Ever My Love: A Saga of Slavery and Deliverance (The Plantation Series Book 2) by Gretchen Craig Read Free Book Online Page A

rewrapped the wounds in clean bandages.
“You were very brave, Peter.”
    Lena wiped the sweat from his brow. “My Petie not gone
complain when you workin on him like one o’ God’s angels, Miss.”
    Marianne, light-headed with relief, laughed as she repacked
her bag. “My mother used to call me an imp.”
    “Naw, Miss. I knowed yo ma’am. Miss Violette, she tink you
an angel could she see whut you done for Petie.”
    Annie, short spiky pigtails covering her head, peeked into
the dim room.
    “Whut you want, chile?” Lena said.
    “Miss Marianne.” A smile big and bright as a new moon lit
her face as she found her mistress. “You brother and his friens be here. Dey
drinkin whiskey while dey waits for dinner.”
    “Oh.” Marianne looked down at her soiled apron. Her shoes
were filthy, too, and she hadn’t done anything with her hair. “I’d forgotten
they were coming.”
    “I comb out dem rats’ nests for you, Miss Marianne,” Annie
offered.
    Marianne laughed again. “That’s very kind of you, Annie.”
     
~~~
     
    After a long hot ride to Magnolias Plantation, Yves followed
Adam and Marcel from the stables to the house. The ride from the Lake had been
tedious and hot, and he looked forward to a glass of something wet.
    The gentlemen stopped to clean their boots against the iron
scraper at the edge of the back veranda. Yves made a thorough job of it, but,
ever the observer, he noticed his host made only a half-hearted attempt to
scrape his boots before he led his friends into the house.
    Charles took their hats and riding gloves, then went to
fetch the decanter of single malt whiskey for the gentlemen.
    Adam took the chair nearest the open parlor doors and
propped his feet on the splendid damask ottoman. Yves winced at the marks his
friend’s boots left on the fabric. Among the things one learns from one’s
mother, to have a care for the furniture, he supposed, thinking of Adam’s
having lost his mother years ago.
    Yves and Marcel settled into their equally luxurious chairs
without ceremony. As Marcel spoke of a certain lady who had caught his eye at
the lake, Yves admired the long oval room that stretched from the front of the
house to the back.
    Adam’s late mother had created this room with an artist’s
eye, and it was a marvel of light and shadow. Above the wainscoting, the walls
were paneled in pale green Chinese silk. The same cool green damask covered the
heavily carved mahogany furniture, and the matching drapes puddled at the floor
in an excess of fine fabric. The paint work on the elaborate ceiling and door
carvings was brilliant lead white, the Flemish carpet heavy wool, deep green
with large rosy peonies woven in. With its tall windows bringing in the light,
the cool shadows faintly green, Yves thought it one of the finest rooms on the
river.
    “Where is your charming sister?” Marcel asked.
    Adam looked an inquiry at Charles, who was circulating once
more with the decanter.
    “Miss Marianne doctoring in the quarters, Mr. Adam.”
    Marcel examined the color of his whiskey through the cut
crystal glass. “I believe she was ’doctorin’ last time we were here.”
    “Might have been,” Adam said.
    “You disapprove?” Yves said to his brother.
    “Not at all. I simply marvel that the young ladies we meet
at the balls in New Orleans, powdered and rouged, in satin and lace, come home
after Lent to work in the quarters, getting their hands into God knows what.
Incongruous, that’s all.”
    “I think Marianne is as fond of satin as the next girl,”
Adam said. He’d had enough to slur his speech a little, Yves noticed. Have to
watch what I say. He’d known Adam to turn surly and mean with too much whiskey.
He’s probably hungry, Yves thought.  I certainly am. Maybe dinner would cut the
whiskey.
    As if reading Yves’ mind, Charles announced, “Dinner be
soon. Quick as Miss Marianne get herself back from de quarters. Oh, and Mr.
Adam, Mr. McNaught say can he see you? He waiting in