Shaun was a big man and strong. That was why he had gotten the job in the first place. It was too dangerous for the slaves to load the unwieldy equipment onto the flatboat. Replacing an Irishman was so much cheaper than buying another slave. But Shaun had not minded, for he had wanted the extra money. If only the other man's foot had not slipped, causing Shaun to be caught against the protruding metal spike.
When the pain in his chest returned and his breathing became labored, Shaun gripped the sides of the bed with his hands. He had lost a lot of blood, but he would not die. He had so much to live for. Marigold—her face loomed before him, her long, golden hair catching the glint of the afternoon sun as it had that first time he had ever seen her, sitting in the train like a golden goddess. The image stayed with him until his vision blurred and he lost consciousness.
Maranta sat in the garden with her brother Robbie. A pall had descended on them ever since Marigold had left for Cedar Hill with her new husband Crane Caldwell and his mother, Cousin Julie.
But at least today, Maranta was getting a respite from the condessa's constant demands—to fetch her shawl, or smelling salts, or digitalis that had been prescribed for her heart condition. Eulalie had taken the Portuguese woman with her for a visit into the countryside to see a friend's magnificent gardens, and they would not be back until late.
Robbie, his attention on the last of the sticky, candied apple he was eating, finally stood up and rubbed his hands down the sides of his linen suit, until reprimanded by Maranta.
She took her handkerchief to wipe the rest of the caramel from his upper lip, and as she did so, Robbie looked at her and said, "'Ranta, I. . . I don't like Cousin Crane. Do you?"
Startled at his confidence, Maranta did not answer immediately. She folded her handkerchief and placed it again in the pocket of her dress.
"Cousin Crane is our brother-in-law, Robbie," she explained. "We should all learn to like him, because of Marigold."
"But Marigold doesn't like him either," Robbie stated, with an obstinancy in his voice.
"Of course she likes him, Robbie. Otherwise she would never have married him."
"But that's what I don't understand. She told him that night in the garden that she'd rather be disgraced and in h-hell first. He just laughed when she ran back into the house. But then, she married him anyway. Do you think it was because Shaun didn't come that night?"
Maranta was surprised at her brother's question. But then she saw before her the lackluster Marigold—deep hurt revealed in her gold-flecked eyes. Maranta shivered as she remembered other things—Marigold's certainty that she would marry Shaun Banagher, despite their father's disapproval. And Marigold's impatience to cut off the light and go to sleep.
Had she planned to run away with Shaun Banagher that night? Had Crane stopped them? No, Robbie said that Shaun had not come. But had Marigold been expecting him?
"How do you know so much, Robbie? Were you out of bed that night?"
"Raven woke me," he said, "and then I got thirsty. I came to your room, but you. . ."
The words tumbled out, one after the other, while Maranta sat and listened with a sinking heart. Robbie left nothing out. For it had been a heavy burden on his mind, especially about the note he had lost.
". . . The man gave it to me at the gate. Only I dropped it, and when I went back to look for it, Cousin Crane had it in his hands and he was reading it. I tried to tell Marigold, but she wanted me to go on to sleep. 'Ranta, do you think it was my fault that Marigold had to leave Charleston?" Tears hovered on his golden lashes, threatening to spill over at any minute. "Cousin Crane said that everybody was going to be laughing at her."
Maranta comforted her small brother as best she could, putting her arms around him and hugging him. "No, Robbie. It was not your fault. But you should have taken the note straight to Marigold. You know that, don't you?"
He nodded and pressed his face closer to Maranta.
"But perhaps Crane gave her the note himself," Maranta added, although she knew that possibility was slim.
"Yes, maybe he did," Robbie said in a relieved voice, turning from Maranta to take up the blue and white ball that rested on the gazebo floor.
While Robbie kicked it down the path toward the house, Maranta remained seated, trying to decide what to do with the information her brother had imparted to her. What if the note had been from Shaun? Would it make any difference now that Marigold was already married to Crane?
