"If you wish," Maranta replied.
The smile lit up the angelic face. "We can have sugar cookies tomorrow. And I shall let you play with one of the pickaninnies. . ."
As Maranta disappeared, Innocencia scratched herself with the wickedly sharp three-inch fingernail on her little finger and reached for another sweet cake.
Two nights later, Maranta lay in bed. Moonbeams sifted through the soft, silken draperies and touched the gold band on her finger—the circlet put there by Dom Vasco in the chapel. But they had shared nothing more than a few sentences since that time. To Maranta it was a sacrilege to continue to wear a symbol of deceit and emptiness. Yet, she was afraid to remove it on her own.
She was exceedingly lonely. Innocencia behaved so strangely that Maranta could not depend upon her as a companion. And Dom Ruis had left the fazenda to see to the vast property that was his. From the conversation between Dona Isobel and the condessa at dinner, Maranta gathered that he had ridden southwest to the pampas where his gauchos watched over his cattle herds.
He had been away for two weeks, and each day he was gone emphasized his dominance over the Monteiro family. What a difference it made to all of them—the condessa and Dona Isobel included—to have Ruis absent from the coffee plantation. It was almost as if they were all asleep and waiting to be awakened at his return.
On one day, Maranta was grateful that he was away. And then, the next day, she had changed her mind. Puzzled at her ambivalent feelings toward this dark-haired man, a troubled Maranta finally fell asleep.
The breathing beside her bed awoke her. The moon no longer lavished its beams upon the bedcovers but, with a frugality, had nearly vanished, leaving the room in darkness.
Beyond the silken bed draperies, a shadow moved. Someone was in her room—watching Maranta as she slept.
How long had the person been there, staring at her? Had Dom Ruis returned from the pampas, and was he coming to her bed again?
Maranta shrank back against the pillow. Her voice, trembling with fear, called out, "Who's there?"
The shadow moved but did not answer.
Maranta sat up and again she called out, "Please tell me who you are."
The high tinkling laugh sounded at the same time the door opened, revealing Dona Isobel in the flickering candlelight.
"Come, Innocencia," the woman said. "It is time for you to go back to your room."
"No," the stubborn voice resisted. In the candlelight, Innocencia resembled a petulant angel with her beautiful blonde hair slightly awry.
"I have a sweet cake for you in your room, Innocencia. Go with Naka and she will give it to you."
The servant appeared directly behind Dona Isobel. At the promise of a sweet, Innocencia became docile, and the frown left her face. She allowed Naka to take her by the arm and lead her out of Maranta's room.
"I am sorry that Innocencia disturbed you, Maranta," Dona Isobel said. "I think she will not bother you again tonight. But to make certain, come and lock your door after me."
Maranta obediently climbed out of bed and followed Dona Isobel to the door of the sitting room. She stood watching the woman walk down the hall with the unsteady flicker of the candle beside her.
No wonder Dona Isobel had been able to find Innocencia so quickly. She had left a trail of shredded flower petals and stems all the way to Maranta's door.
Turning the lock, Maranta groped her way back to bed, where she lay, unable to go to sleep until the horizon became red with a new day rising.
After that night, Innocencia was confined to her room. Evidently, she had inherited her madness. And some times it was worse than others, Dona Isobel explained later in private.
Such a tragedy—Innocencia, so beautiful, yet with a mind less than a child's. Maranta felt a great pity, not only for the young woman, but also for Dom Ruis. It must be heartbreaking for him, seeing a beloved and adored wife in such a state. Was it the loss of their child that had shattered Innocencia's mind?
Maranta, suddenly restless, got up from her chair on the deserted veranda. She had not taken a footstep outside the enclosed compound the entire time she had been at the fazenda.
In the distance, she heard the faint roar of the falls of Hitû. And the perfume of exotic plants filled the air. A scent—almost like jasmine at Midgard. Could it be the coffee plants on the slopes? Already, the bushes were forming berries that would be harvested in summer. But some of the limbs still held the beautiful white blossoms. Like cotton, Maranta thought, with various stages of development on the same plant.
