Southern Rain (Torn Asunder Series Book 1)

by Tara Cowan

  She swallowed, trying to moisten her mouth, but her eyes caught on him again. He was smiling faintly, rare for him, except when he was looking at someone he loved. She found a smile tugging at her own lips. “What pleases you?” she asked.

  He looked up, the smile remaining in his eyes and growing more tender as they rested on her, and then read, “And I pray that you, being rooted and established in love, may have power, together with all the Lord’s holy people, to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ, and to know this love that surpasses knowledge—that you may be filled to the measure of all the fullness of God.”

  “Oh,” she said softly. “How lovely.”

  He looked up at her. “Yes.”

  “Will you read to me?” she asked.

  His eyes were loving. “Of course,” he answered softly, and did just that until she drifted to sleep.

  Massachusetts, May 1860

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  A week after Shannon’s fever broke, her husband began to feel much better about her condition, and might have let her rise from her bed had a coughing fit not awakened them both the night before and left her exhausted.

  He was looking grim and contemplating sending for the doctor, not at all willing to hear Shannon’s point of view, when a manservant knocked on the door and said, upon John Thomas opening it, “Letters, sir. There’s three from South Carolina, as Mrs. Haley will be happy to know. Would you like breakfast brought to you, sir?”

  “Only for Mrs. Haley. Thank you, Timms.” He turned, humor in his eyes, looking through the letters. “They’re all addressed to me. They must think you are too weak to read.”

  “Well, I’m not,” she said, still defensive from their earlier conversation.

  His eyes twinkled. “You frighten me when you look like that.”

  “Allow me to sit in the chair by the window—you may even carry me there, if you choose—and I shall do you no harm.”

  He gave her a stoic, unmovable look. “Shannon, there was blood in my handkerchief when I pulled it away from your mouth.”

  “It is perfectly normal for one who has coughed as much as I,” she said. “Ask your mother.”

  “My mother is not a doctor.”

  “Yes, she is! How else do you imagine she managed to keep eight children alive in such a climate?”

  He laughed, acknowledging this with a nod, and sat to open her mother’s letter. He looked up a few moments later, hesitancy on his face. “What?” she asked, her expression changing to one of worry and fear.

  “No, no. Your mother is thinking of making the journey, that is all.”

  Her face underwent a transformation. “Oh, no, John Thomas, she will drive me to distraction!” Tears sprang to her eyes. “No, no, no, I love her, but she must not come here!”

  He stood, brows drawn together. It was unlike Shannon to cry over such a matter. He realized she was weary of being an invalid and a little low, and indeed, her mother would agitate her out of all reason, but still... He sat next to her and said softly, “There, I won’t let her come. I’ll tell her you are better, and there would really be no need.”

  “She would bring Mammy, and they would–”

  “They won’t.” He kissed her temple and felt her relax against him. She clung to him, and he tightened his arms around her. He gently reached to slip his arms beneath her, lifting her and holding her against him. Carrying her to the chair by the window, he wrapped her up in a thick blanket and looked up to find her watching him. He flushed slightly and sat down nearby. “Thank you,” she whispered.

  “You’re welcome.”

  “I’m sorry I was a shrew.”

  “You’re not a shrew,” he said.

  She smiled, studying him for a moment before looking out over the pasture where the sheep grazed, the growing lambs playing.

  They had not been sitting thus very long when the door was thrown back loudly and Miriam crossed the threshold, a bonnet on her fair tresses. John Thomas’s brows drew together, but her eyes were shining. “Oh! I am sorry! But what do you think? Patience has come and brought all of the Whitcomb fruit which was purchased in Boston, and she has such news! She and Jonathan are expecting a baby in January!”

  There was the briefest silence.

  Then John Thomas smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Happy news indeed. Is she still here?”

  “No, she left ages ago, and didn’t come up because we told her Shannon might be asleep. Only, it is ten o’clock now, and, oh, here is your tray, Shannon,” she said, turning to take it from the servant.

