Night of the Candles Read Free

in front of that mirror, with the room at that precise angle behind her.
    As she stared, her reflection dimmed. Turning, she saw that the light in the room had faded also. Beyond the window it appeared that night had fallen with amazing swiftness, but as she moved to stand peering out she saw that the effect was caused by a black cloud looming up from the southeast. The wind had risen; she could see the tops of the trees threshing in the woods some distance from the house. The gray-blue light had drawn the color from the grass leaving it without life, flattened by the wind.
    As she watched she saw her gig, with a man at the reins, being driven along the wagon track toward the barn among the trees. Perhaps Jason had given orders for her horse to be watered. It was a thoughtful gesture. It had been a long dry drive.
    Aware of her own thirst, she turned quickly when the door opened behind her. She would be glad to return to the parlor downstairs for her refreshment.
    A woman stood in the doorway. She gave a gasp followed by a single word that rose to a shriek.
    “No!”
    Amanda swallowed, a nerve throbbing in her throat. Then she moved into the center of the room toward the large woman.
    “What is it? What is the matter?”
    “Gruess Gott,” the woman breathed, putting her hand to a massive bosom. “You gave me a turn.”
    “I didn’t mean to startle you. I was waiting for Sophia to bring water.”
    “Ach, that one! She says to me, ‘Look in Amelia’s room. There is a surprise.’ The mischief-maker. I’ll have her eyes some day! But don’t be alarmed. I have no anger for you. I know well it is the doing of that one. It is no fault of yours that you have the size, the hair, and the eyes of Madame Amelia.”
    Amanda summoned a smile. “Amelia and I always favored. However, you will notice that my eyes are gray. Hers were almost the color of violets.”
    Ponderously the woman moved closer, squinting to see in the dim room. “Yes. It is so,” she agreed, nodding. “Ah, the violets. How Madame Amelia loved them, their scent, their color … You knew Madame Amelia? You are her kinswoman, it may be?”
    “A cousin. Our fathers were brothers. We were brought up together by our grandparents.”
    “Of course! You will be her dear Amanda, nicht? She spoke of you sometimes, when her heart turned toward home. She told me of how your fathers were killed in the war and of how your mother died of the fever and her own mother remarried a man with no use for a child … especially another man’s child.”
    In the guttural accents of the woman, Amanda thought she recognized a member of Louisiana’s German colony. Lured to Louisiana by John Law’s Mississippi bubble, they had made a section above New Orleans, known as the German Coast, their own. Their culture had added a soupcon more flavor to the already rich blend of French, Spanish, Scots-English, African, and Indian heritages in the state.
    “I didn’t mean to be so long…”
    Sophia, coming through the door with a pitcher of water in one square, rather brown hand and a towel over her arm, spoke to Amanda. “I see you have met our capable Marta. Has she told you her life’s story yet? Never mind. She will, given the chance. I advise you to be ruthless. Tell her at once you don’t want to hear anything so boring.”
    “At least I am a decent. God-fearing woman,” Marta retaliated, a scowl drawing her small, pale blue eyes together. “I have no need for the prayers of other people.”
    “Pray for me, Marta, when you fall down on your knees tonight before your stern God. Pray for my wicked soul.”
    “Do you dare to mock the Lord, you blasphemous creature? Sin lies upon you like dirt upon the ground. You should always go robed in scarlet. The Lord knows your sins, he knows, and he will mete out punishment, you will see, you will see.”
    “Don’t be tiresome, Marta. Go away.” Sophia gave the big woman a push toward the door.
    Marta shook her off. “Don’t