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

so glum, little one. We shall get along very well together. From now on, I intend to see to your welfare, as a true husband should."

Sassia, bringing a glass of cool water for Maranta, frowned as the laughing Dom Vasco rolled his chair back into the guest chambers on the first floor of the fazenda.

With a trembling hand, Maranta took the glass from Sassia and downed the water in quick, nervous gulps.

From that time on, Vasco gave her every attention. Each afternoon, with the help of Patû, Vasco presented himself at the upstairs apartment, across the hall from the library belonging to Ruis. And each afternoon became a war of nerves for Maranta. It was difficult to make conversation. But Vasco did not seem to mind. It was as if he were waiting for something to erupt, and his eyes, so like Ruis's and yet so different, were bright with anticipation.

In the silence between them, the sound of footsteps along the hall alerted the two that someone was coming.

"It is too soon for Patû," Vasco said. "It must be that Ruis has finally returned from Sorocaba."

The door to the sitting room opened, and the tall, dark man, walking inside, stopped at the sight of Vasco seated on the pale lilac sofa.

Vasco looked at the travel-stained Ruis. "You take liberties, brother, walking unannounced into my wife's apartment. I would appreciate it if you would knock from now on."

Ruis did not respond to Vasco's taunt. He eyed Maranta, as if to assure himself that she was all right, and without a word to either of them, retraced his steps, closing the door behind him and proceeding to his library.

"The day has wearied me, Maranta," Vasco said. "Please find Patû and tell him that I am ready to go back to my own chambers."

Glad to escape, Maranta obeyed. Fighting back her tears, she found the Indian and gave him Vasco's message. But Maranta could not go back upstairs. Instead, she fled from the fazenda, opening the gates to the wilderness, not caring where she ran.

To be the source of contention between the two brothers—like a bone, to be fought over and torn apart—this was what Vasco had been waiting for.

On and on she ran to escape the taunting voice of Vasco and the disturbing visage of Ruis. Her hair tumbled down into her face; her combs were lost in the matted green underfoot. The river falls roared in her ears, obliterating any other sound, while the alien landscape snatched at her dress and pricked her bare arms with its thorns. Bits of lace, torn from the hem of her lavender skirt, mixed with the blood the thorns had claimed, and left a trail behind her.

She continued to run, and the sound of the falls diminished. Maranta stumbled as she caught her foot against a root but righted herself, cutting off her fall.

Sobbing and with a catch in her side, Maranta sank to her knees at the base of an umbrella tree. With little moans, she rocked herself back and forth and reached up for the locket that could comfort her. But the locket was not around her neck. It was gone, lost—the last link left with her own family. She was alone in an alien world that she could not understand.

Gradually, her sobs subsided. She was so tired. Her eyelids drooped and closed, and under the shelter of the tree, the slight figure in the shredded lavender dress went to sleep. . .

23

Guiding Diabo, Ruis plunged into the matted forest. "Maranta," he shouted, and the sound echoed, unanswered, through the sleeping, dangerous vegetation. It had been over two hours since Ruis had seen her run across the courtyard and through the gate—disappearing completely.

Far to the west, the sun was beginning its descent. Soon, the velvet darkness would envelop the green earth, making it impossible for him to find her. And each moment increased the danger for Maranta.

A cold anger gripped Ruis's heart. It would be his fault if Maranta and his unborn child did not survive the night.

What must she feel, this young girl, uprooted from her family and placed into this nightmare? Ruis was sorry that he had been influenced by Mãe's wish. It was not his right to take his brother's wife and make her the mother of his heir. But it was done. He could not change that now.

"Maranta," he called again, diverting the horse in a new direction and searching the ground for evidence that she might have fled in that direction.

The bit of lace, which he'd spied on the thorned bush, was in his pocket. For an hour now, there had been no other sign. The matted undergrowth had sprung up under her light step, denying any sign of her passing.

Back to the thorned bush Ruis rode, using it as a landmark and fanning out in a circle from it. The cry of a wild animal in the distance spooked Diabo, and Ruis, with a calmness he did not feel, coaxed the horse back into obedience.

Finally the last rays of sunlight caught at an object hanging on the broken limb of the bush before him. Ruis stopped the horse and jumped down to examine it at closer range.

It was Maranta's locket—the one she always wore around her neck. The clasp was broken. With a worried frown, Ruis added the golden chain to the piece of lace in his pocket. Leading the horse, he walked carefully, looking downward for another bit of evidence in his search for the runaway girl.

If the jungle decreed it, she would never wear the Cruzamento da Monteiro about her neck, as she had that time in the chapel when he had first recognized Mãe's purpose in bringing her to Brazil. How angry he had been—with Mãe and Maranta, too. But her haste in disposing of the family heirloom, hanging it on the madonna in the chapel, had dispelled any hint of her collusion with the condessa. Maranta was innocent of Mãe's