The next day, Marigold was still mindful of these things when Crane invited her to accompany him to the mine to see the progress that had been made. He had never wanted her to go near the mine in the past, and she had no desire to go because of her fear of dark places. But at Crane's insistence, she found herself reluctantly walking along the pathway and over the wooden bridge, with Feena directly behind her.
She lingered on the bridge and gazed down at the water, crystal clear. In the water, next to a rock, she saw several large crawdads, their tails curled under as they backed away from some danger. She smiled at the familiar sight. The cook at Midgard always made sure that the spring contained at least two of the creatures to keep the water pure.
They came to the entrance of the mine, and Marigold hesitated. "What's the matter, Marigold?" Crane asked. "You're not afraid, are you?"
"Of course not." The girl turned to Feena. "You're coming too, aren't you?"
"Oui, ma petite. I am right behind you."
Marigold felt comforted at the servant's words—knowing that she would not be alone with Crane inside the mine.
Her husband took a lantern hanging by the side, and lighting it, he held it for the two women to step inside the mouth of the dark mine. The entrance was fortified by crossbeams and dirt, and as Marigold went into the darkness, the light of the lantern caught the glint of the gold locket around her neck. The shadows of the three people were cast against the far wall, giving an eerie distortion of elongated figures.
Marigold shivered at the sudden coldness, and her counterpart upon the wall moved at the same time. "It feels like the cellar where the hams are kept," she said, trying to keep her voice steady.
"It's even colder than that," Crane revealed. "Forty-nine degrees. Quite a change, isn't it, from the ninety degrees outside?"
A drop of water from overhead fell on Marigold and she jumped. "I don't like it in here, Crane," she managed to say. "Please don't make me go any farther."
Crane's laughter echoed down the tunnel. "You're not interested in seeing the rails?"
"No."
Just then, a noise came from in front of them, a rolling sound on the tracks. And soon, the shiny new car filled with gold ore appeared, with two men beside it. One was Shaun, but Marigold did not recognize the other.
The auburn-haired man was surprised to see Marigold standing inside the mine with Crane and Feena. He looked at Crane with a quizzical expression.
"I thought my wife might be interested in seeing your rails, Shaun, but evidently not. Marigold appears to be more anxious to return to the sunlight."
"A wise decision," Shaun affirmed. "The tunnels and shafts are too dangerous for her to be exploring, especially in her condition."
"You're right, of course," Crane admitted and walked out of the mine with his wife. Once outside in the sunlight, Marigold vowed that she would never go inside again, no matter what Crane said.
28
"I think, Marigold, it is time for you to consult a doctor," Crane said as she bade him good-night. It was late and Marigold was tired.
"Dr. Kellie is aware. . ."
"I do not mean Dr. Kellie," he cut in. "He will not be attending you."
"But I like Dr. Kellie," Marigold protested.
"Nevertheless, I do not plan on calling him again."
"But why, Crane?"
"He let my mother die."
"Cousin Julie had consumption," Marigold argued. "There was nothing he could do but try to make her more comfortable at the end. It was not his fault that there is no cure for the disease."
"Nevertheless, I plan for you to see someone else. I shall tell Sesame to have the carriage at the door by ten tomorrow morning. Please be ready, Marigold."
He walked on up the stairs, leaving her standing in the parlor. Why all this sudden concern for her? Crane did not seem to be that concerned at the mine earlier that day when he forced her to go inside.
Marigold took the lamp in her hands. The door upstairs closed, and at its sound, she walked to the kitchen where Feena was waiting for her. Together they climbed the stairs to Marigold's bedroom opposite the hall from Crane's closed door.
"I don't know what I'm going to do," Marigold confided to Feena, as the woman helped her with her dress.
"You are speaking about Monsieur Crane?"
"Yes. He deceived me, Feena. He took the note from Robbie that Shaun had written to me and then pretended Shaun had jilted me."
"I know, ma petite. You still love your Irishman. It is written on your face."
"Is it that obvious, Feena? To everybody?"
"Only to me, I hope—for your sake. Monsieur Crane is a jealous man. You belong to him, as well as the child you are carrying. And Monsieur Shaun has no claim on you."
The tears came to Marigold's eyes. "Oh, Feena, I have made such a botch of it. Shaun will be leaving here soon to go back to Charleston and to. . . to Docia Henley."
"And when he does, you will tell him good-bye like a lady."
"I don't want to be a lady. I want to go back with him. I'll die if I have to stay here with Crane for the rest of my life."
Feena's look was compassionate. "Monsieur Crane is not the only man who has acquired a wife by deception. And the child may still salvage your marriage to him, chérie."
"Nothing can salvage this marriage, Feena. Not even the baby." She could not bring herself to tell Feena about the episode in the slave cabin.
"Did you know that is what your maman thought when she tried to run away from your papa?"
Marigold's tawny eyes widened in disbelief. "Maman ran away from Papa? When was that, Feena?"