Almost as if she saw Marigold standing before her in silent supplication, Maranta knew what she must do. Find out the truth from Shaun Banagher. But after that, what?
Maranta walked toward the carriage house to give instructions to the groom and then went in search of Feena. Even though her father had left for Taborville immediately after the wedding, Maranta would not risk his wrath by going out unchaperoned.
She found the black woman in the hall outside the nursery, but when confronted by Maranta's request to come with her, Feena shook her head.
"No," the woman stated emphatically. "Shaun Banagher spells trouble where your papa is concerned. Better for you not to get anywhere near the man. And besides, I'm busy." She continued folding the white squares of linen for the baby Raven.
"You will not go with me?"
"Not while your maman is out," Feena answered.
"Then I. . . I will have to go by myself." Maranta turned from the woman and began walking toward the stairs.
"Now, Miss Maranta, lamb," the woman said, putting down the folded squares and following her down the stairs, "you can't go by yourself. You know the trouble you and Miss Marigold got into last time."
Maranta paid no attention to the woman but opened the door and hurried toward the small landau that was waiting in the street in front of the house. She climbed into it with Feena directly behind her, grumbling all the time at the girl's waywardness.
"I always thought Miss Marigold was the headstrong one. Now you're acting just like her."
"I have to do it, Feena—for Marigold. You understand, don't you? Because of the note. . ."
"I understand we're both going to get into a peck of trouble. And what if you're right? Miss Marigold is already married, and nothing's going to change that."
The landau creaked as Feena settled herself beside Maranta, with the hastily snatched parasol opened to protect them from the sun.
Feena's French accent had diminished little over the years, even though her speech had taken on some of the subtleties of the low country. Maranta looked at the light-skinned woman who had traveled from New Orleans with Grandmère and Maman many years before to the Carolina plantation. Even though Feena's words might be true, Maranta could not back down now. She guided the pony toward the station house, while Feena mumbled her discontent.
"He's going to skin us both when he gets back from Taborville. And looking exactly like Miss Eulalie did when she was young isn't going to help you a bit with Monsieur Robert."
Maranta continued to her destination on Line Street. When the landau stopped, Feena got out with Maranta. She walked into the rail station a few paces behind her, and then out again, for Shaun Banagher was not at the station. So Maranta climbed back into the landau, crossed the tracks, and slowed the carriage, her eyes searching for Shaun Banagher's abode. Maranta came to a stop in front of one of the shanty cars.
With Feena beside her, Maranta knocked at the door and waited, but there was no answer from within.
"I don't like this a bit," Feena whispered. "If the man is ill, as the stationmaster said, then you have no business going inside. No telling what he has."
"If you're afraid, you can remain outside," Maranta suggested.
"Oh, no. You're not getting out of my sight," Feena declared. "I'm sticking closer to you than molasses in a finger-poked biscuit."
Maranta knocked again, this time a little louder. "Chad?" a man's voice called out weakly, and at the sound, Maranta pushed open the door.
"It's. . . it's Maranta Tabor, Marigold's si
ster," she said, standing at the threshold. "May I c-come in, Mr. Banagher?"
"Maranta?"
The girl moved into the darkened shanty car, and Feena followed.
It took a moment for Maranta's eyes to become adjusted to the darkness. And then she saw him, lying on a cot in the corner of the small room. A fetid air pervaded the closed space—the stench of the sick room.
The man, staring at the two women who had invaded his quarters, attempted to raise himself. At his sudden movement, a red stain appeared on the linen wrapped around his chest and began to spread rapidly.
"Mon Dieu," Feena said, taking one look at Shaun Banagher. "The man is bleeding."
Feena, with a protective motion, waved Maranta back and headed toward the figure on the cot. With a swiftness that denied her age, the woman was beside the cot and lowering the man's head to the pillow.
"Do not move," she ordered. "You will make the bleeding worse."
Pieces of stained linen were heaped high upon the chair beside the cot. As Feena searched for fresh linen, Maranta spied some beside the window. Not heeding the woman's order to stay back, Maranta moved forward, handing the fresh strips to Feena.
