Southern Rain (Torn Asunder Series Book 1)

by Tara Cowan

  This led to a meeting in the dining room with the draper, and when the precise bed hangings and curtains could not be found in his catalogue, to Shannon dictating and his hand working rapidly on a pattern. She also sallied forth to a furniture maker, Phoebe a step behind her, and ordered a little writing table and a bed stool.

  “Can you think of anything else, Phoebe?” she asked as they walked down the walkway along the street. “We must order it now if we wish to have it ready by then.” She fanned herself when a gust of wind brought a dry heat upon them.

  “Well, yes, ma’am, we’ll need a little cot for Missus Ravenel’s maid.”

  “Oh, yes! And Mr. Frederick is bringing his valet. I shall send the order tomorrow. Do you think I have bankrupted Lieutenant Haley this morning?”

  Phoebe considered this, too, though Shannon had meant it jokingly. “Things’ll be a mite tight, ma’am, I think, until he’s been here awhile.”

  Shannon blinked. “Oh, dear.”

  “I don’t think he’d want to deny you, anything, ma’am.”

  Shannon looked toward the Capitol, near where the Naval Headquarters were. “That is why I must be careful, Phoebe. Come, I must be ready by seven o’clock for that silly dinner I agreed to attend.”

  It was eleven o’clock by the time Shannon was finally let down in front of her own house, and she was fatigued, tired of her corset and her shoes, and dreading the conversation to come. But perhaps John Thomas would’ve gone to bed already. The door opened, and Saul opened the door for her. “There’s a candle there for you, ma’am,” he said.

  Shannon glanced at it, and then felt her hopes dashed as she saw a warm glow coming from the door of the study. She sighed, declining the candle and walking that way. She paused in the door, seeing him sitting there, head bent over his writing, hair golden in the candlelight.

  She watched him for a moment and then said, “I thought you might be in bed.”

  He looked up as though startled, then smiled. After a moment, he said, “I wanted to make sure you returned safely.”

  She stepped into the room, conscious of her elegant green skirts as she navigated the furniture. “I’m sorry it was so late.”

  He lifted a shoulder, looking at her. “It makes no difference. Did you enjoy yourself?”

  “Oh…I suppose.” She pressed her lips together. After a long moment, she said, “John Thomas, I must tell you that I have spent a great deal of money today.”

  Surprise flickered. “Have you? You needed some things for the house, I daresay.”

  Her shoulders eased. “Yes. I did.”

  He smiled and started to go back to his writing. “It makes no difference, Shannon.”

  She swallowed, letting the silence draw out. He seemed concentrated on his work. “John Thomas…”

  He looked up, and, after coming to himself, looked penitent, setting his books aside. “Forgive me. Yes?”

  “Suppose I should want a dress…”

  “Purchase the dress,” he said. His brows drew together. “I should’ve thought… What do other husbands do—pin money?”

  She nodded. “My father gives my mother a quarterly allowance.” He started to nod, and she said, “And she pays no mind to it at all.” He smiled, and she met it. “Do you mean that, that I may buy what I choose?”

  “Yes. Well, within reason.”

  “What do you consider within reason?” she asked.

  “Shannon, I don’t like talking money with you,” he said.

  She smiled. “I know. But I must have some idea. My father once tallied my wardrobe expenses in a year for my edification.” She paused a beat, suddenly thinking of his family, and wondering if he would think less of her. “It came to nearly five-thousand dollars.”

  He did not move, merely continued to look up at her. His lips parted slightly. After a moment, he said more softly, almost faintly, “I cannot afford that, Shannon.”

  “That is why I asked,” she said, shoulders again tense.

  There was a very long silence. He turned, running a hand through his hair, looking away. He looked at the bookshelves, though he didn’t appear to be seeing anything.

  “What?” she asked softly, finally.

  “This is what your father meant, I suppose.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Shannon, I cannot support you in such a lifestyle. I had no idea…” He seemed dazed.

  Shannon put her hand on the back of a chair, gripping it. “If you had taken a wife from Weymouth, she would not shock you thus, I suppose.”

  He looked up suddenly, and, seeing her paleness, and the fragility in her eyes, came to his feet. “No, that wasn’t what I meant!” He searched her rapidly and finally came toward her.

  Shannon looked away.

  His hand came up to touch her forearm. “It must have been naivete that kept me from realizing the vast gulf between us. Or perhaps willful blindness because I wanted you so much.” He dragged a hand through his hair. “It isn’t only the money, but an entire way of life. I have cut you off from it through selfish stupidity. I…” He looked away.

  She looked at him, moistening her lips. “Yes?” she asked breathlessly.

  “I cannot bear the thought of not providing for you as you were meant to be.”

  “It is a little late to be rid of me, I am afraid. I don’t suppose anyone else would have me at this late date.”

  His face drained of all color. He whispered, “Shannon… Don’t speak of such things.”

  “Well, do not speak to me of your regret if you do not wish me to misconstrue your words,” she snapped.

  “You know what I meant.”