  Shannon smiled, taking it from her. “Thank you. Yes, such happy news!”

  “Mother and Father are as pleased can be! The first grandchild, on both sides, and I shall be an aunt, oh, and you shall be an uncle, John Thomas—but no! You shall already be one, by marriage. How unhandsome of you!”

  He laughed. “Yes, very unhandsome. Patience is happy, then?”

  “Very happy.”

  Shannon again smiled. “We will send her our felicitations: John Thomas has a great many letters to return, at least seven. I find myself too ill to do so.”

  He looked at her, eyes twinkling. “It must have come upon you quickly.”

  “Indeed, very suddenly. I shall write to Patience, though. Miriam, will you take John Thomas away from this room? His sacrifice is noble, but truly, he must escape me for a few minutes at least.”

  “Oh, yes, I shall take him away. Father was just saying this morning how much his hair needed to be cut. You may ride into Weymouth.”

  He laughed but made no move to rise. “I’ll have my hair cut in due time. I missed Shannon’s entire illness, and I’ll be here during her recovery.”

  Miriam’s breast swelled as she took a romantic breath, dark eyes moist. “Oh, no, Miriam,” Shannon said. “Take him away.”

  John Thomas looked at her, a little uncertainly. “I didn’t think… If you would like to be alone, Shannon–”

  “Dearest!” she exclaimed involuntarily. She reached for his hand, and he gave it, still studying her. She pressed a kiss to his hand. “I think you need some sunshine, and food, and yes, a haircut, that is all!”

  He wavered. “I don’t feel as though–”

  “Oh, John Thomas, do!” Miriam said. “We will minister to her and tidy up, and we cannot do that if you are here, you know.”

  “Oh!” He flushed. “Yes, of course. I ought to have… Do you need anything from Weymouth?” he asked, clearing his throat.

  Shannon shook her head, eyes dancing.

  “Yes, indeed, we do,” Miriam said. “Mother will have left a list with Timms.”

  He smiled. “I see it was all planned.” He stood and picked Shannon up, causing Miriam to heave a sigh and Shannon to laugh. He carried her to the bed, cocooned in her blanket, and kissed the top of her head. And after strictly interrogating his mother on the implications of coughing up blood, he departed with Charles for Weymouth.

  Shannon, sitting on the furniture before the fireplace in one of her lovely dressing gowns much later, felt very refreshed after a bath, her hair brushed until it shone and her skin lightly scented with lavender. She sipped her tea and glanced at Lizzie, who was sitting in the chair across from her. “Patience will have been very happy,” she said.

  Lizzie looked up. “Oh! Yes, of course. I…I told Miriam not to… I was afraid you might be sleeping,” she said, the slightest flush climbing her cheekbones, barely noticeable.

  “She didn’t wake me,” Shannon said, sipping her tea, glancing out the window toward the growing shadows.

  A silence grew, until Lizzie said, “It seems impossible to believe you are to leave us so soon.”

  Shannon looked back to her. “Indeed. How long and how brief is three months.”

  Lizzie hesitated. “I hope you know how dea
r you have become to all of us, Shannon. The house will not be the same without you.”

  Her lips parted. “I shall miss all of you very much.”

  There was a long silence. “Shannon, I… I want to ask your forgiveness. I was not welcoming when you arrived, even knowing how frightened you must have been.” Shannon’s eyes flickered over her face. Lizzie plucked at her simple gown, her eyes on the narrow wood of the floors. “My example of a married life had been Patience’s, and Patience’s life is very similar to my own. Only my own life has the benefit of no husband to exert control or…to lose. And then I met you, so very different from me, and I think you opened my mind’s eye to a world of possibilities I might miss. I don’t think I resented you so much as I was frightened.” She swallowed. “I can’t think how I came to be such a coward. I never was before. But you… You are afraid of nothing.”

