Daughters of the Summer Storm

by Frances Patton Statham

  Maranta was voiceless. The blood drained from her face. "Dom Vasco. . ."

  "Upon second thought, I think I might enjoy playing the role of a proud papa. Floresta has become too possessive of late. And then, too, it will bother Ruis, since he can never openly acknowledge the child as his. . . .

  "Yes, that is what I shall do, Maranta. It will save you from being labeled an adulteress. And I will receive satisfaction, seeing Ruis denied something in his life. And what will be harder for him than to deny his own son?"

  Maranta twisted the paintbrush in her hands. "The child may be a girl," she said in a timid, low voice.

  "Oh no, my dear wife. Ruis would never allow that. It will be a boy, and to the world, I shall be its father—

  "Do not look so glum, little one. We shall get along very well together. From now on, I intend to see to your welfare, as a true husband should."

  Sassia, bringing a glass of cool water for Maranta, frowned as the laughing Dom Vasco rolled his chair back into the guest chambers on the first floor of the fazenda.

  With a trembling hand, Maranta took the glass from Sassia and downed the water in quick, nervous gulps.

  From that time on, Vasco gave her every attention. Each afternoon, with the help of Patû, Vasco presented himself at the upstairs apartment, across the hall from the library belonging to Ruis. And each afternoon became a war of nerves for Maranta. It was difficult to make conversation. But Vasco did not seem to mind. It was as if he were waiting for something to erupt, and his eyes, so like Ruis's and yet so different, were bright with anticipation.

  In the silence between them, the sound of footsteps along the hall alerted the two that someone was coming.

  "It is too soon for Patû," Vasco said. "It must be that Ruis has finally returned from Sorocaba."

  The door to the sitting room opened, and the tall, dark man, walking inside, stopped at the sight of Vasco seated on the pale lilac sofa.

  Vasco looked at the travel-stained Ruis. "You take liberties, brother, walking unannounced into my wife's apartment. I would appreciate it if you would knock from now on."

  Ruis did not respond to Vasco's taunt. He eyed Maranta, as if to assure himself that she was all right, and without a word to either of them, retraced his steps, closing the door behind him and proceeding to his library.

  "The day has wearied me, Maranta," Vasco said. "Please find Patû and tell him that I am ready to go back to my own chambers."

  Glad to escape, Maranta obeyed. Fighting back her tears, she found the Indian and gave him Vasco's message. But Maranta could not go back upstairs. Instead, she fled from the fazenda, opening the gates to the wilderness, not caring where she ran.

  To be the source of contention between the two brothers—like a bone, to be fought over and torn apart—this was what Vasco had been waiting for.

  On and on she ran to escape the taunting voice of Vasco and the disturbing visage of Ruis. Her hair tumbled down into her face; her combs were lost in the matted green underfoot. The river falls roared in her ears, obliterating any other sound, while the alien landscape snatched at her dress and pricked her bare arms with its thorns. Bits of lace, torn from the hem of her lavender skirt, mixed with the blood the thorns had claimed, and left a trail behind her.

  She continued to run, and the sound of the falls diminished. Maranta stumbled as she caught her foot against a root but righted herself, cutting off her fall.

  Sobbing and with a catch in her side, Maranta sank to her knees at the base of an umbrella tree. With little moans, she rocked herself back and forth and reached up for the locket that could comfort her. But the locket was not around her neck. It was gone, lost—the last link left with her own family. She was alone in an alien world that she could not understand.

  Gradually, her sobs subsided. She was so tired. Her eyelids drooped and closed, and under the shelter of the tree, the slight figure in the shredded lavender dress went to sleep. . .

  23

  Guiding Diabo, Ruis plunged into the matted forest. "Maranta," he shouted, and the sound echoed, unanswered, through the sleeping, dangerous vegetation. It had been over two hours since Ruis had seen her run across the courtyard and through the gate—disappearing completely.

  Far to the west, the sun was beginning its descent. Soon, the velvet darkness would envelop the green earth, making it impossible for him to find her. And each moment increased the danger for Maranta.

