Forbidden to Love: An Historical Romance

by Patricia Hagan

  And he hadn't.

  Fever had set in. He'd hovered in a kind of netherworld for days, unaware of anything. When he'd finally come out of it, he found himself looking into brown eyes, crying with relief, and smothered by those large, luscious breasts.

  Big Ruby wanted him to hang around once he got on his feet, but he'd made up his mind to head back East and join the Union army. Now he was saying good-bye, and she was clinging to him and whispering how she knew he'd never promised anything, but she loved him all the same.

  "And in a special way, I love you, too," he said, and meant it, knowing it wasn't the way she wanted it. He meant gratitude, friendship. She wanted the forever kind of love, the kind he knew he could never offer, for he had none left to give.

  He mounted the horse, gazed down at her and tipped his hat. "You take care of yourself."

  "You, too, soldier"—she forced a brave smile—"and I hope you find that angel you were looking for."

  He blinked, puzzled. "What are you talking about?"

  She shrugged, as if it didn't matter, knowing all the while it did, and it hurt like hell, too. "I didn't say nothing about it, 'cause I kept hoping you'd wind up staying, but when you were out of your head with the fever, you kept calling somebody, calling them an 'angel.' And if she meant that much, I figure you have to love her. And if you do..." she grudgingly conceded, "then I hope you find her."

  Brett shook his head, as though he didn't know what she was talking about. With a last wave, he rode away.

  Angel, indeed, he bitterly scoffed, spurring the horse into a full gallop, anxious to get to the war. Devil was more like it.

  But Big Ruby had been right about one thing.

  He did love her.

  Chapter 17

  In the weeks following Anjele's return, it became obvious there were more problems to be dealt with than the war. With each passing day, her father seemed to be drifting farther and farther away from reality. Seldom did he appear at mealtime. He was either locked away in his study or sitting inside her mother's tomb. He drank more than she'd ever known him to. He seemed not to care for anything.

  The routine in the fields went unchanged. It was a wait-and-see time for those who hadn't fled, to learn how their lives, their world, would change with the enemy in control. Everyone was also waiting to see what would happen once General Benjamin Butler arrived with his land forces.

  Anjele tried to make up for her father's dwindling interest by checking with the overseers daily to make sure all was running smoothly. Claudia made sure she was right beside her, and Anjele worried that she would say or do something to cause them to quit. Overseers were in demand due to the scarcity of able-bodied men in Louisiana. In early April, the Confederate States Congress had passed an act conscripting white men between the ages of eighteen and thirty-five. They permitted one overseer to remain on each plantation per twenty slaves.

  Fortunately, as the days grew humid and warm, Claudia resisted leaving the cool and shaded house to follow Anjele. Instead, she began to take her carriage into New Orleans almost daily. At supper, she would report on how things were calming down, bragging about making friends with some of the officers' wives who had arrived to take up residence.

  Anjele was appalled, and one night, listening to Claudia glowingly tell of having had tea with Mrs. Elisabeth Hembree, she could be still no longer. "Is her husband a major?"

  "Why, yes, he is." Claudia raised an eyebrow. "But how would you know?"

  Anjele pushed the bowl of gumbo away, having suddenly lost her appetite. "He was the officer who was so rude when I arrived in the city."

  Claudia was quick to say, "No doubt it was your fault if he was. Elisabeth told me how the officers are instructed to treat everyone courteously, but of course we both agreed there's a certain limit to how much they can be expected to tolerate. Frankly, I've been well treated."

  "Of course you have," Anjele said, "you kiss their asses."

  "Anjele, watch your mouth!" Elton scolded. It was one of his rare appearances at the supper table, and he was stunned to hear such language.

  "I'm sorry, Poppa," Anjele apologized for her choice of words, adding, "but I can't think of any other way to describe what she does. Surely you don't approve."

  He was tempted to admit he didn't give a damn what Claudia did and that it would suit him fine if she moved to New Orleans and lived with the blasted Yankees. To keep peace, however, he suggested they change the subject. "Your mother always insisted on keeping conversation pleasant at the table."