She felt a need to get beyond the fazenda, to see the land that produced the pineapples and oranges, the vegetables that she enjoyed at mealtimes. Yet, she had been told by Dom Ruis not to leave the grounds alone.
Dom Ruis was not at home. He could not know how confined she felt with nothing to do. If he had unpacked the artist's supplies, he had not bothered to mention it to her.
Opening the gate, Maranta slipped out. She would not go far. Only a few feet beyond the wall. It would be perfectly safe there, within calling distance of everyone in the house.
The air was heavy, promising more rain; for it was the rainy season when, at will, the skies opened and saturated the rich earth that nurtured the coffee plants.
The small shelter in the grove attracted Maranta. She headed for it, thinking there would be a place to sit—and a roof to protect her from the rain if she should happen to be caught in it.
Someone had gotten there before Maranta. She stopped, watching the figure—an Indian, in tattered clothes. He began to eat from the tall wooden shelf. Was it a shelter for travelers? Did Dom Ruis make a habit of leaving food for the people who journeyed through his land?
The Indian turned and stared at Maranta. And she gasped in revulsion. His skin was covered with scales—thickened, rough scales that resembled the amphibious-like skin of some creature who had crawled from the sea.
Away from the shelter and back through the gate she sped, all the time trying to deny what she had just seen. He did not even resemble a human being—ugly—covered with lesions—a man to be pitied.
Maranta hurried toward the steps. She would not feel safe until she was in her own apartment with the door locked.
So intent on blotting out the horrible vision, Maranta did not at first see what lay in front of her, curled up by the steps. Her eyes widened. No, not in the compound. It was impossible. The danger was beyond the gate—out in the wilderness—the mata. Yes, that was where it belonged. But as Maranta stood there, frozen in motion, her eyes reaffirmed her terror. Blocking her way was a giant snake, black and glistening and making no move to disappear as the snakes on Midgard Plantation did when a human approached. Maranta tried to cry out, but no sound came from her throat.
A rumble of thunder resounded through the sky, and several drops of rain pelted Maranta's face.
"You will get wet, pequena, if you keep standing there."
Dom Ruis leaned over the veranda and watched her with amused dark eyes. His clothes were dirty and rough, and the suede three-cornered hat was slung carelessly at his back.
With a trembling finger, Maranta pointed to the snake, and her eloquent dark satin eyes begged Ruis silently for deliverance.
"The muçurana is harmless, Maranta," he assured her. "He will not mind if you walk past him."
Still mute with fright, Maranta shook her head and remained where she was.
"Now if it were a venomous jararaca, that would be different," he said, laughing, as he walked toward her. "He would have you for a meal, and then go to sleep for two weeks."
Ruis took her by the hand and led her past the snake. Maranta edged closer to Dom Ruis as they went up the steps to the veranda. And she continued to stand close to him, trembling at her unnerving experience.
Feeling her body still shivering, Ruis said, "Surely our family pet has not upset you, menina? It must have been something outside the gate that made you so fleet of foot."
Maranta nodded. "The India
n. His s-skin."
"Ah, so you saw one of the Tupis on his way to the Lazar House in Hitû. Leprosy is not a pretty sight, Maranta. I am sorry that you had to come face to face with it, so soon after your own illness."
His eyes examined her closely. "Despite your paleness, you look better, Maranta, than you did when I left two weeks ago. And I see you have gained some much needed weight, too."
Hating the way he was staring at her, bringing back to her mind those days when he had taken care of her so intimately, she quickly replied, "I have been eating too many cream cakes with Innocencia."
"You have made friends with my wife? While I was away?"
"Yes. We visited together until. . . until. . ." Maranta stopped.
"Until what?" Dom Ruis prompted.
"Until. . . she became ill again."
Dom Ruis's dark brows collided into a massive frown. "Yes. Innocencia's. . . indisposition," he said bitterly and then walked away from Maranta, leaving her to bite her lip and take one last fearful look at the muçurana before she fled to her apartment.
