Daughters of the Summer Storm Frances Statham (bill gates book recommendations .TXT) 📖

a colorless gray-black that was becoming increasingly darker—alive with dozens of moving winged creatures. And they looked as if they were heading straight for her. Maranta stopped and brushed her hair back to get a better view of them. In panic, she remained rooted to the same spot, not knowing which way to turn to escape this menace that had appeared so suddenly.

Ruis, taking Diabo to the water's edge, looked up as the sky blackened with winged creatures. Vampire bats—he might have known they would smell the scent of horses and mules and come out of the caves in search of fresh blood.

His one thought was to get Diabo out of danger, but as he wheeled the horse around, his eyes spotted the small, vulnerable figure standing directly in the path of the bats.

Maranta? But she was supposed to be safe in her tent. A small hand went up, brushing the long, black hair from her face. It was Maranta.

Instantly Ruis spurred Diabo toward her and shouted, "Maranta! Cover your face! The bats!"

She screamed as the first creature attached itself to her arm, biting into her flesh with its vicious teeth. She hit at it with the bucket, spilling the water. But in a split second, the bat was gone and she was lifted from the ground.

Into the sheltered copse Ruis rode with Maranta in his arms, as the bats, their victim suddenly snatched from them, continued their flight toward the corral.

Hysterically, Maranta clung to the man who had rescued her. And the conde, forgetting to reprimand her for disobeying him, held her in his arms—quietly soothing her until her sobs subsided.

"I am s-sorry," she finally whispered. "I was seeing to Fado and I spilled the water. I didn't want you to know."

"Are you so afraid of me, menina, that you could not ask me to get more for you?" he asked in a sad voice.

"Y-Yes," she affirmed.

Ruis da Monteiro's jaw clenched at Maranta's apologetic confession. And in a voice harsh and cynical, he warned, "Someday, Maranta, that worthless little bird will be the death of you."

Dona Isobel, staring out of the tent, was relieved when Ruis brought Maranta back to camp. In the language that was foreign to her, Maranta vaguely heard the exchange between the conde and the woman.

But when Maranta was placed in the hammock in Dona Isobel's tent, Ruis explained, "Isobel will stay with Mãe tonight. Because of her heart, I do not want the condessa to know what has happened. . . You will remain here where I can attend to your arm."

"I am sorry. . ."

"It cannot be helped, menina. But soon, you will learn that I do not give orders for my own gratification."

Ruis sat beside the hammock until she went to sleep. And then, he left the tent to find his own hammock to rest for what remained of the night.

The next morning, Maranta's arm was sore, but she tried to dismiss the unpleasant episode by thinking instead of the journey ahead. She went down to watch while the cargo was reloaded for their continued trip on the river.

Maranta was now able to tell when they were approaching another cataract, with the distant rumbling of water growing gradually louder, and the canoes gliding more swiftly along the river without benefit of the long spear paddles. And even though she was conscious of the hazards, Maranta was glad to leave the canoe at intervals and walk on the banks while the horses and carts were unloaded.

As she trudged behind a cart or sat inside with the other two women to be jolted over the terrain until the Tietê became navigable again, Maranta's mind turned more and more to Vasco—the unknown man she was to marry—who was waiting for her at the fazenda.

When, finally, they left the canoe fleet near the falls at Hitû, Maranta realized she would never be able to find her way back to civilization. She was trapped by mountains and jungled forests, vampire bats and anacondas—insurmountable obstacles.

With a shiver, she clutched the birdcage closer to her. Her one small consolation was the cheerful little green bird, Fado, who had miraculously survived the watery trip without losing a single tail feather.

13

With the condessa and Dona Isobel, Maranta sat in the garden of the café in Hitû. The town was a welcome surprise to her, for she had believed there would be no settlements beyond São Paulo.

"There are many aldeas—Indian villages—scattered throughout the area too, Maranta," Dona Isobel explained. "The Jesuits were quite productive in converting the Indians to the faith."

The condessa laughed. "That is a matter of opinion, Maranta. And when you meet Patû, you will understand. There never was a more pagan mameluco than he. Sometimes I wonder if he still shrinks heads as his grandfather did before him."

"Patû?" Maranta repeated. "Who is that?"

"The Indian servant who takes care of Vasco," answered Dona Isobel. And at her reply, the condessa frowned, as if the woman had been indiscreet.

The white-haired condessa suddenly tapped her cane, and a waiter immediately poured coffee into their cups that were already half-filled with sugar.

The beverage was much too sweet for Maranta, and she sipped little of it. But it went unnoticed, for Ruis soon returned with transportation to the fazenda.

It was a palanquin, the shaded litter similar to the ones Maranta had seen in São Paulo and Penha.

If it had not been for her increasing anxiety in meeting Vasco da Monteiro, Maranta would have enjoyed this new experience—sitting back on the soft cushions and feeling the soothing sway as the palanquin, attached by poles to the mules' harnesses, was carried along the shaded slopes of the terra-roxa, that purplish red earth that produced the finest coffee plants in all of Brazil.

"You are very pale, Maranta. Is the swaying making you seasick?" the old condessa asked.

She quickly shook her head, but her voice revealed its telltale tremor. "I am f-fine, Dona Louisa."

"You may begin calling me 'Mãe,'" she said matter-of-factly, "for by this