Free Moon Flower (Gone-to-Texas Trilogy) by Shirl Henke Page A

church on Franklin Street, the flickering uncertain light of the dim candles revealed delicate plaster statuary. The ornate altar and Stations of the Cross seemed alien and forbidding to Adam Manchester's eyes. Turning to Deborah before he accompanied her down the aisle, he gripped her arm and whispered, “It's not too late to change your mind, daughter.”
           Her first impulse was to be furiously angry with him for spoiling her day; but when she looked into his eyes, she felt only sorrow for the way in which she must leave him. “I know what I'm doing, Father. It's for the best. You'll see.”
           The wedding was small, both because of its haste and the circumstances necessitating it. Rafael, of course, had no family attending; Deborah had only Lydia and Adam. She wore a simple day dress of white raw silk. Its high neckline and softly gored skirt were plain, adorned only by seed pearls sewn across the bodice and sleeves. A lace veil covered her silvery hair. Looking down the aisle to the altar she saw Rafael's face light when he caught sight of her. Her groom was resplendent in a snowy white ruffled stock, red brocade waistcoat, and light gray wool suit. The rich clothing emphasized his swarthy coloring and striking handsomeness.
           Father Jean performed the ceremony simply and briefly as the groom had requested, accommodating the Episcopalian sensibilities of his new father-in-law. When Rafael slipped the delicate gold filigree wedding band on her finger and looked into her wide lavender eyes, he felt a strong tightening in his throat. He could tell that she shared his feelings, as she, too, swallowed with difficulty and pressed her small cool hands tightly inside his large warm ones.
           Although they returned to the Manchester house for a light repast, neither bride nor groom noticed what they ate. Adam's taciturn behavior and Lydia's giddy chatter went unnoticed as well. By the time they had reached the wharf where their ship awaited them, Monsieur and Madame Flamenco were simply relieved to take leave of the intrusions of the outside world.
           While Deborah and Lydia hugged and exchanged a last girlish confidence, Rafael gravely shook hands with a granite-faced Adam. “I shall take care of her, sir,” he said solemnly, attempting to allay his father-in-law's misgivings.
           “See that you do,” was the terse admonition.

 
     
    Chapter Five
     
     
           As they stood watching the bobbing sailboats and tall masts in the Boston Harbor, Rafael wrapped Deborah's white cashmere shawl more securely around her shoulders to ward off the chill. The Blue Lightning , the luxury steamship taking them to New Orleans, was heading out to sea and in the brisk April breezes a few strands of Deborah's hair came loose from the pins. Rafael caught a silky curl and ran his lips over it, then bent to place several very warm kisses on her cool neck. When he felt her shiver, he let out a low, wicked chuckle and murmured, “You'll be much warmer below in our cabin, Cherie .”
           Nodding silently, Deborah let him guide her down to the spacious quarters. Their stateroom was richly appointed, the best he could reserve on a week's notice. As he had instructed, the galley had sent a bottle of chilled French champagne, an assortment of fine English cheeses, and fresh Caribbean fruit.
           Deborah wandered about the room, looking out the small windows, running her hands over the sturdy varnished oak table, chairs, and wardrobe, all the while deliberately avoiding looking at the largest piece of furniture in the room—the wide double bed with its deep plum velvet spread and high mound of fluffy silk bolsters. She slipped off her shawl and folded it precisely, then placed it on top of a chest in one corner.
           Rafael opened the champagne and poured two glasses. “This should steady your nerves and give you some sea legs, Amante .” He handed