21
By evening the fazenda had taken on new life. It was true, then. Dom Ruis, by merely returning, could sharpen the steps of the house servants, could bring a fresh glow to the old condessa's wrinkled face.
Even Dona Isobel, the penniless cousin who acted as companion to the condessa, reacted to Ruis's presence with her coy looks only partially hidden by the black lace fan.
But Maranta, seated opposite him in the sala, was nervous at the conde's attention. His eyes bored into her, making her feel as if she had on nothing more than the white lace gown of her wedding night, or worse—nothing at all.
"She is looking much better. Do you not think so, Mãe?" he said.
The condessa's eyes rested on Maranta for a while before answering. "Yes. Much better," she agreed. "Sassia has taken good care of her while you have been away."
"Good."
"Please," Maranta said, embarrassed that the two were talking about her as if she were not even in the room.
"Yes, pequena?" Ruis said, his voice soft and lazy.
"I. . . I don't like to be stared at and talked about."
His amused expression remained on his face while he continued to stare at her, watching her cheeks turn crimson. And then he shifted his attention to Dona Isobel.
"Would it disturb you, Isobel, to be in Maranta's shoes?"
Dona Isobel lowered her fan. "For myself, I would not mind being young again. But as the condessa well remembers, I never had Maranta's beauty—so consequently never knew what it was like to be stared at and talked about."
Her quick glance toward Maranta was apologetic.
Ruis pursued the subject further. "But you think you might have enjoyed the attention, Isobel?"
"Almost every young girl's ambition," Isobel admitted, "is to stir a man's interest, Ruis. It is in a woman's heart to wish to be the subject of some man's love."
"I wonder," Ruis said, more to himself than to anyone else in the room. His sapphire eyes were once again on the slight figure seated on the sofa.
"What about you, Maranta? What is your ambition, pequena? To be a great artist?'
The teasing made Maranta angry. Her lips trembled, but she replied in a firm voice. "I had only one ambition, senhor. But for me, it is now too late."
"And how is that?"
"I wished to become a nun, senhor—in the Convent of Our Blessed Lady."
His dark eyes were disbelieving at her avowal. His face hardened. "And who pushed you in that direction, Maranta?"
"No one, senhor. It was only natural. My own maman was a nun at one time, before my father. . ."
Dom Ruis's laugh filled the room. "But instead, she became the mother of how many children, menina?"
"F-Five." Maranta's cheeks burned at his inquisition.
"Mãe tells me that you resemble your mother very much." In an intimate tone intended only for her ears, he whispered, "Is that not a lesson for you, Maranta? Your destiny does not lie in a nunnery, as you are well aware."
Angry at his insinuation, Maranta jumped from the sofa. She walked to the condessa, and kissing her on her cheek, Maranta said, "I am very tired, Mãe. If I have your permission, I will retire to my room."
The condessa kissed her and nodded. Maranta then laid her cheek against Dona Isobel's cheek, and unable to face Dom Ruis, she left the room.
But she was not to escape him. Ruis remained standing and, bidding the two women goodnight, he headed for his library opposite Maranta's apartment.
"One moment, Maranta. And I will walk with you."
"That is not necessary, senhor."
He caught up with her and placed his hand on her arm. "My name is Ruis. Have you deliberately forgotten?"
His touch made her tremble. She moved away from him.
"Do not be so skittish, Maranta. From the way you are behaving, people would think we were strangers."
"We are strangers."
"No, Maranta. You may speak for yourself. But you are no stranger to me. From the small curves of your body to the formation of your toes—even to the birthmark on your. . ."
"Please," Maranta croaked, tugging at his coat sleeve. "Someone might overhear."
"And if someone does?"
"I will die of shame."
"Then, if you want no one to hear, I shall have to come into your apartment. For there is a question that I wish to have answered."
They were at the door of the sitting room, and Ruis opened it to allow Maranta to precede him into the room. She walked to the hearth filled with greenery and stood with her back to Ruis—waiting to hear the words he would utter.
"Turn around and face me, Maranta."
