"Here is your letter, Jake," Shaun said and made to walk on down the street. Jake, turning the paper over in his hands, hesitated. Then he began to follow the man.
"Suh, I never learned to read," he apologized. "I would be much obliged if you would open it and tell me what Miss Marigold says to do." He glanced at the man waiting at the corner, and then turned his attention to the auburn-haired man.
Shaun broke the seal and began to read aloud.
"Dear Jake,
"Get rid of the carriage and horses as fast as you can. Take them to Little Jim's Livery Stables and tell him I will get them later. The money I owe you is with Mr. Pettigrew at the bank.
Thank you, Jake. I owe you more than money for the help you gave me. Be careful of Crane.
Sincerely,
Marigold Tabor Caldwell"
"Thank you, suh," Jake said after Shaun had finished. "If you could just tell me where this place is—Little Jim's—I'll be takin' the carriage out of your way."
Shaun gave the man directions and then remained standing on the sidewalk, watching him turn the carriage and start down the street. The note bothered Shaun. Jake had understood Marigold's warning and was clearly frightened. But why? Seeing the carriage stopped a short distance down the street by the sheriff, Shaun hurried toward it. There was something wrong. The man was in trouble—and it had to do with Crane Caldwell.
"Is anything the matter, Sheriff?" Shaun asked, coming up behind him.
"Mr. Banagher." The sheriff tipped his hat and explained, "I have a warrant to arrest a horse thief and I believe I have the man."
Shaun laughed. "You mean my man here?"
"He is yours?" the sheriff asked in surprise.
"Of course. I'm afraid you have the wrong one." Shaun turned to Jake and, careful not to use the man's name, said, "Take the carriage where I told you, and then return to the house. I have something else for you to do before evening."
"Yes, suh. That is, if. . ." He glanced at the sheriff.
"You're not going to arrest my driver, are you, Sheriff?" Shaun asked in an amused tone.
"I guess not, Mr. Banagher. The man I'm looking for was supposed to be comin' from the up country. But the horses sure do answer to the description."
"A lot of bays look alike. You'd better get a description of the man, as well," Shaun advised.
He stood, chatting with the sheriff, until Jake was safely out of sight.
The pathway on Tabor Island forked, and Marigold stopped, wondering which direction to take. And then the decision was no longer left to her and Crane. For coming down the path was a man whose long stride was suddenly familiar, but without the limp. Jason. It was Jason. For a moment she had thought it was her father. Recognizing her brother, Marigold began to run.
"Jason," she cried, and he laughed and caught her up in his arms. And Crane, standing back, looked on disapprovingly at Marigold's unladylike behavior.
"So you were the one ringing the bell," he said, smiling at his younger sister, and then holding her away from him as he extended his hand to Crane. "Hello, Crane. It's good to see you again."
"You also, Jason. But I'm surprised to see you. I thought you were still abroad."
"I'm leaving in a few days to return to England. The Grand Tour is over, and now I must settle down to studying law at the Court of Assizes."
"Oh, Jason. You can't go just when I've arrived. It's not fair," Marigold protested.
"You should have come sooner, Souci. But we'll have lots of time together the next few days. You've never been here before, have you?"
"No, and I'm surprised that Maman and Papa decided to come back. I thought it was off limits to everybody."
"I'm sure the white-foot oysters and the shrimp wish it were. We've had a feast each night. That's about the only thing I remember from that one summer spent here when Neijee and I were little—the oyster roasts on the beach and collecting the shells."
"Where is Neijee?" she asked, remembering the slave who had grown up as friend and valet to Jason.
"He's at Midgard, working with the horses."
"For the races?" Marigold inquired.
"No. The tournament comes before that. I'll miss the race season this year."
As she followed Jason to the cottage, he conversed with Crane about the gold mine, and Marigold was content to keep quiet.
"I'm thinking of putting in a rail track with cars to carry the gold ore," Crane explained. "There is one owner in North Carolina who has done this, and it seems to be working well. It will certainly beat lowering the workhorse down the shaft each day and then hoisting him out."
