Daughters of the Summer Storm

by Frances Patton Statham

  "Is there—er—any reason why the two of you should not be joined in marriage?" the embarrassed clergyman asked.

  "No. None," Shaun replied.

  "Yes. Well—er—"

  The parson's eyes avoided looking at Marigold after the initial shock. He hurried through the ritual in the prayer book, and in five minutes, Shaun and Marigold were husband and wife.

  "My son," the parson whispered to Shaun as they were leaving, "you have done the right thing."

  34

  Shaun treated her tenderly, seeing to her comfort as they stopped at the inns along the way to Charleston. Cold November wind whipped in from the sea as they reached the battery, and the townhouse that had once belonged to Robert Tabor welcomed them.

  "We're home, Marigold," Shaun said, touching her shoulder. But she did not respond. The man smiled and, gathering up the girl in his arms, he carried her from the carriage to the door.

  "Welcome home, Mr. Shaun," the black man said, holding a lamp at the entrance to light the man's way.

  "Thank you, Jake," Shaun replied. "If you will light the way to the guest room, we will put Mrs. Banagher in there for the night."

  Jake's eyes widened at Shaun's revelation. He looked at the sleeping woman and back to the giant of a man. But he asked no questions. It would not be appropriate for him to do so. But he knew that Crane Caldwell was no longer a threat. And he breathed easier.

  That night the winter storm began, blowing in from the ocean—the white-foamed, angry waves battering against the seawall, the cold rain pelting the roof of the house, and the strong gale swinging the shutters against the windows.

  The banging awoke Marigold and she sat up. In the light of the soft embers still glowing in the fireplace, she saw the tall posts of the unfamiliar mahogany bed—the same one from which Shaun had so angrily dragged her the morning after her hurried trip from Cedar Hill. And here she was, in it again. But she had been put there by Shaun—the man she loved. She was no longer wife to Crane Caldwell.

  All at once, the enormity of her deed hit her. She had married Shaun, even though she was soon to bear another man's child. She had been completely selfish, thinking only of her own need, not Shaun's. She began to shake. Not once had Shaun professed his love for her, nor given any explanation for his backing out of marrying her the first time.

  Marigold began to fear that Shaun had married her out of pity—not love. And the disturbing thought kept her awake for much of the night.

  Her face was drawn and her tawny eyes mirrored her distress as she sat the next morning huddled by the fireplace and drank the hot tea that Jake had made for her. There was no other woman in the house, no servants. Just Jake, and now, Sesame. Marigold had no one to help her, to turn to. Shaun had not even felt it necessary to tell her good-bye. He had gone for the day to attend to his affairs. She was left alone.

  But not for long. The knocker on the front door vibrated from a vigorous hand, and Marigold wondered who could be calling at such an early hour. She heard the voices downstairs and realized whoever it was, was coming upstairs, despite Jake's protest.

  "That's all right, Jake," the girl's voice said, rising above the landing. "Mr. Banagher sent me. I'm sure Mrs. Banagher will be glad to see me."

  Marigold recognized the high-pitched voice of Docia Henley.

  "Marigold," the girl called out, knocking at the bedroom door. "It's Docia. May I come in?"

  Marigold was tempted to ask her to go away. But that would not do. Sighing, she said, "Yes, Docia. The door isn't locked."

  The girl was dressed in a fashionable blue velvet cape, and tiny pointed black shoes peeked from underneath her skirts. Her immaculate appearance caused Marigold to pull her woolen robe closer to her body and run her fingers through a tangled mass of golden curls.

  "My, you do look tired, Marigold," the girl said. "But I guess that's to be expected, traveling in your delicate condition."

  Getting no answer, she continued in her airy, high-pitched voice. "Mama says you're in disgrace for the way you married Shaun. But I told her you were never one for convention and she agreed. But since Shaun and Papa are business partners, I told Shaun I would be glad to come and see you, Marigold. He seemed to think you might need cheering."

  "That was kind of you, Docia, to come," Marigold said, forcing herself to be polite.