In horror, she stared at the injured man. When had it happened—this accident? Was this why Shaun had not come that night, as he had evidently promised Marigold?
Shaun, oblivious to Feena's ministrations, gazed anxiously up into Maranta's startled face, his green eyes glazed with fever.
"The message—Marigold—she. . . understands?" the man inquired.
Maranta tried to keep her voice from quivering. "The message," she repeated. "We. . . we will talk about it later. When you are stronger."
So now she knew what the note must have contained. Marigold had not been abandoned by Shaun. But Crane Caldwell, taking advantage of the situation, had deliberately convinced Marigold otherwise. And Shaun Banagher, hanging on so desperately to life, was too weak to be told of the deception.
Maranta, belatedly reacting to the sick room and the sight of the bloodstained linen, felt dizzy. The closed room, the shallow breathing of Shaun Banagher, drove her to the front door for fresh air. With her hand over her mouth, Maranta collided with a stocky, brawny figure walking up the steps.
Chad, surprised to see the young woman before him, reached out to steady her. Then as he recognized Marigold Tabor's sister, his eyes became hostile and his body stiffened.
"What are you doing here?" he sneered. "Gloating over what your sister has done to him?"
At his harsh words, Maranta shook her head and reached for the railing. "What happened?" she asked in an anguished voice.
"A spike pierced his chest when he was loading a flatboat at the docks. It was a deep gash, and it's healing very slowly."
"When did it happen?"
"Why should that matter to you?"
Undeterred by his frosty manner, Maranta whispered, "Is he. . . going to die?"
Chad swallowed and a muscle twitched in his jaw. "He might, unless he can be kept still. He keeps trying to get out of bed to go to your sister—and each time, the bleeding starts again."
"Has a doctor been to see him?"
Chad's harsh laugh indicated his contempt at her question. "And who would pay for a doctor?" he asked. "You—Miss Tabor? Or your wealthy parents? Maybe you would, at that—to ease your guilty conscience. Shaun won't spend a blasted penny on himself, even for getting a doctor, because he thinks Marigold Tabor is still waiting for him, and he'll need the money for her. And I can't tell him any different. Shaun would sell his soul to the devil for your sister's sake. But I guess he just couldn't make money fast enough to suit her."
"You don't talk to my Miss Maranta that way," Feena said, suddenly thrusting herself between Chad and Maranta. "Come, ma petite," she said to the girl. "We have done all we can for today."
Feena took the girl's arm and led her to the landau. The servant drove home, handling the reins, while Maranta, pale and silent, rode beside her, unable to get Chad's words out of her mind.
Robert Tabor, with the front door still open from his arrival home, heard the carriage. At first, he thought it was Eulalie, coming home with the condessa, and he stepped outside to assist them. But then he saw that it was the small landau and Feena was driving it, with Maranta beside her. Callie had not told him that she was out, also.
Quickly, Robert bounded down the steps when he saw Feena helping Maranta from the carriage and half-supporting her.
"What is the matter, Feena? What happened?" he asked, taking the woman's place at Maranta's side.
"Miss Maranta saw something that upset her."
Gently, Robert put his arms around his daughter and walked beside her up the stairs, Feena trailing along behind.
Robert frowned. Where had they been? Had Maranta seen a carriage accident? Or had the two, in their drive, stumbled upon a duel? He would find out later—after Maranta felt herself again.
"Callie," Robert Tabor called. "Bring some brandy upstairs to my daughter's room."
Maranta's color returned after she sipped the fiery liquid that her father had ordered.
Feena, fluttering around the room, aroused Robert's suspicions. The old antagonism between the servant and the man who had married Eulalie Boisfeulet had not lessened over the years—the war between them was constant, and Feena was still banished back to Midgard whenever she did something to displease Robert Tabor.
He would like to have gotten rid of her altogether, but it was far too late for that. She had spent her entire life with the Boisfeulets, taking care of Eulalie as a child, and then Jason and the twins, Marigold and Maranta. She was quite old, but her loyalty was as fierce as ever, and it displeased Robert that he had seldom been included in that loyalty.