"Who will you get to lay the track?" Jason asked.
"There are several companies—one here in Charleston that I will talk with. That's the main reason Marigold and I came. And naturally she wished to visit her parents before we returned to Cedar Hill."
Marigold kicked at the small piece of driftwood in her path and watched it sail through the air.
Jason laughed and returned his attention to his sister. "I can't get over your being married to Crane. It seems only a month ago that you were racing me down Biffers Road at Midgard, with your hair flying behind you. Has she become more of a lady, Crane, now that she is a married woman?"
"I think she is slowly learning to control her impetuous behavior," Crane replied. "Are you not, Souci?"
She hated it when Crane called her that. It was only for her family, not Crane. "My name is Marigold," she said haughtily to her husband, "Please don't call me 'Souci.'"
"Ah, you are becoming a lady," Jason said, "if you object to being called by your pet name. But I see it is not a complete metamorphosis. Your tongue still runs away with you."
Marigold, in exasperation at Jason's teasing, pummeled his chest, but her tall, handsome brother, just put his arm around her and hugged her as they continued down the pathway.
Eulalie and Robert Tabor were surprised to see their daughter and Crane. But they were also delighted. They quickly shifted bedroom arrangements, moving Robbie into the nursery with the baby Raven.
"Why can't Crane stay in the nursery?" Robbie asked his mother as he reluctantly moved his clothes from his own room. "Then, Marigold could stay with me."
"Married people stay together, Robbie," Eulalie explained to her son, brown from his hours spent on the beach. "It's much more gentlemanly to give up your room for a few days, than have Marigold and Crane separated."
"I don't want Crane in my room," he pouted. "He might take some of my shells."
"Robbie, don't be stubborn. It's only for a little while, darling. And I'm sure that both Marigold and Crane will be very careful and not harm your shells."
There was little Marigold could do about sharing a bedroom with Crane. She had promised, because of Jake, not to mention her husband's mistreatment and her subsequent flight. But it was hard to be civil to him in the presence of her family.
Marigold took delight in being with her family again. Raven had grown so much that she would not have recognized him. Everything would be perfect, she thought, if Maranta were there on the island, in the same bedroom with her, rather than Crane.
Despite Crane's friendly overtures, Robbie would have nothing to do with the man. He stared disapprovingly at him at dinner and answered Crane's questions in monosyllables.
Everyone at the table—except Crane—put it down to Robbie's annoyance at being moved into the nursery.
The wooden cottage was rustic but comfortable. Built on the opposite end of the island from where the old tabby house of oyster shell and lime once stood, it was a short distance from the lighthouse, which Marigold was curious to explore.
Early in the morning, Marigold set out, persuading Feena to accompany her. They walked along the sandy beach, and Marigold picked up a shell washed on the beach by the previous tide and held it to her ear.
"Years ago, when we were on the island," Feena recalled, "Monsieur Jason used to come to this very spot and hunt for shells. Now, it is Robbie."
"Yes. Robbie seems to be quite concerned about his collection," Marigold answered. "Afraid that something will happen to them—But tell me, Feena, what was it like on the island back then? Why have Maman and Papa ignored the island for so many years—and then suddenly decided to build the cottage?"
"Maybe they were waiting for the ghosts to disappear. The island was beautiful but treacherous—with alligators and marsh tackeys and wild boars. . ."
"What ghosts, Feena?" Marigold interrupted.
Feena hesitated. "Madame Eulalie has never told you about Jason's governess, Florilla. But I see no harm in telling you now. That woman was a wicked one. She dressed up as a ghost, frightening your poor maman. And on the same morning the British landed on the island, she locked Madame Eulalie in the spring room and left her there to die. And she would have, too, except for Monsieur Robert getting back to the island to rescue her."
"But where were all the others?" Marigold asked.
