Read Online Ever My Love: A Saga of Slavery and Deliverance (The Plantation Series Book 2) by Gretchen Craig - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Gretchen Craig
Ads: Link
her.
Indeed, she had decided there was no man for her. None of
the young men in her circle really drew her to him. They were all rather silly.
Shallow. Not a one of them ever asked her opinion of anything more weighty than
the prospects for fine weather. Not a one ever offered to speak with her about
what he’d been reading or thinking. Mother had yielded to Father on every point
that Marianne had ever seen rise between them, but Marianne simply could not
imagine a life-time of lady-like submissiveness for herself.
She would not marry. Father would just have to get over it.
Yves Chamard, really, is no different from the others.
Well-known to be a pursuer of women in a rather superficial way, he certainly
had never asked a belle to discuss, oh, Stephen Douglas’ candidacy, for
example. Dear Cousin Marcel, he at least was courtly and gentle and had the
most beautiful eyes of anyone in her acquaintance, male or female. Yves, no
blood relation to her at all really, had a sharp nose, piercing hazel eyes, and
manners that came and went as the mood struck him. Marcel carried himself with
ease, relaxed and at-home everywhere. Yves seemed always a coil of energy,
alert and observant, ready to act.
“Miss Marianne!” Joseph appeared from a side path, shuffling
as fast as he could, his breath ragged.
“Joseph?”
“Dere been a terrible thing. Some o dem dogs loose. A
littl’un got scared and run, and dey chase her. She hurt bad.”
“Oh God.” Marianne reached for Joseph’s arm and they
steadied each other. “I’ll get my bag. Wait for me.”
She ran into the house and up the stairs, Freddie at her
heels. At the head of the staircase, she met Marcel going down for dinner.
“Tell my brother I’m called away. Don’t wait for me,” she said.
Marianne burst into the bedroom where Hannah was hanging the
blue muslin dress in the armoire. “Someone’s hurt, Hannah. I need my bag.”
Hannah stepped in her way while Marianne reached for her
medical kit. “Wait, Miss Marianne. Stand still and I take that new dress off
you.”
“There isn’t time. Hannah, no.”
Before Marianne could get away from her, Hannah attacked the
buttons at the back of the taffeta gown. “Yes’m. I knows you hurryin. Just lift
yo arms.”
Marianne yielded in order to hurry things along as Hannah
replaced the gown with one of Marianne’s older muslin frocks.
“See how fast? Now you run on,” Hannah said.
Marianne, the top buttons still open, collected her bag and
hurried to the door. “Stay, Freddie,” she said over her shoulder as Hannah
reached for him.
Adam stopped her at the foot of the stairs. “You’re not
going to miss supper? We have guests.”
“Those damned dogs have attacked a child, Adam.”
Adam stepped back. She’d shocked him with her language, she
knew, but he should be more shocked about what the dogs had done. She rushed
across the polished cypress floor in her taffeta slippers and out into the
night.
The child was no more than three years old. She lay on a
coarse corn-husk mattress, her black eyes big and full of fear. She whimpered
and clung to her mother. Marianne recognized Irene, who worked in the laundry.
Someone brought in extra candles. In the greater light, the
blood all over the child and the bed shone darkly red. The color of the roses
in the twilight, Marianne remembered, her mind fastening on the arbitrary while
she steeled herself to deal with the wounds on this small body.
“I need Pearl,” she told Joseph. “And tell Evette we’ll want
lots of hot water.”
The child’s mother shifted without letting go her little
one’s hand so that Marianne could kneel at the bedside.
“Hello, sweetheart,” Marianne said. “What’s your name?”
The child stared at her. “She be Sylvie,” her mother said.
“Sylvie, you’re such a brave little girl. I’m going to look
at where the dogs bit you, all right?”
Sylvie pulled away from her, crying now. “I just need to
see, honey. Be
Indeed, she had decided there was no man for her. None of
the young men in her circle really drew her to him. They were all rather silly.
Shallow. Not a one of them ever asked her opinion of anything more weighty than
the prospects for fine weather. Not a one ever offered to speak with her about
what he’d been reading or thinking. Mother had yielded to Father on every point
that Marianne had ever seen rise between them, but Marianne simply could not
imagine a life-time of lady-like submissiveness for herself.
She would not marry. Father would just have to get over it.
Yves Chamard, really, is no different from the others.
Well-known to be a pursuer of women in a rather superficial way, he certainly
had never asked a belle to discuss, oh, Stephen Douglas’ candidacy, for
example. Dear Cousin Marcel, he at least was courtly and gentle and had the
most beautiful eyes of anyone in her acquaintance, male or female. Yves, no
blood relation to her at all really, had a sharp nose, piercing hazel eyes, and
manners that came and went as the mood struck him. Marcel carried himself with
ease, relaxed and at-home everywhere. Yves seemed always a coil of energy,
alert and observant, ready to act.
“Miss Marianne!” Joseph appeared from a side path, shuffling
as fast as he could, his breath ragged.
“Joseph?”
“Dere been a terrible thing. Some o dem dogs loose. A
littl’un got scared and run, and dey chase her. She hurt bad.”
“Oh God.” Marianne reached for Joseph’s arm and they
steadied each other. “I’ll get my bag. Wait for me.”
She ran into the house and up the stairs, Freddie at her
heels. At the head of the staircase, she met Marcel going down for dinner.
“Tell my brother I’m called away. Don’t wait for me,” she said.
Marianne burst into the bedroom where Hannah was hanging the
blue muslin dress in the armoire. “Someone’s hurt, Hannah. I need my bag.”
Hannah stepped in her way while Marianne reached for her
medical kit. “Wait, Miss Marianne. Stand still and I take that new dress off
you.”
“There isn’t time. Hannah, no.”
Before Marianne could get away from her, Hannah attacked the
buttons at the back of the taffeta gown. “Yes’m. I knows you hurryin. Just lift
yo arms.”
Marianne yielded in order to hurry things along as Hannah
replaced the gown with one of Marianne’s older muslin frocks.
“See how fast? Now you run on,” Hannah said.
Marianne, the top buttons still open, collected her bag and
hurried to the door. “Stay, Freddie,” she said over her shoulder as Hannah
reached for him.
Adam stopped her at the foot of the stairs. “You’re not
going to miss supper? We have guests.”
“Those damned dogs have attacked a child, Adam.”
Adam stepped back. She’d shocked him with her language, she
knew, but he should be more shocked about what the dogs had done. She rushed
across the polished cypress floor in her taffeta slippers and out into the
night.
The child was no more than three years old. She lay on a
coarse corn-husk mattress, her black eyes big and full of fear. She whimpered
and clung to her mother. Marianne recognized Irene, who worked in the laundry.
Someone brought in extra candles. In the greater light, the
blood all over the child and the bed shone darkly red. The color of the roses
in the twilight, Marianne remembered, her mind fastening on the arbitrary while
she steeled herself to deal with the wounds on this small body.
“I need Pearl,” she told Joseph. “And tell Evette we’ll want
lots of hot water.”
The child’s mother shifted without letting go her little
one’s hand so that Marianne could kneel at the bedside.
“Hello, sweetheart,” Marianne said. “What’s your name?”
The child stared at her. “She be Sylvie,” her mother said.
“Sylvie, you’re such a brave little girl. I’m going to look
at where the dogs bit you, all right?”
Sylvie pulled away from her, crying now. “I just need to
see, honey. Be
Similar Books