Robert looked at his young daughter, sitting in the big chair, her long, black hair spilling over her shoulders. So like Eulalie when he first knew her. And Feena, standing like some dark Valkyrie by her side, daring him to reprimand her for—he knew not what.
"You may go, Feena," Robert said to the woman. "I wish to talk with Maranta alone."
Feena's eyes widened, and she looked at Maranta, giving a silent warning to the girl before she obeyed Robert Tabor and left the room.
"Where did you go this afternoon, Maranta?" he asked.
Her hands fluttered against her skirts, and she cleared her throat. "To. . . to. . ."
"You'll have to speak louder than that, Maranta, for me to hear you."
She cleared her throat and started again. "Papa, don't be angry with me. I. . . I had to see him. It was not his fault that night that he didn't come. Marigold had no way of knowing, but Crane knew what had happened. . ."
The puzzled look gradually gave way to a slow angry red that crept over Robert's face to mar his handsome features.
"You are speaking of the man that Marigold had been forbidden to see?"
"F-Feena went with me. I. . . didn't go inside alone."
Robert moved and slapped his hand against his thigh. "What is it about this. . . this Shaun Banagher that causes even an obedient daughter like you to lose every ounce of discretion, to. . . to follow in her wayward sister's footsteps? Does he have you mesmerized too, Maranta?"
"N-No, Papa."
He did not hear her; for he noisily paced back and forth in the room. "I'll teach that young pup a lesson he'll never forget. I'll have him horsewhipped."
Maranta, her face losing its color again, hurried to her father's side. 'P-Papa, I beg of you. Please don't harm him. He. . . he is ill."
"I care not for the man. It's you, Maranta, that I am concerned about." Robert stared down at the tiny pleading figure, and his terrible visage softened.
"What am I going to do with you, Maranta? Do I have to marry you off, too, to keep you away from the fellow?"
Maranta looked up into her father's tawny eyes with her own soft, dark doe eyes and replied, "That will not be necessary, Papa. I. . . I have wanted to tell you for a long time. Now that I am eighteen, I wish to en
ter the Convent of Our Blessed Lady."
The wind suddenly rose and whipped through the open window, and in the distance, a rumble of thunder beyond the battery announced the storm sweeping from sea to land. Maranta, standing in the middle of the room, watched as the stunned look on her father's face gave way to a frightening granite hardness.
Forgetting Shaun Banagher for the moment, he asked, "You could give up your family as easily as that?" His voice rose with the gathering intensity of the wind. A shutter flapped and the drops of rain pelted the bedroom window.
But neither Robert nor his daughter made a move to let down the sash.
"You would be content, shut away with your prayer beads and your 'Hail, Marys'—shut away from everything that you have ever known—your mother, Robbie, and the baby?"
"I. . . I would miss all of you, Papa," she assured him. "You and Jason—and Marigold, too," she added in a small voice. "But I would be happy in a certain way, too—apart from the world."
His eyes narrowed and the years dispersed. Instead of Maranta, it was Eulalie who stood before him as she had years ago in her chaste nun's clothes. And the old feelings spawned themselves inside him. He shook himself to rid his mind of those emotions that he had thought were absolved—guilt, sorrow, jealousy—but his face remained set and hard.
"Then, you shall have your wish, Maranta. . ."
"Oh, thank you, Papa." She placed her hand on his arm, but he carefully removed it.
"I have not finished. You shall have your wish—to be separated from your family. But it will be to no convent that you will go."
Maranta looked up in alarm.
"I thought you were too sensitive to be removed from the bosom of your family," he continued, "but now, I see that I was wrong. It will come as no surprise to you, Maranta, that the Condessa Louisa wants you to return to Brazil with her—as the bride chosen for her son. I hesitated before, but when the woman returns this afternoon, I shall give my consent."
Daughters of the Summer Storm Page 4