"This was war time, you remember, ma petite. The British had taken everyone off the island and then set fire to the house."
"Why was Papa not on the island, too?"
"Monsieur Robert had come to get me at Midgard to be with your maman, since the time was drawing near for you to be born."
More questions formed in Marigold's mind, and eagerly she asked, "Was this. . . Florilla ever caught and punished for doing this to Maman?"
"Oui. She was bitten by a moccasin and died in Emma's Bog," Feena admitted. When Marigold began another question, the old woman shrugged her shoulders and said, "That is enough from the past. I am tired of talking about it."
They were in front of the old lighthouse, and Marigold, realizing she would get no more information from Feena, opened the heavy door and stared inside at the steep, narrow stairway that wound several flights until it disappeared above. A feeling of excitement lured Marigold, and she hurried up the steps—eager to see this aerie where she and Maranta had been born.
She had no need to rely on Feena for information, for Marigold knew this part of the story well—how they had barely gotten across the island from the old tabby house to seek refuge from the hurricane; how, at their birth, their father had breathed life into Maranta when she had refused to cry. All this, Marigold knew.
She gazed at the room with cobwebs hanging from the ceiling and looked out onto the sun-drenched sea with its miles of blue water fading into the sky. She turned to look at every angle, in every direction, drinking in the scenery—the sandy beach, the palmettos, and the palms.
Then she saw her brother, Robbie, stooping down to pick up a shell. "He's out early," Marigold said to Feena who stood beside her. "Adding to his collection. I don't know where he'll put any more."
"Jason and Neijee used to stack them in piles near the porch of the tabby house," Feena offered.
The two stood at the window, watching the little boy. And then Marigold noticed Crane coming down the beach. Robbie spied the man and hurried on, going in the opposite direction. Marigold watched as Crane caught up with her little brother. The man grabbed Robbie's arm and, in doing so, loosened the child's grasp on his shell. The shell fell to the ground, and Marigold's hands tightened on the railing at the window when she saw her husband kick the fallen shell into the water.
Robbie cried out, and a furious Marigold ran down the steps, out of the lighthouse. Feena, standing at the window far above, heard Marigold's irate voice as she approached the two. "Take your hands off my brother," she warned.
From the vehemence in Marigold's voice, Feena knew that her suspicions were confirmed. Marigold had no love for her husband. And by his action, it seemed that he did not deserve any.
Marigold, taking off her slippers, waded into the water and retrieved Robbie's shell. She brought it to him and, putting her arm around him, led him to the cottage, while Crane stood on the beach, watching them.
"I do not know what you were trying to prove," Marigold said later to Crane in their bedroom, "treating Robbie that way."
Crane, his face dark and sullen, snapped, "The child is insolent. He needs to be taught a lesson. Haven't you noticed how he gets up and leaves whenever I come around?"
"I think it must be because of his shells, Crane," she answered defensively. "And his dignity has suffered, being treated like a baby and moved into the nursery."
"Is that what he has told you?" Crane looked at Marigold warily as he waited for her answer.
"He has told me nothing, Crane. I only assume that's the reason. Why? Could he have another reason for disliking you?"
"Not that I know of. And I hope he won't start making up a pack of lies to gain your sympathy."
"Robbie very seldom lies. Sometimes, he does not volunteer the truth, especially if he is afraid of the consequences. Does he have reason to be afraid of you, Crane?"
Marigold remembered the fear on Robbie's face, with Crane hovering over him. Crane denied it; yet he must have done something to Robbie, to make the child so frightened.
25
Marigold rolled up the pallet from the floor where she had slept and placed it in the large chest. She didn't want the servants to know that she did not share the bed with her husband, so it was better to remove the evidence before they came in to clean the room.
She and Crane went to the dining room together for breakfast. In conversation at the table, Marigold asked Jason about his horses and the jousting tournament.