"I shouldn't be telling you, but so many years have passed. . . It was after you and Maranta were born—soon after the hurricane on the island. I was against it. But your maman was headstrong and unhappy, just as you are now. We got as far as Midgard—for your maman needed the gold that Madame Julie had given her—before your papa caught up with us."
"But why was she running away? Maman loves Papa more than anything in the world. And he adores her."
"Oui. But those were stormy times. Monsieur Robert was a jealous man back then. He thought Madame Eulalie was in love with someone else. And that made it hard on her. I am only telling you this, ma petite, because Monsieur Crane is a jealous man, and he knows you don't love him. But even if you feel you have made a terrible mistake, you must give this marriage time to work, because of the baby."
Marigold went over Feena's confidence time and again. Was she just being childish, wanting what she couldn't have? Was this what growing up meant—to give up girlish dreams and first loves and settle down to making the best of things? She was still confused when sleep came.
Marigold was ready at ten o'clock the next morning. And Feena with her.
The old woman had trouble going to sleep the evening before. She hoped that she had not made a mistake in advising Marigold to try to make the best of things. Monsieur Crane was not her choice as a husband for the girl, but he was her husband. Still, Feena hated to see her beautiful charge so unhappy over the marriage.
Shaun Banagher should not be at Cedar Hill. As long as he stayed Marigold would be nervous and upset. It would be much better for everyone, Feena decided, when Monsieur Shaun finished with the rails and went back to Charleston. Then perhaps her petite could settle down and think more of the baby.
Down over the long hill, past the row of cedars, Sesame took the carriage with his three passengers inside—Crane, Marigold and Feena. The horses splashed through the water of the small creek and pulled onto the road again. They headed toward the river, and Marigold realized that Crane had decided to take her to one of the doctors far away, rather than use the man who was close at hand. She would not have to go over the river to get to Dr. Kellie.
On either side of the road, the two women could see the subtle change of seasons—the hardwood trees with their red and yellow crown of leaves proclaiming the fall of the year, against the faithful greenery of the lob
lolly pines deeper in the woods.
The mist from the river was still rising, partially obscuring the ferry tied to the bank on the other side, and even blotting from view the nearby wooden planks with their metal rings waiting for the wooden raft to be attached as soon as it arrived.
Sesame stopped the carriage, and with the reins in his hand, he stepped to the sentinel post with the bell at the top to alert the ferryman on the other side as to his desire to cross the river. The sound clanged through the mist, and Marigold strained her eyes for some sign of movement across the stretch of water.
Marigold's attention switched to her husband, and she watched him go through the pockets of his dark coat, his embroidered vest, and then search the floor and the seat of the carriage. Evidently not finding what he was looking for, the man enlisted Sesame's aid.
"I have lost an important paper, Sesame," he said. "Will you please go back along the road and search for it, while I stay with the horses?"
Sesame obeyed, and with Marigold and Feena still in the carriage, Crane stood by the horses. The man seemed nervous, and Feena, watching him closely, caught a slight glitter in the sunlight as the man quickly reached toward one of the horses and then just as quickly jerked back.
In an instant the horse bolted, and Feena, seeing the carriage headed straight for the water, jumped from the vehicle, grabbing at the reins dragging on the ground between the two horses. Marigold screamed when she saw Feena knocked down and entangled in the reins. It all happened so quickly—the horses on their berserk run toward the river, Feena's entanglement, Sesame approaching, and finally regaining control over the frightened animals as they slowed down.
Feena was hurt badly, Marigold could tell as Sesame backed the horses away. She ran to the woman who still lay on the ground. Crying, she knelt over the old woman and tried to understand Feena's incoherent words. But it was impossible. The woman's last strength had been expended. Feena's dark eyes stared straight up at the sky, and her body suddenly convulsed and then was still.
Screaming and hysterical, Marigold was finally pulled away from the woman by her husband. "No," she cried, fighting him.
"It is too late, Marigold," he said. "You can do nothing for her."
"Feena," she screamed again, and the name rose over the mist and came back to Marigold in an echo from the silent river. Her old nurse—the one she loved—her true friend. She had died trying to save Marigold from a watery grave. She had never thought of Feena's dying. To her the old woman was invincible. But there she was, lying at the river's edge with the sound of her name echoing down the river. The woman was mortal, after all.
Marigold could not be consoled. It was her fault that Feena was dead. If the servant had not come to Cedar Hill with her, she would still be alive.
What had made the horses act up so suddenly? And what had Feena tried to whisper to her as she knelt beside her? Marigold would never know, for the old woman's voice had been silenced.
In the quietness of the afternoon, Marigold sat on the porch. The black shawl draped around her shoulders was a symbol of her grief, and her dull, topaz eyes stared unseeing at the trees that were now bereft of leaves.
There was a coldness in the air—a whisper of winter to come. And the clump of gray granite rocks in the side yard held the only warmth from the late afternoon sun.
The flowers in the garden were gone. Marigold had used the last of them to place on Feena's grave the week before. Only the fall-blooming camellias on the sheltered side of the house were in bud.
