The Grand Masquerade (The Bold Women Series Book 4) Read Online Free PDF

bang the door, making the flames jump and the wind chimes jangle.
    As Sydnee pulled the door shut, something caught her eye, and she started. There in a rumpled heap in the corner was Margarite.
    “ Ma mère !” she cried.
    Hanging onto the wall, she stumbled over and dropped to her knees, putting her hands on the woman’s face. “Wake up!” Sydnee cried, turning her head toward her. “Please wake up!” she begged. Margarite opened her eyes and mumbled something, but Sydnee did not understand.
    Mustering her limited strength, she crawled behind Margarite and lifted her under the arms, pulling her over to the bed on the floor. Panting, she ran her eyes over her but found no injuries.
    “Where is the baby?” Sydnee asked anxiously.
    Gently she shook Margarite, and she opened her eyes.
    “The baby?” Sydnee repeated, looking at her desperately.
    Margarite stared at her. She grimaced and then murmured apologetically, “ Mort .”
    Sydnee blinked in disbelief, dropped back onto the blanket, covered her face and shook her head from side to side. Another baby born without life . How can this be!
    All night long and all through the next day, she stayed on the bed, stone faced and mute by Margarite. She bore her despair in silence, letting Margarite sleep. She knew that the woman was exhausted from helping her give birth, and it was not until the sun began to set that she turned and looked at her. Margarite was on her back, her breathing quick and shallow. Her cheeks were sunken, and her eyeballs were yellow when she turned to look at Sydnee. Moving her lips, she tried to speak, but no words would come.
    Sydnee waited, afraid of what she was about to hear. At last Margarite whispered, “Pain. Help me, my leetle one . ”
    Sydnee squeezed her eyes shut. She did not want to do what she knew Margarite was asking.
    “ S'il te plait ?” the old woman pleaded.
    Reluctantly, Sydnee nodded and pushed herself up off the bed. Still weak and sore, it took great effort to rise. Her hair was matted and dried blood was caked over her legs. The heat in the shed was oppressive and the air thick with illness. When she stepped outside, the damp air of the swamps filled her lungs, and the dogs dashed out from under the porch to greet her. The sunset glowed red as it filtered through the tangled webs of Spanish moss.
    The first thing she did was scan the yard for her father. All was quiet. She hung onto the shed, gathering strength to walk to the cabin. She took a deep breath, mustered her courage and walked up the path.
    The cabin was empty, and she sighed with relief. Sydnee took a plate of hush puppies and scooped a bowl of nuts from a barrel and then ducked out back to the still where she filled a jug with whiskey. She returned to the shed as quickly as her legs would allow. She was afraid her father would appear at any moment and demand work from her.
    The white lightning seemed to put new life into Margarite as Sydnee held her head and poured the alcohol into her mouth. Margarite dropped back onto the bed and sighed, much relieved. It seemed to warm her core and ease her pain.
    Sydnee felt guilty giving whiskey to Margarite. It was the very substance that was killing her, but she knew that it was too late. It was all the woman had to dilute her pain for her last few hours on earth.
    She gulped some from the jug herself, ate some hush puppies and then pulled back the greased paper on the window to look outside. Vivian was perched on a branch nearby. She cocked her head when she saw Sydnee and then went back to watching over the shed diligently.
    When Sydnee eased back down, Margarite took her hand. It was difficult for her to speak, but the old woman whispered, “Leave here.”
    “Leave you and Papa?”
    “You are not listening to the spirits. They want both of us to leave. I am a slave. Passing to the other side is the only way for me.”
    Biting her lip, Sydnee rolled her head away from Margarite. She had indeed heard a whispering