  A cold anger gripped Ruis's heart. It would be his fault if Maranta and his unborn child did not survive the night.

  What must she feel, this young girl, uprooted from her family and placed into this nightmare? Ruis was sorry that he had been influenced by Mãe's wish. It was not his right to take his brother's wife and make her the mother of his heir. But it was done. He could not change that now.

  "Maranta," he called again, diverting the horse in a new direction and searching the ground for evidence that she might have fled in that direction.

  The bit of lace, which he'd spied on the thorned bush, was in his pocket. For an hour now, there had been no other sign. The matted undergrowth had sprung up under her light step, denying any sign of her passing.

  Back to the thorned bush Ruis rode, using it as a landmark and fanning out in a circle from it. The cry of a wild animal in the distance spooked Diabo, and Ruis, with a calmness he did not feel, coaxed the horse back into obedience.

  Finally the last rays of sunlight caught at an object hanging on the broken limb of the bush before him. Ruis stopped the horse and jumped down to examine it at closer range.

  It was Maranta's locket—the one she always wore around her neck. The clasp was broken. With a worried frown, Ruis added the golden chain to the piece of lace in his pocket. Leading the horse, he walked carefully, looking downward for another bit of evidence in his search for the runaway girl.

  If the jungle decreed it, she would never wear the Cruzamento da Monteiro about her neck, as she had that time in the chapel when he had first recognized Mãe's purpose in bringing her to Brazil. How angry he had been—with Mãe and Maranta, too. But her haste in disposing of the family heirloom, hanging it on the madonna in the chapel, had dispelled any hint of her collusion with the condessa. Maranta was innocent of Mãe's machinations. He should have realized that from the scene aboard the Beaufort—her sweet, innocent face looking up into his with fright. But did not Innocencia have the same look? He had been wrong about her. It was no wonder that he was wary about being taken in for the second time by a woman's outward appearance.

  Diabo suddenly reared and jerked his head, tearing the reins from Ruis's hands. Across his path, the jararaca, the deadliest of all snakes, with its white tail, bellied over the matted undergrowth and then disappeared.

  Diabo did not go far. A whistle from Ruis summoned the frightened beast, and, too well trained to ignore his master's call, Diabo sidled back to the waiting conde. Ruis patted the horse and crooned his approval, and again took to the saddle, thrusting on into the jungled wilderness.

  The voice in the distance aroused Maranta. She lifted her head and listened. Ruis? What was he doing calling her name? How had it suddenly turned so dark?

  And what was she doing, in the middle of nowhere, tired and hungry and heartsore?

  The sounds around her took on a sinister meaning. She shrank against the tree base at the soft wailing sound of a wild animal in the thicket. Almost like a child's cry. Could it be a jaguar?

  To be eaten alive by the predator of the forest. Was this her destiny? She and her unborn child? Maranta brushed her scratched hand across her tear-grimed face and looked toward the thicket.

  What stupidity, to run away because of the hostile atmosphere created by the two brothers. All at once, Maranta's desire for the welfare of her child made her alert. She did not want to die, did not want to harm the baby that grew inside her—Ruis's son—a part of her and the man she loved, even if she had denied loving him.

  Regardless of the pain and shame, Maranta realized s
he wanted to bear Ruis's child, to hold the baby in her arms. Surely the priest could give her some penance that she alone would have to pay, without exacting the child's life for her sin.

  A protective feeling encompassed her, and she clasped her bloodied arms around her stomach, as if she could ward off the danger that threatened the child's life. The sight of the dried blood on her arms made her weak, but she was determined not to give in. Her body, poised to run, waited while her breathing grew more rapid.

  At the crashing sound from the thicket, Maranta fled, too terrified to look back to see what had emerged.

  "Maranta," the voice called again, and with a scream, she answered, plummeting into the undergrowth, with her arm, stretched out to break her fall, twisting under her.

  The twigs crackled beside her, but she could not move. It was too late. She screamed as the animal made contact with her terrified body.

  It was a human hand, not an animal, that touched her, and Maranta's wide, frightened eyes looked up into sapphire eyes that were dark and brooding. The man's fierce look matched the forbidding landscape, but Maranta did not care. Ruis had found her.

