Night of the Candles Read Free Page B

follower of Popery. The week after Amelia had returned to school from attending her grandmother’s funeral, she had eloped with Jason.
    With a shake of her head, Amanda pushed the memories of that time, more than three years past, from her mind. She could not allow herself to dwell on those days now.
    In the front parlor they found a small but cheerful fire burning beneath the Adams mantel. Its warm glow dispelled some of the gathering gloom, lending an air of spurious hospitality to the room. A pair of lamps illuminated the corners, a condition the room tolerated in stiff discomfort, like an elderly matron enduring the revealing light of the sun upon her patched and faded garments.
    The flickering lamplight also disclosed a portrait hanging above the mantel. It shone on gold buttons and braid and slid gleaming along the length of a dress sword. The figure was a soldier in the tailored gray of an officer of the Confederate Army. One hand rested on the hilt of his sword, the other held a broad-brimmed campaign hat, letting it lie against his gold-striped trouser leg. There was pride and confidence in every line, from the set of the straight, broad shoulders, to the firm placing of the booted feet. In the background was the spread of green field with long, arrow-straight furrows pointing toward a white pillared mansion on a hill. The house was Monteigne and the soldier, young, carefree, faintly reckless, was Jason.
    “A handsome devil, isn’t he?” Sophia mocked as Amanda stood gazing up at the portrait.
    Amanda looked away at once, moving to hold out her hands to the flames beneath the mantel. “I hadn’t realized … that is … Amelia never mentioned that he had fought in the war.”
    “Amelia had no use for unpleasant things. She tried very hard to forget them, and she usually succeeded.”
    “You seem to have known my cousin well,” Amanda said. She could not disagree with this appraisal of her Amelia’s character. It was true enough, though she could not, as Sophia’s tone suggested, consider it a fault.
    “We … my brother and I … have been neighbors of Jason’s all our lives. We have always been in and out of each other’s houses. And, of course, I have been serving as Jason’s housekeeper since we lost our plantation.”
    “I see.”
    “No, I’m sure you don’t,” the other woman said, smiling at Amanda’s carefully neutral tone. “We could not pay the back taxes, and a slimy carpetbagger bought our home at a Sheriff’s auction. Jason took us in. Since Amelia was ill, I made myself useful.”
    There was nothing surprising in the tale. People in the South had been put to stranger shifts in the last few years. What was odd was the satisfaction Sophia seemed to feel in the arrangement.
    Before she could comment, footsteps were heard in the hallway outside and a man appeared in the doorway. Of average height, he was broad in the chest and shoulders, creating an impression of stockiness. His hair, the color of corn silk, lay fine and thin across his skull. A mask of pale gold freckles covered his face, testifying to his outdoor occupation. With his blue eyes and pale lips he was obviously related to Sophia, though the smile, which lit his features, was warmer by several degrees.
    “Allow me to present my brother, Theodore Abercrombie. Theo, this is Amelia’s cousin, Amanda Trent.” Sophia performed the introduction with bad grace.
    “Delighted, Miss Trent,” Theo said, inclining his head. “If I had known we had a visitor, I would have taken more trouble removing my dirt. I am afraid I’ve only just come from the fields. We’re harvesting, you know, trying to get the last cotton ball before the fall rains begin.”
    “Miss Trent isn’t interested in your problems,” his sister said, a cutting edge to her voice. “She only came on a small errand. She will be leaving shortly.”
    Theo glanced beyond them to the window, which framed a towering mass of dark clouds roiled by the wind. A frown