Daughters of the Summer Storm

one he punishes if he finds out. You're too much like Maman for Papa ever to be mad at you." Marigold gave her a final push and softly closed the door to Mrs. Windom's shop behind them.
Reluctantly, Maranta followed her headstrong sister in the direction of Line Street and the railway station. She couldn't understand how Marigold dared to deliberately disobey their father. What if he should catch them going where they had no business, unchaperoned? Maranta shuddered, just thinking about it.
The familiar sights of Charleston went unnoticed and unsavored as Maranta followed Marigold past Calhoun Street and Vanderhorst, on past Radcliffe and Spring, until they reached their destination.
The noisy locomotive belched black smoke and soot into the air, while it gathered steam to start on its journey. Bales of cotton had been loaded on a barrier car to protect the passengers from the stray sparks and flames spewing from the engine. And the pine knots to be used as torches to light the way home to Charleston that evening were neatly stacked in one corner of the shiny new locomotive.
Relieved that the train was still at the station, Marigold left Maranta outside to keep watch while she slipped into the station house. The golden-haired girl hesitated, her eyes searching for Shaun Banagher.
Although his back was to her, there was no mistaking him. His height alone would single him out from the rest, without the familiar proud tilt to his head.
Almost as if sensing eyes upon him, the tall, well-built young man turned. "Marigold," he said in surprise, taking a step toward her, "what are you doing here?"
"I had to see you, Shaun."
He glanced toward the passenger door and quickly ushered Marigold into the stationmaster's empty office.
"What's so important that you risked coming here alone?" he asked, his voice filled with disapproval.
"Maranta is with me," Marigold assured him. "She's waiting outside."
Ignoring his frown, she rushed on. "Oh, Shaun. Papa is in an awful temper. He found out that I've been meeting you at the battery. And now he has threatened to marry me off to the next dandy who offers for me."
The man laughed and tenderly smoothed an errant curl that peeked from under her silk bonnet.
"You're just being dramatic, Marigold—as usual."
Her tawny eyes clouded. "Then you don't care if I. . . marry someone else?" she whispered.
The smile disappeared and Shaun's voice changed. "You will marry no one but me, Marigold. But I won't go to your father, penniless. In a few months. . ."
"A few months," she repeated, interrupting. "By then, it'll be too late. If you really love me, you will. . ."
The noise of the clanging bell muffled her voice. Shaun gazed out the window at the locomotive and back to Marigold. "I have to go. The train is ready to leave."
"Then goodbye, Shaun," she said, turning her face from him.
She felt his arms tighten around her while his angry green eyes explored her piquant face.
"Just what do you mean by that?" he asked.
"I shan't see you again, Shaun. There evidently is no hope for us."
His kiss brushed away the trembling of her lips, and Shaun groaned with the sudden flaring of passion.
Outside the station house, Marigold's twin, Maranta, sat on the wooden bench, her face partially hidden under the ruffled parasol that shaded her alabaster complexion from the fierce September sun. With each hiss of the locomotive building up its steam, Maranta gave a start. Her troubled, dark, satin eyes, looking for Marigold, glanced anxiously toward the station door and then back toward the street. Why didn't Marigold hurry? It was already past time for them to be at the house where the family was waiting.
The longer she sat, the more uncomfortable she became. The heat caused little rivulets of moisture to gather between her breasts, and she could feel the wetness trickle down her blue afternoon dress. And she was thirsty. Yet, there was nothing she could do except ignore both the heat and her thirst. She lowered the parasol closer to her face, shutting out everything but the view of the station door, and began to pray silently. "Please, Marigold. Please come before it's too late."
"Just as I suspected," the angry voice exploded, breaking into her thoughts and causing Maranta to jump. She looked up into the tawny, stormy eyes of her father, Robert Tabor.
"P-Papa," tshe stammered, hastily removing herself from the wooden bench.
"Go to the carriage, Maranta. I will deal with you later."
His stern tone frightened her, but her fear was more for Marigold than for herself. Maranta hesitated and then spoke, her own voice little more than a whisper over the noisy locomotive.
"Don't be too hard on Marigold, Papa. She. . . she loves him, Papa."
"That is no excuse for your behavior, coming unchaperoned to the rail station."
"Yes, Papa." She stood for a moment, watching her father's back as he disappeared into the station. And then, she slowly walked to the family carriage and, climbing into the hooded vehicle, was thankful to be safe from curious eyes.
The black woman, Feena, sat on the seat with the driver. She wouldn't look at Maranta and she grumbled to herself to indicate her annoyance at the trick the girls had played on her.
"I am sorry, Feena," Maranta apologized.
But the old woman pretended not to hear. She kept her head turned and she watched the locomotive with an exaggerated interest.
Poor Marigold. Why did she constantly court trouble by not only seeking out the man she had been forbidden to see again, but by staying far too long? Feena was bound to suspect something while she waited outside the dress shop for such a long time.
Fearfully, Maranta stared toward the station. And then she saw them—Her father, with his slight limp breaking his long stride into an irregular gait, and Marigold, walking beside him, with her face set in an almost identical stubborn expression, and her golden hair a brighter, burnished version of the man's.
Robert Tabor handed Marigold into the carriage, and the driver, waiting