They were used to the event and did not think it strange that the young men who lived half their lives on horseback should choose a chivalrous event from the past to display their skills. The tournament had been a part of their lives for years—to gather in the green meadow a mile from the Henley plantation, with hundreds of others from neighboring plantations, and watch the tents, the crossbars, and knights, pages, and squires appear, transforming the quiet meadow into an Arthurian fantasy. And each year, the fairest belles of the city watched and secretly hoped to be crowned Queen of Love and Beauty at the ball that always followed. All except Marigold. She had always wanted to be a page or squire for her father when he had engaged in the lists with his horse as finely adorned as he. But Robert Tabor had chosen his son, Jason. And Marigold had to be content with second best—to be chosen queen of the ball.
Now Jason was to take her father's place to represent Midgard, with Robbie as his page. Mr. Henley and her father had always paired as a team, because of their size. But Mr. Henley had no sons to ride in his place this year—only six daughters, including the wispy-haired Docia Henley, who had been with Shaun that night at the theater. Marigold swallowed hard, trying to get rid of the lump that had lodged in her throat at the memory of that night at the Queen Street theater.
"You are coming, aren't you, Souci?" Jason asked his sister.
Her mind had been wandering, and she was not sure what Jason was asking.
"Where, Jason?"
"To Jackson Meadow—to watch the tournament. The officials will expect you to sit on the stand and watch the review."
"Marigold and Crane are in mourning, Jason," Eulalie reminded her son. "She may not wish to come. I am sure everyone would understand."
"Oh, but I want to, Maman—very much."
In less than an hour, Crane and Marigold, walking along the beach, were engaged in an argument. "Why would the officials expect you to be there, Marigold?"
"Because I was queen of the ball last year," she snapped. "The queen and her maids of honor always sit in the review stand."
Crane's lips pursed. "I do not like the idea of your being on public display—for all to see."
"For heaven's sake, Crane, the horses are the ones on display. And since this is the first time that Jason has represented Midgard, I'm eager to see him."
"I can't understand how you can so suddenly stop grieving for Mother, now that you are with your family."
"Burying myself in sackcloth and ashes, or staying here on the island won't bring Cousin Julie back. I loved her, too, Crane. But life doesn't stop just
because a loved one dies."
"But you have made no pretence of mourning, Marigold, regardless of your fine words and your hoity-toity French clothes. Your determination to engage in this barbaric ritual indicates that you care nothing for my feelings."
Marigold's eyes flashed dangerously. "Did Cousin Julie ask me to stop living when she died? No, Crane. And I'll mourn her in my own way. Besides, if you don't want to go, Maman will remain here with you."
"And where will you stay in town, Marigold?"
"Papa and Jason have reserved two rooms at the hotel. I can share a room with Robbie."
At the mention of Robbie's name, Crane frowned. "On second thought, I will go into the city with you. It won't look right for you to be surrounded by men. If you're bound and determined to go, it looks as if I have no choice but to accompany you."
"Then Maman might as well come, too," Marigold said.
Crane's acquiescence took away some of the pleasure of the trip to the mainland. But at least it had brought Maman with them, with only Raven staying on the island with his nurse.
As soon as they reached the city, they checked into the Planter's Hotel. Marigold and Crane went to the same small suite that Crane, unknown to Marigold, had kept. Jason, who was anxious to put his horse through the paces, immediately left for the meadow, with Robbie and their father, Robert Tabor.
It was inconvenient, not having the townhouse anymore. Her father had said nothing about selling it, but Marigold knew he must be hurting financially with cotton down to a mere nine cents a pound. It had plunged every year that the high tariff had been in effect—all the way from thirty cents—and now so low that it was hardly worth the effort to grow it.
There was an air of excitement in town that evening. The hotel was crowded, and the townhouses along the narrow streets were bulging with guests.
The next day, Marigold dressed carefully in one of her new white dresses that Madame Reynaud had made for her. And taking up the matching parasol, she climbed into the family carriage and began the journey to the meadow. Jason had gone on ahead to see to his horse.
Daughters of the Summer Storm Page 20
