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

The man in the wheelchair sat by her bed.

"Vasco?" she said softly, stirring from her cocoon of silk.

At the sound of his name on her lips, a satisfied look passed over the man's face. "You are safe, Maranta."

"Who. . . found me?"

"Patû. In the animal pit. He thought you were dead."

"I am grateful then. . . that he found me. . . and brought me home."

"Actually, it was Ruis who brought you back. But if it had not been for Patû, you would have drowned in the pit."

Much later that night, when all in the house were asleep, Maranta awakened to the insistent drops of rain striking against the window. Bolts of jagged lightning traveled across the sky, giving an eerie flash to the room. The sound of a tree crashing in the distance caused Maranta to utter a cry and sit upright.

In no time, a door opened, and Ruis's tanned, rugged face was framed in candlelight.

"The storm has frightened you, pequena?" he asked.

"It woke me," she admitted.

"But you are safe inside, Maranta," he assured her. "You do not have to be afraid."

Thunder crashed closer this time, and again, Maranta jumped. If it had not been for Ruis and Patû, she would still be out in the storm.

"I have not thanked you—for bringing me home," Maranta said.

Ruis's face, so dark and fierce, nodded in acknowledgment. "You are lucky for the second time, menina. I warned you once before that your worthless little bird could be the death of you."

The words rankled. Ruis acted as if it were Fado's fault that she had fallen into the animal pit. She gazed anxiously toward the covered cage near the window. And Ruis, pulling the gilt chair beside the bed, announced, "I will sit with you, until you go back to sleep, Maranta."

"That is not necessary, senhor—for you to treat me like a child. I am not afraid of the storm."

Ruis's mouth showed his disapproval of her words. "Nevertheless, I shall remain," he said, settling himself in the chair beside her.

31

Two days later, Innocencia was dead—poisoned by someone in the fazenda. And Maranta had been the last one to see her alive.

In a state of shock, Maranta remained in her room, while the quiet preparations for the funeral went on around her. Innocencia's two brothers were notified. Her burial gown was selected and the family vault beneath the floor of the chapel opened.

Innocencia was dead, but Maranta's angry words lived on. Everyone in the fazenda knew they had quarreled—Dona Isobel, the condessa, Vasco, the servants, and Ruis. Most of all Ruis, for he had been the one who had come in the room to stop their altercation.

And now, Maranta was ashamed that she had been unable to control her temper. Taking the handkerchief from her moist, dark eyes, Maranta sneezed and gazed inconsolably at the empty cage on the table near the window. Fado's cage.

Finding Innocencia in her apartment had been the last straw. Maranta lost her reason and lashed out at the girl at the sight of her standing before the cage—jabbing at the bird with her wickedly long fingernail.

All the hurt and horror of her day in the rain-soaked forest rose up in her throat. "You will never hurt Fado again. I promise you that, Innocencia."

Maranta had tried to grab the cage from her, but Innocencia in her perversity clung to it. And it was Ruis who had come in at the shouting and gently led the tearful Innocencia out of the room—the man looking at Maranta as if she were at fault.

The tears streamed down Maranta's cheeks. As soon as Innocencia was gone, Maranta had opened the window. Fado would never be safe with the girl roaming about the fazenda. And remembering how the little green bird had reacted in the forest, twittering and chirping with the other birds about, Maranta opened the cage door. Holding him in her hand, she thrust her arm out the window and loosened her hold. For a moment, the bird remained in her hand, as if he did not realize he was free. Then he fluttered his wings and left Maranta's hand for the ledge along the roof.

"Go on, Fado," Maranta had urged, her voice breaking. "You're free."

Maranta closed the window and walked to her bed. There she lay for the rest of the afternoon, feeling sorry for herself.

Later, Maranta began to be ashamed. She should not have lashed out at Innocencia so strongly. The girl was not really responsible for her actions.

Where was Maranta's sense of forgiveness? Or her willingness to show a long-suffering spirit? Had she not wronged Innocencia, also—usurping her place with Ruis? Daring to fall in love with him? Conceiving his child?

Maranta made up her mind. She must apologize to Innocencia. She washed her face and put on a fresh robe of flowing yellow silk. Leaving her apartment, she walked to the iron-grilled door of the nursery and knocked.

Innocencia, sitting on the swinging hammock, gazed in bewilderment as Maranta apologized. She was more engrossed in the sweet cakes before her than in Maranta's words of apology.

Already, Innocencia had forgotten the quarrel in the apartment. But Maranta felt better, knowing she had made the effort to put things right between them. She declined a sweet cake offered by the blue-eyed girl and left the nursery.

Dona Isobel, in the hall, appeared startled to see Maranta emerging from the nursery. Maranta coughed and sneezed, and anxiously, the woman scrutinized the girl. "Are you feeling well, Maranta?" she asked.

"Yes, Dona Isobel—much better now that I have apologized to Innocencia for losing my temper with her."

The woman fell in step with Maranta, eyeing her as they walked down the hall of black and white tiles. At the door of her apartment, she hesitated. "Will you come in, Dona Isobel?" she invited, sensing the woman's reluctance to leave her.

"No, Maranta. I must go—to the chapel—to pray."

The angelic face, with the circlet of flowers around her long golden hair, was hauntingly beautiful. Innocencia