  "Really though, Marigold. Do you think it was fair to Shaun to marry him when you're expecting Crane's baby?"

  Marigold had already chastised herself for that very reason, but hearing Docia say it brought out a sudden perversity.

  "How do you know it's Crane's, Docia?" she asked with a bland expression in her topaz eyes.

  The shock registered in Docia's face. "You don't mean—you can't mean that. . . that the baby is Shaun's?" The girl blushed and quickly looked down at her shoes.

  "Would you like a cup of tea, Docia?" Marigold asked, changing the subject without answering.

  "No—thank you. Suzie is waiting downstairs for me. I must be going." The shocked look remained on Docia's face as Marigold walked to the bedroom door with her.

  "I. . . I can let myself out, Marigold. I know you have to watch the stairs."

  The girl fled down the steps, and Marigold went back to her cup of tea and brioche, suddenly feeling much better.

  Marigold had barely managed to dress before she had another visitor. This time it was someone she longed to see—her own mother.

  "Souci, mon enfant," the woman said, taking the girl in her arms.

  "Maman," the girl replied. "Oh, how I have wanted you, Maman." She had kept the tears back for so long, but now she was a child again, needing comfort. Marigold began to weep, and her mother murmured soothing words, giving her daughter time to release her pent-up emotions.

  Finally, Marigold lifted her head and said, "Is Papa very angry with me, Maman, for marrying Shaun?"

  "He does not know yet, Souci. Your papa is still in Columbia at the nullification convention. I am sure he will not be happy that you have flaunted tradition. But it's too late to do anything about it." Eulalie smiled and said, "But we must not stand here and waste time. I brought Callie with me so that she can help you pack. If you will show her. . ."

  "Pack?" Marigold repeated. "Why?"

  "Shaun wants you to be at Midgard for the next few months. He thinks you will be safer there."

  Marigold was frightened. Why was Shaun sending her away? Was he already regretting his hasty decision to marry her?

  Seeing the bleak look on her daughter's face, Eulalie said, "Souci, Charleston is in an uproar, getting ready to defend itself. President Jackson has declared the action in Columbia treasonous, and his troops and ships are on their way to Charleston Harbor."

  "Papa and the others vetoed the tariffs?"

  "Oui, ma petite. The ordinance they passed prohibits the customs officials from collecting the tariffs. And if President Jackson attempts to use armed force, then we will be absolved from the other twenty-three states. It is a precipitous situation, Souci. President Jackson has called the delegates 'traitors' and has vowed to hang each one from the nearest tree."

  "Not Papa. He can't hang Papa," Marigold said, upset over the news.

  She had little to pack. Putting on her black cape, Marigold walked to the waiting carriage. With Callie and her mother, she traveled down the street, away from the Palladian-design house. Along the battery, men were already at work, stacking bags of sand and bales of cotton high along the wall.

  The political controversy was grave. By the first week in December 1832, John C. Calhoun had resigned as Vice-President of the United States and returned to his native Carolina. The state legislature met and promptly elected him a senator, to take his seat in Washington after the Christmas holidays.

  Robert Tabor, coming home from Columbia, said little to Marigold about her marriage to Shaun. He seemed to be preoccupied with the delicate political situation and voiced his concern to Eulalie.

  "I have never before been impatient f
or Christmas holidays to end," he said, "but this impasse hanging over us makes me wish for January immediately."

  "Is it because of Monsieur Calhoun?" Eulalie asked.

  "Yes. No one knows what President Jackson will do when John goes back to Washington. It doesn't help matters that Jackson has just discovered that when John was Secretary of War he voted to censure him for his unauthorized military foray into Florida in '17. Some think he will allow the man to take his seat in the Senate, but there are just as many who feel sure John will be arrested for treason the minute he reaches the city."

  "If there is such danger for him, then why did the man agree to go back?" Eulalie asked.

  "Because he believes this issue has got to be settled, one way or another. A nation can't trample on the rights of some of its people and expect them to remain silent. If we are not allowed to veto an act that is unconstitutional and detrimental, then he fears for the Union."