  His gentle hands wiped away her tears, and he clasped her to his chest. "I could not bear it if something had happened to you, little Iemanjá."

  With a firm but kindly tone, he scolded her. "You must never run away again, pequena. I might not be so lucky to find you next time. Promise me," he said, "that you will never do this again."

  "I. . . I promise."

  "And I swear to you, for the sake of our child, Maranta, I will no longer cause you heartache. Vasco can claim you and the child as his own, and I will do nothing to antagonize him."

  For the sake of the child—yes, she must remember.

  He lifted her onto the horse and began his journey over the darkened terrain to the fazenda with only the stars to guide them. Feeling Maranta still trembling in his arms, Ruis attempted to take her mind off the dangerous trek homeward.

  "The constellation of the twins, Maranta," he said, looking up into the sky. "Do you see it in front of you?"

  Maranta lifted her head from his chest and gazed upward, thinking of her twin, Marigold, as far away from her as the stars in the heavens.

  At Maranta's continued silence, Ruis volunteered, "Castor and Pollux—the twins. They are the brightest in the constellation. Do you know the legend?"

  "No."

  Undaunted by Maranta's apparent lack of interest, Ruis explained, "Pollux was supposed to be immortal; for he was the son of Jupiter."

  "What about Castor?" Maranta asked, suddenly becoming interested in what Ruis was saying. "Was he not immortal, too?"

  "No, pequena. Castor was different. He was the son of Tyndareus, and therefore, mortal."

  "But you said that they were twins."

  Ruis laughed. "The Greeks were never hampered by ordinary facts of life. They broke natural laws to suit their own whims and fancies."

  Maranta lay in Ruis's arms—conscious of the seed he had planted within her, even though, in the eyes of the world, she was Vasco's wife. The Greeks were not the only ones to shape their world to suit themselves.

  Maranta sighed and relaxed against Ruis's chest, and the man, feeling the tension dispel, forged ahead, his entire body conscious of the fragile young woman whose destiny was irrevocably intertwined with his own.

  The condessa, her face drawn, stood by the gate, with the black shawl covering her shoulders.

  "Do you see anything, Isobel?"

  The companion held the lantern high and peered out into the darkness. "Nothing, Dona Louisa. I'm sorry."

  "Ruis won't come back until he has found her. I know my son."

  "You've stood out here far too long," Dona Isobel said, glancing at the tired woman. "Don't you think it would be more comfortable for you inside? I'll stay and keep watch."

  The condessa shook her head and drew her shawl closer to her. "I'll wait for Patû to return with the dogs from the river."

  The gate remained open, with the two women peering into the blackness surrounding the fazenda. A pale flickering light appeared momentarily in the distance and then was snuffed out.

  "I thought I saw a light," Isobel said, interrupting the silence, "but it's gone now."

  "Where?"

  "Beyond the trees—to the right."

  The condessa strained to see, but her eyesight was not so good as Dona Isobel's. "I can see nothing," she grumbled in disgust. "But you, Isobel. You must keep looking. Tell me if you see it again."

  The woman continued watching, and after a while, the light appeared again. "It is a light," Isobel stated.

  "Then Patû must be coming home." The old condessa's voice quivered, and Dona Isobel reached out to take her hand.

  The torchlight grew stronger and steadier, while the women waited. "There are two horses," Isobel finally cried out in a jubilant voice.

  "Does Ruis have Maranta with him? Can you see?"

  Again, Dona Isobel held up the lantern and gazed toward the movement in the darkness. "I can't tell. It is too dark—but wait. I believe I can make out something."

  The pain in the condessa's neck increased and slowly spread down her arm, but intent upon the figures coming toward the gate, the woman ignored her discomfort.

  "Yes. He has her," Isobel said and lowered the lantern.

  Through the open gate Ruis rode, with Patû holding the torch, directly behind him. And at the sight of her son with Maranta in his arms, the condessa stepped forward. "You found her," she whispered in relief. "Is she all right?"

