Daughters of the Summer Storm by Frances Statham (best sci fi novels of all time .TXT) 📗

as if nothing had happened between them to make her run away from him.

He drank in her elegant, stylish appearance—the new dress and parasol to match. And then he smiled. "So you have been shopping," he said. "That accounts for your delay in getting to the wharf."

"What are you doing here, Crane?" she croaked, determined not to let him get away with his innocent badinage.

"Why, waiting for my wife. Where is your luggage, my dear?" he asked in a solicitous tone. "A boat leaves for Tabor Island in another hour."

She stared at him and did not answer.

"Come now, you didn't leave it by the side of the road, did you? If that's the case, then we'll have to postpone our trip until we see about a new wardrobe for you. I cannot have your parents thinking that I do not provide properly for you."

"I'm not going anywhere with you, Crane. Not to Tabor Island. And certainly not shopping with you. Kindly remove your hand and let me pass."

"Oh, but you are going with me, Marigold."

"No, Crane. I've left you for good, and nothing you say will make me change my mind."

An ugly glint invaded his coal black eyes. "Not even to save Jake?"

Marigold's face turned pale. "Leave Jake out of this, Crane. He has nothing to do with us."

"You forget easily, Marigold. You see, Jake not only helped my wife run away from me, he stole my horses and carriage, too. A horse thief is always hanged. And when Jake is apprehended, that's what will happen to him."

"No," she cried. "I was the one who took the horses and carriage. Jake had nothing to do with it."

"It would look a bit ridiculous, would it not, if I went to the sheriff and accused my own wife of stealing my horses? No, I think I prefer to have Jake hanged instead."

"Crane, please. . ."

"Shall we take a carriage back to the hotel and discuss this in privacy? Your distress seems to be disturbing the dock workers."

Marigold looked in the direction of the men who had stopped their loading to stand and watch. With a sinking heart, she allowed Crane to help her into the waiting carriage. Her mind was in turmoil, trying to think of what to do.

It had not occurred to Marigold that Crane could be so vindictive as to accuse Jake. Unless she could persuade Crane to drop the charges against him, the black man would be hanged for helping her escape. Whatever sacrifice she had to make, Marigold knew that she could not allow Jake to be hanged.

18

Through the streets of Charleston, Marigold and Crane rode in the carriage from the wharf to the hotel. Marigold made no attempt to converse with her husband but stared from the window at the turkey buzzards cleaning the wharf and streets of the garbage left by the street vendors and fishermen. And Crane, appraising Marigold's appearance, did not like what he saw. She should have purchased a black dress, not this sinfully revealing green one. It was an affront to his mother for Marigold to be dressed so frivolously.

The carriage stopped in front of the hotel, and Crane led Marigold inside, where he engaged a suite of rooms for the night. After getting settled, it was soon time for lunch, and the two left the sitting room for the dining hall downstairs. Through the meal, Crane continued to stare at Marigold in her green dress and to look displeased. But he would not reprove her about her choice of costume until they returned to the suite. Recalling the scene she had made at the wharf, he was not eager to see it repeated in public, if she should lose her temper again.

As soon as lunch was over and they had returned upstairs, Crane closed the door to the sitting room and spoke. "Marigold, I don't like your green dress. It's not appropriate, and when we have purchased others for you, I hope you'll pack it away."

"What's wrong with it?" Marigold asked, knowing that it was far more becoming than any of her other clothes, especially the drab black dress she had left behind at the townhouse on the battery.

"It's not suitable for mourning. You should have thought of that when you purchased it. I shall have to buy you several black dresses this afternoon."

"Black?" Marigold repeated in horror. She hated black. It made her skin too white and her golden red hair far too brassy. And besides, the weather was too hot.

"You can save your money, Crane. I'll never wear another black dress."

"We are in mourning for at least a year, Marigold. I'll expect you to abide by tradition and dress appropriately."

Marigold's topaz eyes glittered and her chin lifted in defiance. After a moment of silence, she capitulated. "Then let's go, Crane, to purchase this. . . this mourning wardrobe. But I want to go to Madame Reynaud's shop instead of Mrs. Windom's."

Crane relaxed at her acquiescence. "You may go to any shop you wish, my dear, just so you make sure to select clothes suitable for mourning."

"Madame Reynaud is quite expensive," tshe warned.

"That does not bother me. I am well able to afford it."

It was a small shop on the second floor of a dilapidated building that needed repainting. When Crane saw its location, he gazed at it in distaste. "It doesn't look very elegant."

"Madame Reynaud's clients care only for the way her clothes look on them. They don't give a fig for the way her workroom looks."

Marigold stood aside to allow Crane to open the door. When the bell clanged, a little gray-haired woman came forward almost immediately. Crane, looking condescendingly toward the woman, said, "I am Crane Caldwell. My wife is in mourning. And she wishes four or five dresses suitable for the next few months, together with the proper accessories."

"Oui, monsieur." The woman smiled and launched into French at the sight of Marigold and then turned back to Crane. "What is your price limit,