Taking up her flower basket and shears, Marigold walked down the steps. As she cut the pale pink buds, she heard the rumbling of the wagons. The cooking wagon, with its water barrels lashed to the sides, lumbered by and on down the hill, followed by other wagons with the tents inside. The hill near the mine was bare of tents and men. The rail system was completed at last. And now Crane could step up production of the gold ore.
Down the meadow, beyond the old apple tree, Marigold walked with her basket of flowers in her hand and her shawl around her head. Down to the quiet peaceful spot that she had chosen for Feena's grave. Marigold knelt and placed the flowers on the mounded turf where the granite rock jutted from the earth. There was no fine monument; no iron-spiked fence—merely a common rock that Sesame had placed there with the name crudely chiseled, and cornerstones of smaller, white-washed rocks, worn smooth from the constant motion of the water in the creek bed.
"I have come to tell you good-bye," the voice said above her.
He helped her from her kneeling position and continued. "I will be leaving around noon tomorrow."
Marigold nodded, and with her sad eyes, she drank in the man's emerald green eyes, his dark auburn hair, the cleft in his chin, and the strong, craggy face that she loved and would never see again—
"I shall. . . miss you, Shaun."
He reached out for her hand, and in spite of her protest, kept it in his strong, warm one.
"Your hand is cold, Souci," he commented.
The bittersweet smile came to her trembling lips. "To match my heart," she said.
Shaun's face grew stern. "Leave him, Marigold. Crane Caldwell isn't worth it. Go home to your parents. They won't blame you."
She shook her head. "They have enough troubles of their own, Shaun. I cannot add to them."
He leaned over and kissed her gently on her forehead. And then he put into place the black shawl that had slipped from her golden curls. "If you ever need me, I'll come. You know that, Marigold."
She nodded and blinked back the tears. She wanted to cry out her need for him at that very moment, but her pride kept her from it. She watched him walk away and then turned to get her basket from the grass.
Crane, standing at the window on the upstairs landing of the plantation house, gazed toward the meadow, past the bare-limbed trees, and watched the two.
Shaun had waited until his men were gone, so there would be no witnesses, Crane decided. He clutched at the windowsill, his knuckles white from his intense grasp. He had only twenty-four hours to rid himself of his faithless wife and her lover. A pity that Feena had to interfere and keep the carriage from plunging into the river. Now, he would have to get rid of them both at the same time—Marigold and Shaun—a much harder deed to accomplish.
That night, a wary Crane locked his bedroom door and loaded his pistol to place under his pillow. He was prepared if Shaun should come for him in the night.
29
The old condessa sat in bed and sipped her hot yerba mate. Her eyes lit up at the sight of Maranta, who had come to read to her.
As soon as the woman had recovered sufficiently from her heart seizure on that day Ruis had brought Maranta back from the wilderness to the fazenda, she had made daily visits to Dona Louisa's apartment.
With unconcealed anticipation, Dona Louisa turned to Maranta. "I have a desire to hear Molière today, my daughter. It has been a long time since someone has read to me in French."
"You have the book, Mãe?" Maranta wondered which of the books that she had never been allowed to read, that the condessa wished to hear.
"Not in the apartment. You will have to borrow it from Ruis. He will not mind."
"But if he is busy. . ."
"You won't disturb him. Go now and ask for it. And you might select a few others while you are there. Take your time."
"Which book shall I ask for, Mãe?"
Petulantly, the old woman brushed aside her question. "Get Ruis to choose." And in Portuguese, she said, "Go with her, Jésus," to the little boy seated near the window, playing with the colored yarn from the condessa's embroidery basket.
Immediately he arose, and Maranta, hesitant to face the conde, yet wishing to obey Dona Louisa, walked out of the room with the child.
The heavy wooden door to the library was closed. Before she knocked, Maranta reached up to smooth the flyaway wisps at the nape of her neck and inspected the long, flowing blue silk garment that clung to her body in loose folds. It had been a matter of
necessity, because of her pregnancy, to put away her own dresses with their tiny waists. But she suspected that the beautifully embroidered wardrobe that appeared one day in her apartment had been made for another, and merely altered to fit her own diminutive figure.
There was no reply at the first tap. Nervously, Maranta knocked again, this time a little louder.
"Come in," the deep voice commanded. And so Maranta turned the handle and walked inside.
Ruis sat at his desk, and his hair was ruffled—as if he had run his fingers through it time and again.
"Pequena," he said in surprise. He stood up and walked toward her. "Is something the matter?"
"No, Ruis. It is just that Mãe wishes to borrow some books from your library. If that is all right," she added hastily.
His eyes boldly drank in her appearance, with her rounded stomach, her swelling breasts now more noticeable than before.
"How is Mãe feeling?" he asked, still staring boldly at Maranta.
"She is better today," Maranta answered, her body and mind more aware of Ruis's encompassing gaze than her reply.
"She has a. . . preference?"
"What?"
"Mãe—does she wish a certain book, querida?"
Maranta flushed at his endearment. "Molière. She wishes Molière—and several others, if you do not mind."
Daughters of the Summer Storm Page 23