  Tears in her eyes, Shannon moistened her lips and admitted something she never had. “I am afraid of…so many things, Lizzie.”

  Lizzie looked at her, lifting her brows. “Then you are all the braver.”

  Shannon shook her head, looking away. “I am not brave.”

  Lizzie shook her head and said softly, “You don’t see, do you? You’re one of those choice creatures, with so much capability, and endless possibilities, and a heart that beats so strong it is like a bird taking flight. It is terrifying to other women.” She paused, meeting her eyes, seeming to hesitate before saying, “And to the man who loves you.”

  Shannon blinked away the moisture, stunned. “I am not worthy of John Thomas. He must know that,” she whispered. “I think it every day.”

  “Oh, Shannon. I love you dearly for saying that, but he feels just the opposite, I believe. As though he could never fully obtain you though he might try a hundred years. Please try to remember that, Shannon, when things are…difficult between you. He feels as though he has married so very high above him. And it is not a usual marriage. He knows that, but he also wants to protect you, as though it were a usual marriage. And I feel,” she said, eyes shining, “as though someday, it will all become much more natural, because I see the way you look at him, when you think no one is looking, Shannon, and that means so much more than all of the rest.”

  Shannon took her hand, unable to speak. She attempted a smile.

  “And…And as for the other,” Lizzie said with her customary reserve and delicacy, but holding her eyes, “In God’s time, Shannon.” Shannon nodded, pressing her hand. “In God’s time,” Lizzie said again, softly, covering her hand with her other.

  Charleston, South Carolina

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Progress on the house was fast one day, and they’d run into a hitch the next. Adeline finally tracked down a treatment for the silk towards the end of May and, keeping her fingers crossed, decided to go in. She had had two of the men spend a week carefully revealing all of the wallpaper, and, looking at it, she could only imagine what this room must’ve looked like, and how the family had lived. It was an ice blue with just the barest hint toward green that you missed if you weren’t looking carefully enough.

  Adeline was super excited to get started, but she was distracted as she went down the stairs for what was supposed to be her big day. She was two days late. Technically it should be no big deal. She’d had a lot of stress, with moving and working, and…other things. But the thought constantly was on her mind. She couldn’t focus on anything else for very long.

  “Okay,” she said to herself, entering the Silk Room, as she had dubbed it, and looking around. There were the cans of the treatment and the work station Joe had set up for her. It had to be applied evenly, so she would be doing the bottom and he, on scaffolds, would take it on up, hopefully seamlessly.

  He walked into the room, faded blue jeans, construction boots, white T-shirt, and all, and said, “You ready?”

  “Yeah, Joe,” she said, trying to focus. She knelt down and tried to pry the lid off one of the metal cans. She looked wryly up at him, and he knelt with a flat screwdriver and took over.

  She stood up, looking around, trying to pick the best starting point, and suddenly the smell from the multiple cans hit her. She looked around quickly. “Gosh, that stinks.”

  Joe looked up, brows together. “Do you think so?” He seemed a little confused.

  She covered her mouth, surprised to feel nausea beginning to stir. He opened another can, and it was like the odor completely permeated the room. And suddenly she knew she was going to be sick. Not taking time to explain, she ran from the room and down to the downstairs bathroom, opening the toilet and losing her breakfast.

  Rising back up, and reaching for some toilet paper to dab her mouth, she noticed her hand was shaking. Not good. Not good at all, her brain said really quietly. She didn’t acknowledge the thought: she allowed other thoughts to be louder. Something she had eaten for supper really hadn’t agreed with her. She’d maybe even caught food poisoning from the Indian food she’d had for lunch. Or maybe she’d caught a bug.

  She cleaned up and then went upstairs to her own bathroom, feeling weak from her sick bout by the end of the second flight of stairs. She rinsed her mouth and dabbed her face with a washcloth, staring at herself in the mirror for a long moment. She needed to go to the drugstore.

