colored day gowns, Marie’s with a tiny floral print and Shannon’s a soft blue, straw bonnets atop their hair, one deep auburn, the other a fiery rust.

  Shannon could feel John Thomas looking at her, but she did not meet his eyes, nor did she do so when she and Marie were sitting together on one of the carriage benches.

  When they made it to one of the boats for hire, John Thomas paid its caretaker, and the men climbed aboard. “I shall go first,” Shannon said. “Better I fall than Marie, if it is unsteady.”

  “You shan’t fall,” John Thomas said softly, reaching for her hands. Shannon crossed onto the boat, glad she hadn’t worn her hoops. She felt him studying her as he held her hands for her to steady herself but still didn’t look up. When he released her, he helped Marie aboard while Frederick steadied the craft, and soon the ladies were seated together, allowing themselves to be rowed, although there wasn’t much of that involved, since they were floating with the current. Shannon held Marie’s hand for a moment, while Marie gripped her own in a little fear, but she soon began to enjoy herself, her hand coming to rest without knowing against her middle. Shannon studied her for a moment, and then, moistening her lips, redirected her attention to the gentlemen.