"I. . . can't."
She felt his hand reach for her and lift her chin upward. But Maranta closed her eyes.
"You know what I am going to ask?"
"Yes."
"Well?"
If she said that she was expecting his child, he would soon discover it to be a lie. But if she admitted that her wedding night had not been fruitful, then the same thing could happen again.
"I'm waiting, Maranta. Are you with child?"
The tears slipped from under her closed eyelids. "No," she murmured, shaking her head.
She was in his arms, and he stroked her hair gently. "Do not be so fearful, pequena. If there were an alternative you know I would not force my attentions on you."
Maranta opened her eyes and saw the pain reflected in his face. Of course. If only Innocencia could give him his heir, then he would never come to her bed.
She heard the door close. Maranta was now alone; for Ruis had disappeared to his library across the deserted hall.
Relieved, Maranta rang for Sassia. And soon, she was relaxing in the brass tub of warm, soapy water, with her black hair piled high on the top of her head.
She'd been so intent to get away from him that she had forgotten to ask Ruis about the paints and brushes. But she could do that tomorrow at lunch, if he were not off somewhere on the fazenda, too far to return in time for lunch.
Maranta slipped her toes under the pile of suds at the end of the tub and lifted her foot into the air. And at that moment she looked up into the amused face of the conde, standing over her.
Quickly she lowered her foot into the water and held the sponge in front of her.
"Shall I bring you a toy from the nursery, pequena?"
"I am no child, senhor."
The pink-tipped nipples of her breasts peeked through the suds, in spite of the sponge she held in front of her.
Ruis's eyes narrowed. "Yes. I can see that you are no child, Maranta. And so it is time to stop playing games."
He reached for her hand. "Climb out of the tub, Maranta," he ordered.
"Sassia. . ."
"Has gone to bed. She will not be back tonight."
"My gown—"
"There is no need to put on what will only be removed in a few minutes."
Maranta's li
p quivered, but Ruis ignored her look of distress. He held the toweling for her and wrapped her in it. She trembled as his knowing hands dried her body and then pulled the ribbon loose, making her hair tumble to her waist.
She was swept up in his arms, with the towel left on the floor, and Ruis carried her across the room to the bed.
His dark hair was still wet from his own bath, and his tanned body glistened in the candlelight. Maranta attempted to pull the sheet over her, but Ruis's hands stopped her. His eyes traveled the length of her body, and Maranta whispered, "The candle. Please blow out the candle, senhor."
He shook his head. "Ruis. My name is Ruis. And after tonight, I dare you to call me senhor. You'll never be able to think of me as a stranger, Maranta. For you will know my body as intimately as you know your own."
"R-Ruis."
"That's better, pequena." He took her hands and placed them on his muscular body. And at the feel of his firm flesh, she shuddered and closed her eyes.
"Keep your eyes closed, if you must, Maranta," he taunted. "It matters not." He pressed his mouth against her ear and whispered, "Tonight, I shall make you forget that you ever had the desire to become a little nun."
Her body was not her own—but his to do with as he wished. Under his gentle assault, Maranta responded against her will to this new world of sensual pleasure—feeling his hands caressing her body and his lips covering her with kisses.
Not realizing what she was doing, Maranta ran her hands through his hair and touched the tanned cheek that lay against hers. And at the moment his body met hers, filling her with a promise of ecstasy, she encircled him with her arms, drawing him closer.
In a primitive response to the rhythmic motion of his body, Maranta moved. Her need overwhelmed her—this feeling that possessed her body and mind, driving out all fear, all guilt, everything but her desire.
Her body tensed, and she clung to Ruis, her hands entwined around his neck.
"Do you still wish to become a nun, Maranta?" he whispered, stopping his lovemaking for a brief moment.
In agony, she denied it. His cry was triumphant as he began again, bringing her to the precipice. In waves, the alien feeling came, so that no part of her body escaped from it. And then she was lost in eternity, with the man who demanded her very soul. Willingly she gave it to him.
Daughters of the Summer Storm Page 17