  She bought like ten pregnancy tests. When she got back to the house, the bag seemed alarmingly see-through, so she tucked it behind her purse under her arm, glancing both ways before she crossed the hall to the stairs. Oh, gosh, oh, gosh, oh, gosh, her mind said, to the beat of every stair she took. Just don’t think about it. Go take the test and move on with your life. It was probably nothing, after all.

  She did the first test and then laid it on her sink. She waited, not sure what was supposed to happen since this was her first foray into the careless life. And then two red lines appeared. They were really bold lines. She had been leaning on the sink, but she rose, a slow breath leaving her body.

  She picked up another and tried again. Really, those lines were audacious, almost screaming at her. She swallowed, starting to feel ill again.

  She washed her hands without knowing it, staring off into nothingness. Then she walked into her tiny little room and sank down on her bed, the shock keeping her from thinking clearly. She couldn’t comprehend everything, or anything. Vague thoughts rolled in and out of her mind without her attempting to make them flow. Maybe there was a mistake. She could still work, right? She had to work now. What would her parents say? How could she let this have happened?

  It seemed she still couldn’t fully comprehend it. She was pregnant. With Adrian Ravenel’s child.

  Adeline had told Joe that she was a little under the weather and that they would start on the silk in a couple of days. He was glad: he could return his attention to the balconies. She spent the next day doing light work, like sanding the fireplace in the library, though she questioned whether that was wise, given that her thoughts were in such a tangle. She didn’t want to inadvertently remove an entire rosette, or anything.

  She sat back, still unable to comprehend it. She had to tell him: she knew that.

  She had seen him sitting in the living room last night, reading a big book, underlining something now and then, and yawning from a long day at work. And then this morning in the kitchen, kissing Jude’s cheek as he left and casually picking up a stack of bills to mail. He was going on about his life. And she wasn’t in it. Of course she wasn’t.

  Her mind needed to think and plan. What did this mean? How would he react? She cast back her thoughts to any of her friends who had gotten pregnant. Rynn, in high school—her boyfriend had said, “It’s not mine. You’re a slut,” before running for the hills. Then in college, there was Cami, whose lover, a seemingly respectable member of the community, had offered to pay for an abortion.

  She hated men.

  It wasn’t long before she had whipped herself up into hating
Adrian Ravenel, too. She didn’t know what his reaction would be, but she thought of a thousand things it might be until telling him kind of assumed nightmarish qualities. She didn’t know what it mattered, really. She would go on about her life, somehow figure this out. It wasn’t like she was expecting anything of him. At least, she didn’t think so.

  She gave it two more days and took a couple of more tests, just in case there was a mistake. There wasn’t. And so, hearing him in the library one morning before work, she resolved to go in.

  Adeline stepped into the threshold, arms crossed, shoulders set a little stiffly. He was standing behind the desk, white shirt tucked neatly into gray pants, his suit coat nowhere in sight, flipping though some folders. He looked good. Impossibly good. That hadn’t changed. It would be nice if physical attraction fled when awkwardness arose. But it didn’t.

  He glanced toward the door and, seeing her, stopped what he was doing and stood to his full height. He studied her, seemingly waiting for her to speak. His eyes made that quick survey of her face which made her feel naked. For a moment, she thought he might have guessed. But even he couldn’t be that good.

  “Good morning,” she said.

  “Good morning,” he returned, obviously thinking this was odd. But he wasn’t impolite. Or she should say detached. He was never impolite. But he wasn’t using that arm’s length voice. They hadn’t really talked since the car ride home, and the quietness of the house, the aloneness of the room, seemed to bring it all up. Was she a side-step, a brief detour that meant nothing? She didn’t think it was that way—she thought he was probably more experienced than her but that it wasn’t a lifestyle for him. It was somehow better, better for her own pride, but that didn’t mean she had meant anything. So what on earth was he going to say to this?