  “Yes.” She pressed her lips together. After a long silence, the clock ticking off fourteen seconds, she said evenly, “And you insult me.” She stepped away from him. “You do me such an injustice. Am I not wise enough to know what I want? Do you know how many men richer than my father proposed to me? And I said no every time. Do you have any idea how many times my mother and father arranged a marriage for me with such a man? And I, without fail, said no. And then you came.” She swallowed, feeling as though she were baring her soul. Her eyes burned. “And I knew the man I wanted to marry. And not to spite my parents, or because you were handsome, or because I was lonely, and it was romantic. Simply because I saw you and thought: yes. Him.” She took another deep breath. His face was twisted in pain, and his hand reached out, but she turned, and went quietly from the room.

  Shannon lay in bed hours later, sleep far from her, wondering whether John Thomas would come to bed, and thinking on Lizzie’s words.

  It was becoming plainer by day that Shannon’s éclat had spilled over from Charleston. She had known the ease with which she had been accepted into Washington society had disturbed him, and she wondered to what extent that weighed with him tonight. She did not think he liked such society, or the fact that she was a product of it, even if he said tonight that he didn’t wish to keep her from it.

  She was known as the Rice King’s daughter, and the knocker on her door was never left alone. Among her callers were highly regarded matrons, who were wives of dignitaries, young matrons who had begun to copy her fashions with swift readiness, friends of her husband who were charming, missing their mothers and sweethearts and entirely inoffensive, and other, less harmless gentlemen admirers.

  Her head had not been turned, but he might think it had. He had opened his lips once, she thought, to speak on the subject, but something in her posture must have held him back.

  He never did come to bed, and he was gone by the time she awoke to a sunny morning, her eyes flitting open reluctantly, for she had not slept well. And then she caught sight of something on John Thomas’s pillow and sat up slowly, reaching for it. It was paper, folded in the shape of a bird.

  Frowning, she unfolded it and saw words written in his ha
nd.

  ‘Tis not to make me jealous

  to say my wife is fair, feeds well, loves company,

  Is free of speech, sings, plays, and dances.

  Where virtue is, these are more virtuous.

  Nor from mine own weak merits will I draw

  The smallest fear or doubt of her revolt,

  For she had eyes and chose me.

  Shannon moistened her lips. Othello. The slightest smile touched her lips, and she took the paper in her hand, getting up and trying to think of somewhere to keep it where the servants would not throw it away. She opened her armoire and, seeing her valise in the bottom, tucked it in the inside pocket.

  She dressed and went about her day, going to watch Congressional debates with Diana Quinn, the wife of another officer, and leaving for a drive in the park during the promenade hour.

  Then she dined on supper alone and was sitting in the parlor, knitting for reasons she did not know, when she looked up and saw him standing in the door, looking worried and tentative, and perhaps a little frightened. She looked at him for a moment and then smiled very slightly, and that seemed to give him courage.

  He walked forward and, before she knew it, was kneeling at her feet and taking her hands. “It was the same for me,” he said, looking up at her emotionally. She cast her mind back, and, when she realized to what he was referring, she smiled softly. He kissed her hands, lingering there for a moment before looking up. “You do know how dearly I love you.”

  “I know,” she said gently.

  “I didn’t doubt you. It is only pride and fear,” he said, his look an apology.

  She reached down, stroking his hair as though he were a child. “You think that I am above you,” she said.

  “I know that you are.” She shook her head, but he shook his, too, smiling. “It is true. When we attend parties, people think: what on earth was she thinking?”

  She laughed. “That is not true. You are already making a name for yourself, as I knew you would in anything you undertake, or ever will undertake.”

  “You will always be above me, even should I be president.”

  “I am above you in this chair. I rather fancy it,” she said flippantly.

  He rose slowly and sat next to her, casually drawing her into his lap, to her laughter, stealing a kiss. “Are you afraid of me?” she asked between kisses. “Yes, of course I’m afraid of you,” he responded, kissing her until neither remembered his or her name, much less any argument.

  Washington, D.C., July 1860

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Smoke filled the air, and the train gave a final whistle. Shannon stood next to John Thomas, her arm tucked in his. He looked down at her, beautiful in a green walking gown, and covered her gloved hand, pride filling him. She looked up at him. “Do you suppose they are in this car?”

  He smiled. “I have no idea.”

  “Well, it is taking an enormous amount of time. They will be very hot.”

  “I suppose that is why the windows are down.”

  “Do not try to put a damper on my wrath. I shall be wrathful if I choose.”

  He smiled down at her.

  After what seemed a lifetime, passengers began making their way down, making her tighten her hand on his arm and tip up on her toes. About halfway through them, Frederick emerged, followed by Marie.

  “I do not think they see us,” Shannon said, “and indeed, how could they in this chaos?” John Thomas, one of the taller men, attempted to wave, but they seemed to be swallowed up. Then, much against his inclination, he whistled and called, “Ravenel!”

  That did the trick, both smiling as they caught sight of them. They walked toward them, Marie in a blue travelling gown bespeaking their wealth and Frederick in a black coat and patterned waistcoat, his hair all askew, and, though the general din made it almost impossible to hear one another, the women gave exclamations of joy, and John Thomas and Frederick shook hands and embraced alternately.