  "Sim, Mãe. She's all right, I think."

  "Praise the merciful Father!"

  A servant boy came running to hold the torch. Patû, taking Diabo's reins in his hand, led both horses to the stable, while Ruis, with his burden, disappeared up the steps and through the doors of the sala da entrada.

  The old condessa, still by the gate, clutched at her heart and, in a breathless gasp, croaked, "My medicine, Isobel," and staggered toward the woman at her side.

  Ruis's muddy boots tracked across the black and white tiles of the upstairs hallway that shone from its recent cleaning. At the door of the apartment, he handed Maranta over to the waiting Sassia.

  "Get her some water, Sassia," Ruis instructed. "And when you have bathed her and put her to bed, see that she eats some food."

  "Yes, Dom Ruis."

  Maranta, in a tired voice, said, "Thank you, Ruis."

  He nodded and began to walk from her just as Dona Isobel called his name. Ruis hastened toward the woman, and his frown deepened on his rugged, tanned face. "What is the matter, Isobel?"

  "The condessa has had another seizure."

  "Did you give her the medicine?" Ruis asked, walking rapidly, making it difficult for the woman to keep up with him.

  "Yes, Ruis. But I am afraid it is having little effect, as the doctor in São Paulo predicted. I have sent for the priest, but she wants to see you first."

  With giant strides, Ruis walked past the nursery with the iron-grilled door, past his own room, and down the hall to the end room. Cleaning his boots outside the door, Ruis stepped inside and knelt by the condessa's bed. Her dress had been loosened, but no attempt had been made by the servants to undress her. Ruis took her hand in his and held it to his lips. "So you are misbehaving again, Mãe," he scolded in a gentle voice.

  She smiled. "I am a perverse old woman, Ruis—and too wicked to join the saints yet." Her smile turned into a grimace at the sudden pain, and she clung to Ruis's large tanned hand until it passed. In a weak, urgent voice she whispered, "My son, you must not let anything happen to Maranta. Take care of her, and see that she and the child come to no harm. Promise me, my son."

  "I will watch over her carefully, Mãe."

  With his promise, the condessa relaxed, loosening her fingers around his hand. The priest appeared, and Ruis, bending over to kiss Mãe on the forehead, nodded to the padre and left the room.

  The fazenda was astir, with servants runnin
g back and forth to attend to both Maranta and the condessa. And it was well after midnight before Ruis, already weary from his journey from Sorocaba, had a chance to discard his travel-stained clothes and soak his frame free of grime and dust.

  After assuring himself that the condessa was as comfortable as possible, he removed his things from his quarters in the bedroom wing and spent the night on the leather couch in the library, directly across from Maranta's apartment.

  Two vows he had made that day—not to antagonize his brother concerning Maranta's welfare, yet promising Mãe that he would watch over her to make sure no harm came to her or the child.

  He would have to be extremely careful and on guard. For the fazenda contained potential enemies. There was no telling what someone might do for spite or in a fit of temper—Floresta, or Innocencia—or even his brother, Vasco.

  24

  Riding into Charleston with the repaired carriage and the horses, Jake was careful when he stopped to ask for directions to the house on the battery. He did not trust Crane Caldwell, and he would be glad to hand over the man's property to Miss Marigold. His money was almost gone, and he needed to find work and a place to stay. His papers declaring him to be a free man had been scrutinized more than once on the way.

  It had taken longer than he had thought to get the wheel repaired. Two days had passed since he had left Miss Marigold at the train station.

  When Jake arrived in front of the imposing townhouse, it was already late afternoon. As he stopped on the street—not certain whether to take the vehicle into the drive and to the carriage house—he saw a tall, auburn-haired man walk down the front steps. Certain that it was Marigold's brother, Jake smiled and said, "I be Jake, bringin' Miss Marigold's horses and carriage to 'er. Might she be at home?"

  "You have made a mistake, Jake," the man said. "Miss Marigold is not staying here, but there is a note for you inside. Wait, and I will get it."

  Puzzled, the old man waited outside. He gazed down the street at the lawman coming. And he was suddenly nervous.