  A seamstress, sent by Shaun, came to Midgard to sew new dresses for Marigold, a welcome diversion from all the political talk around her.

  The materials were beautiful—the rich, warm velvets, the heavy crepes. It was a shame that her figure would not do justice to them.

  Madame Reynaud did not act surprised to see Marigold. She said nothing about her previous visit to her workroom with Crane, nor about the dresses of white that she had made up for her. She merely draped and pinned and cut the materials to Marigold's full figure and then handed them to the two girls she had brought with her.

  "Do not worry, ma petite," the French woman finally said to Marigold. "I have a way of disguising the fullness in front. You will look very fashionable, and your husband will be proud of you, chérie."

  "Then, that would be a miracle indeed, Madame," Marigold replied.

  The woman chuckled and went about her work, humming under her breath. She matched a gold and green brocade ribbon to the cape of lime green velvet. As she pinned it, she said, "Monsieur specifically wished you to have the cape in this color. It will go well with the green crepe dress, as well as the gold one to match your eyes. But it seems, Monsieur is partial to shades of green."

  Marigold smiled, remembering the first dress he had purchased for her—and how he had insisted she wear it the day he had taken her to the little stone church.

  "The memories are pleasant, Madame?" the woman asked, with a knowing smile.

  Startled, Marigold looked at the little gray-haired woman. "I was remembering another dress of the same color," she confessed.

  Two days later, the hooded cape and finished dresses hung in the armoire of Marigold's room. She decided upon impulse to dress in the new clothes that morning. And her heart was suddenly happy.

  Although she would not be seen by anyone but her family, she took great care with her hair, plaiting it with brocade ribbon to match that of her cape. In the dress, gathered high under her breasts, she resembled the girl in the Botticelli paintings. Marigold looked in the mirror and decided she could easily have stepped from some ancient Renaissance castle. What a pity that Shaun would not see her in the dress, for she was rather pleased with the miracle that Madame Reynaud had accomplished.

  By early afternoon, Marigold was restless, having stayed inside the entire morning. Taking the cape, Marigold put it on and walked outside. The day was sunny and mild, and soon, she found herself on the path to the river house.

  Down past the fallow fields she walked, past the fence and toward the river where the great cottonwoods towered. She came to the maze of yew hedge and honeysuckle that surrounded the small house. It was not quite so green as in summer. Standing on the tiny porch, she looked in the window at the deserted parlor. The door was unlocked, and on an impulse, Marigold pushed it open. This was the house where she and Maranta had taken their dolls to play under Feena's watchful eye for hours at a time. The house had a certain warmth, a hospitality that the larger house did not possess. She did not know why, but everytime she walked inside, she felt a wealth of love. And it was the same today. Had anyone ever lived in it? she wondered.

  Marigold remembered the time she had wanted to move into it herself, but her parents had not allowed it. If she had been a boy, it would have been all right—

  The sunlight dazzled through the windows, and Marigold became lost in her dreams. The sound of footsteps on the porch alerted her to another's presence. Who had followed her? Robbie?

  As the door opened, Marigold turned. "Souci," a voice called out. And she saw her husband before her.

  She smiled and started toward him. "No," he said. "Stand where you are for a moment—in the sunlight."

  She stopped and waited while his eyes traveled over her. "Now, remove the cape," he said. Mesmerised by his look, his emerald eyes staring into hers, she obeyed, dropping the cape over a chair.

  The swell of her breasts was emphasized by Madame Reynaud's couture hand, while her rounded stomach was hidden under the voluminous folds.

  "Souci," he said, with longing in his voice. His boots made a noise across the bare floor as he came to her.

  In an instant, she was in his arms. His lips moved over her eyelids, kissing her cheeks on their way to her mouth. Her breath came in short gasps while he parted her lips and explored with his tongue.

  Before she knew it, they were in the bedroom, on the bed, and she was encircled by his strong arms. Her dress was unhooked and his hands caressed her flesh. Her nipples became taut with longing.