  “Such a place you have chosen to live, Haley!” Frederick exclaimed. “We were lucky to escape with our lives!”

  “You ought to leave Santarella occasionally!”

  “I think it is beautiful!” Marie, eyes shining, took Shannon’s hands, saying, “And you! How very smart the two of you look!”

  Shannon tried to say something, but it was swallowed up in the air.

  “Let’s get the ladies off of the platform, Frederick,” John Thomas suggested, putting a protective hand at Shannon’s back as they pushed their way through the crowd.

  They persisted, no small amount of maneuvering required, and the ladies were handed into the carriage, Shannon and John Thomas taking the forward seat. “Thank heavens!” Shannon said, sitting close to him. “I have no notion how to shout!”

  John Thomas looked down at her, eyes twinkling. “Don’t you?”

  The others laughed, and Shannon gave him a scathing look. He brought their hands onto his leg, squeezing hers.

  “Shannon, how well you look!” Marie said, eyes bright, glancing briefly at their hands. “Are you quite recovered, then?”

  “Of course she is,” Frederick said. “It was only ever her dramatics.” He smiled winningly, and Shannon’s chest ached with missing him.

  “Oh, Frederick, do not tease her about such a thing, especially not in front of John Thomas!”

  “Why not?” John Thomas said. “I agree completely!”

  “Marie, do you happen to know of a decent burial ground in Washington?” Shannon inquired, making her cousin laugh.

  “We shall never stay ahead of them, now they are together,” Marie commiserated.

  Shannon kept an eye on Marie, since it was so warm, and indeed, she was quite flushed. She soon realized Frederick was doing the same, which pleased her. He was still watching her when they reached home and, after proper exclamations on the size, location, and quaintness of the house, Frederick said lowly to her, “You ought to go up and rest before supper.”

  Marie touched his arm. “I am quite well.”

  He was looking uncertain, and Shannon said, “Of course you shall rest. Come, I wish to show you the upstairs, in any event.”

  “Very well, if you insist,” Marie answered in her calm manner. She started up the stairs, and Shannon started to follow her. Frederick caught her arm, and she turned back. He studied her for a moment, his eyes unusually gentle and earnest. “We were so very relieved to hear of your recovery, Shannon.”

  She covered his hand, surprised, but touched. “Thank you, brother-mine. And thank you for holding Mother and Papa off from coming to Massachusetts.”

  “John Thomas told me how much you didn’t want it. I supposed it was the least I could do.”

  She pressed his hand and started up the stairs. She showed Marie the critical points and then took her into the guest room. Looking at her, she saw evidence of fullness beneath her skirts, and noticed that she was generally plumper. “You look very well,” Shannon said.

  Marie flushed, apparently embarrassed, and said, “Oh, I wouldn’t say that. Certainly I have looked better. But you never have. John Thomas must have been taking very good care of you to nurse you back to health so soon.”

  “Yes, he is relentless. I feel sorry for his men, should he ever captain a ship. Let me help you undress: it may be a little while before your servants and baggage arrive.”

  “Alright,” she said, turning, and Shannon started to unfasten her buttons.

  “Are you quite exhausted?”

  “Only a little tired.”

  She lay Marie’s dress aside and said, “Come now, into bed.”

  “No, Shannon,” she said calmly, as Shannon tucked her own dressing gown over Marie’s undergarments, though it didn’t quite meet. “I shall lie down in due time, but not when I am told, like a child. I want to talk to you.”

  Shannon smiled. “Very wel
l, but I shall very likely tell Frederick, and then you shall be in disgrace.”

  Marie smiled, retaining her hand. Shannon led her to the bench by the window, and Marie’s eyes scanned her face. “Shannon, this is a lovely house. And it is truly yours, and your husband’s.” Her eyes flitted away. She looked out the window and then back. There was a slight silence. She smiled. “John Thomas is still very attentive.”

  Shannon smiled. “He is a consummate gentleman. But l do not wish to talk about me. Marie, I can scarcely believe you and Frederick are to be parents,” she said softly, smiling.

  Marie smiled. “Neither can I, sometimes.”

  “Is Frederick pleased?”

  “Yes.”

  Shannon squeezed her hand. “Does he want a son?”

  “I suppose so,” Marie said.

  “All men want a son, don’t they?”

  “Yes, I suppose so,” she said, studying Shannon, looking as though she wished to say something, but Shannon looked away, saying merrily, “I suppose my mother and father are pleased.”

  “Yes, very pleased,” Marie said softly, studying her with hesitation in her demeanor.

  Shannon paused for a moment. “Papa will have joined Mother at Ravenel House now, I believe.”

  “Yes, and they are well, though the talk is all of this political battle.” She scanned her face. “Shannon, does John Thomas ever speak of it?”

  She hesitated. “Yes. But we…try not to speak of it as much as we can.”

  Marie studied her gravely. “You…disagree, then?”

  Shannon flushed. “He is an abolitionist, Marie. My father is one of the largest slaveholders in South Carolina.”

  “I’m sorry,” Marie said penitently, pressing her hand. “It was none of my concern. Only I…sometimes think about your position, should there be war.”