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

"If it isn't, I fear it's going to split apart the nation," the banker responded in a sober voice. "Congress can't keep favoring the North to the economic detriment of the South."

Robert Tabor and Arthur Metcalfe walked into the Exchange and joined a group at another table. Robert's tawny eyes narrowed at the sight of Shaun Banagher, but he gave no other indication that he recognized the man who had caused him such grief.

"Now there's a man who's hurting worse than I am," John Henry whispered. "Hear tell Robert Tabor even has his townhouse up for sale."

Shaun turned thoughtful when he heard that piece of information. He sat quietly, listening to the rest of the conversation, and occasionally lifted the snifter of brandy to his lips, until it was time for him to leave. But he thought only of what John Henry had said about Robert Tabor.

The winter months passed and at last, the first jonquils at Cedar Hill announced that it was spring in the Carolina up country.

Marigold looked out over the field of yellow, adjacent to the house, and she became suddenly homesick for the scent of jasmine at Midgard. But there was no possibility that Marigold could leave Cedar Hill for a visit to her parents; for Julie had become ill during the winter months and had gradually worsened. First, it was the mild but plaguing cough that refused to go away. But over the months it had turned into a debilitating illness, with a steady loss of weight and a feverish flush to the woman's face.

At Marigold's insistence, Julie had been moved back into the big house, and a large part of her day was spent in taking care of the woman. But regardless of her careful attention and regular visits from the doctor, Cousin Julie did not improve.

One afternoon, Marigold, as was her custom, sat with her mother-in-law.

"You are so good to me, Marigold," Julie said in her weak voice, as soon as she recovered from her coughing spell. "I hate to be so much trouble."

"Nonsense," Marigold replied. "I enjoy sitting with you. I'm only sorry that you're ill."

Julie closed her eyes and rested her head against the pillows. Her face, once beautiful, now showed the strain of her long illness. A sad-hearted Marigold tiptoed from the room to let the woman sleep.

"No hope." The words of the doctor echoed in her mind. "Only a matter of weeks. We'll just have to make her as comfortable as possible until the end."

Why did she have to die? Cousin Julie was the only person who made life bearable for her at Cedar Hill. . . besides old Jake at the ferry. And she had not been able to take any more food to him lately because of Julie's illness. She hoped he was now well enough to cook his own food. Marigold brushed the tears from her eyes as she made her way into the kitchen to supervise the supper.

For several more weeks, the sick woman lingered, becoming weaker each day. The telltale sign of bright red blood on her handkerchiefs could not be disguised, and Marigold dreaded the day when a massive hemorrhage would take her life.

On a late May afternoon, when the only sounds to be heard were the mules returning from the fields, Julie, in the downstairs bedroom, beckoned Marigold to her bed and in a weak voice whispered, "Marigold, be kind to Crane. He. . . he hides his emotions under his quick temper. But I'm sure he. . . loves you very much."

Marigold took the woman's hand. "I will try, Cousin Julie," she promised.

"He was such a dirty little urchin when Desmond brought him home. And the words he spoke." A faint smile formed on Julie's lips as she remembered earlier days. "I had to wash his mouth out with soap more than once."

The coughing started again, with a fresh spurt of blood, and Marigold, alarmed, called Juniper to sit with the woman while she hurried to find Sesame.

It was at that moment Crane came into the house. "What is wrong, Marigold?"

"Cousin Julie is much worse. She needs the doctor."

Crane's face turned pale, and rushing down the hallway to Julie's bedroom, he left Marigold to find Sesame and give him the message to go for Dr. Kellie.

Far into the night, Dr. Kellie and Crane kept watch by Julie's bedside. Lights remained on throughout the house, and the steady hum of the whistling teakettle belied the happy sound it had made earlier in the day.

Toward morning, Marigold, sleeping in a chair in the nearby parlor, stretched. Her arms and legs felt cramped, and the back of her neck was tense from the uncomfortable position in which she had slept.

The stirring along the hall next to the parlor prompted her to leave the chair. As Marigold walked toward Julie's door, the figure of Dr. Kellie came forth. He closed the door, and with a sad expression to match the anxiety in Marigold's eyes, he shook his head.

Alarmed, Marigold hastened inside the bedroom. Crane stroked Julie's hand that now lay limp against the coverlet, and by his action, Marigold knew the worst had happened.

"Crane?" she whispered softly.

He raised his anguished face toward her. "She's dead, Marigold. There is nothing you can do. Please leave me alone with my mother."

The low, plaintive singing in the slave quarters began that morning and continued throughout the day and into the night. Sesame, his eyes moist with tears, kept repeating, "I just knowed somethin' bad was gonna happen when Mr. Crane cut down that cedar tree in the middle of the cotton field. You don't cut down a cedar. It'll bring bad luck ev'ry time."

The news spread quickly over the countryside that Julie was dead. On the day of her funeral, the tiny country church was filled with friends and neighbors who had come from miles around to pay their last respects to the gentle, brave woman, who had survived the slave uprising in Santo Domingo and