  Only in her dreams had they been together this way. Marigold strained against him, until the roundness of her stomach came between them. Shaun sat up slowly. Breathing heavily, he whispered, "Oh, God, Souci. How I wish you were not with child." He ran his fingers through his auburn hair, and in a stern voice he said, "Fasten your dress."

  With trembling hands, she attempted to right the dress, while Shaun walked away from her, not offering to help her.

  "Your mother is looking for you," the man said from a distance, not turning his head. "I think you had better go back to the house."

  Marigold's face was pale. Shaun walked rapidly out of the dense thicket surrounding the river house, seeming not to care that Marigold could not keep up with him.

  What Crane had said was true. She was a wanton. And even Shaun was disgusted with her, with her lack of control. She had invited his caresses, even in her condition. But worst of all, she had heard what she feared most. Her child was not welcome in their marriage.

  With pain-filled eyes, Marigold followed the path back to the house. Shaun had not even waited for her.

  The sound of laughter in the drawing room greeted her. The high-pitched voice of Docia Henley penetrated the room, and Marigold, recognizing it, turned to go up to her room. But her mother, walking toward the drawing room, looked up and saw her. "Oh there you are, Souci," she called out. "I was hoping you would come back soon. Shaun and Docia are here."

  "If you will excuse me, Maman, I am not feeling well. Please give my apologies to them."

  Eulalie walked swiftly toward her daughter and with a worried glance, took in the girl's pale face, her trembling hands. "What is the matter, Souci?"

  "I think I should not have walked so far this afternoon."

  Eulalie reached out to help her daughter up the stairs, but Marigold shook her head. "I can manage alone, Maman. You need not neglect your guests because of me."

  "Shaun is hardly a guest, mon enfant. He is your husband. I am certain that he will be distressed, as I am, that you are not feeling well."

  Marigold went to her room and when she reached it, she tore off the green cape and the crepe dress and removed the brocade ribbon from her hair. Taking the unflattering old woolen robe from the armoire, she slipped into it and then climbed into bed. Suddenly cold, she began to shiver. But she did not call for a servant to light the fire. Later, when Shaun and Docia had gone—

  So he was still seeing her. Perhaps it was just as well then. If he still wished to marry her, it was not too late. Marigold would give Shaun his freedom. It had b
een a mistake to marry him so hastily. She should have known he would resent the child.

  Marigold didn't know when her love for her baby had begun to develop. Certainly she hadn't felt it at first, not even when Feena had talked with her about it. It could have been in the mine—when she had thought the baby was going to die with her. Yes, she supposed that was when she first began to feel the gradual acceptance that she was to be a mother, and the protective feeling for her child.

  Cedar Hill was her baby's inheritance. But could she bring herself to go back there? To rear the child where she had been so unhappy?

  Marigold closed her eyes and drifted to sleep. Later, when she awoke, she heard the fire crackling in the hearth and felt the warmth in the room. Someone had come in while she was asleep, and she was grateful.

  Shaun leaned over to put another log on the fire and, seeing him, Marigold frowned. "I thought you had gone," she said.

  "Are you feeling better?" he asked.

  "Yes, thank you."

  He came to her bed and stared down at her. "Marigold, I want to apologize for my behavior this afternoon. I don't know what came over me." His emerald eyes showed pain, and Marigold, seeing this, sat up.

  Her voice was distressed. "We should never have gotten married, Shaun. But it isn't too late to do something about it. I'm sure it can be annulled, especially since. . ."

  His eyes kindled in anger, negating any pain that she had seen. "You expect me to leave you, now all of Charleston knows why we got married so suddenly?"

  "I don't understand, Shaun."

  "Don't act the innocent little girl, Marigold. Didn't you tell Docia the child is mine—not Crane's?"

  Marigold blushed. "Is that what she told you?"

  "Docia doesn't discuss such delicate matters with me. She merely repeated what you had said to her mother, and a few days ago Fess Henley took me aside and said I had done the honorable thing. So you see why it is impossible for me to back out now. No, my girl. You are married to me, regardless of the way you feel. And we will stay married."

  "I am sorry, Shaun."