  "I didn't start it," Claudia said, determined to have the last word.

  Elton held out his coffee cup to Kesia for a refill, making a face as he took a sip. "I don't know why I bother drinking this horrible brew. I can't remember the last time I had real coffee, or chicory. One of the cooks came up with this concoction made of parched corn, and it tastes terrible."

  Claudia gloated. "I had real coffee today, and it was wonderful. A supply ship came in yesterday, and all the wives got a generous supply."

  Raymond spoke up to tell Elton, "I can get you some coffee. One of the officers gave Daddy a supply as a token of gratitude for him sitting up all night with his sick wife. I'll bring you some next time I go into New Orleans."

  Anjele was aghast and slammed both hands on the table as she cried, "You'll do nothing of the kind. We're not taking anything from the damned Yankees."

  Claudia giggled. "Oh, you're being ridiculous. When are you going to grow up and realize you're only cutting off your nose to spite your face?"

  Elton cautiously suggested, "Maybe you should be a little more tolerant, Anjele. You've got to think of BelleClair."

  Aware that everyone was looking at her in accusation, Anjele stiffened. "What do you mean?"

  He seemed uncomfortable to have to explain that he'd had a visit earlier in the day from John Carraway, a planter from a parish upriver. "He says the slaves in the parishes below New Orleans are getting restless, and the only way owners can hope to maintain discipline is by the nearness of Federal troops."

  "I don't see what that has to do with us." Anjele shook her head. "We don't have problems here."

  "But we could," Elton said. "Those running away are able to incite others, like ours, who've been complacent in the past. John says large gangs are wandering into the Union army camps seeking freedom, excitement, not wanting to work the fields any longer. The soldiers are having to contend with them."

  Anjele challenged, "What did they expect?"

  "They weren't prepared..." Raymond started to join the conversation, but a frosty glare from Claudia silenced him.

  Elton went on to explain, "It's going to be an increasing problem, and the day may come when we'll need to ask for protection from the army. I agreed with John we need to meet with General Butler and let him know we're neutral on the war now. We won't be harboring Confederate soldiers or bushwhackers. In exchange, we'll have their support in time of need."

  Anjele stubbornly shook her head. "I won't sign an oath of allegiance to the Union."

  "You don't have to," he said.

  Excitedly, Claudia prodded, "Are you going to? Is that what you're getting a t?"

  Anjele silently begged her father to tell Claudia she was crazy to think he'd ever do such a thing but knew her hope was short-lived before he even spoke.

  "Yes, I think it's best for all of us, and it really makes no difference. Signing my name to a piece of paper doesn't change the fact that my heart and prayers are still with the Confederacy. They can't take that away from me. I'll just be using the Yankees to help us, don't you see that?" He covered Anjele's hand with his.

  She didn't see and never would but was glad he was starting to take an interest. "You do what you feel you must, but I won't sign, Poppa."

  "You don't have to," Claudia snapped. "Just keep your mouth shut and don't make trouble. Maybe the Yankees won't even know you're around. Thank goodness you won't be going to the ball to welcome General Butler. You'd be sure to
embarrass the family."

  Once more, Anjele was shocked. "Claudia! Don't tell me you'd even consider going to a Yankee ball."

  "I certainly am. And I'm going to have a new gown, too," she proceeded to boast. "Effie Lauteur, like all the couturieres in New Orleans, took down her sign, swearing she'd never sew for Yankee women. And, since no one confessed to being a dressmaker, all the officers' wives were having a terrible time trying to find someone to make new clothes. They aren't used to this heat, and the wardrobes they brought with them are much too warm.

  "So"—she swept them with an exultant smile—"when I told Elisabeth about Effie, she was so grateful she told Effie she had to make something new for me, too."

  Anjele was sickened. "Effie will never forgive you, and I don't blame her. How could you betray her?"

  "Easy. It not only got me a new dress, but an invitation to the ball, and now all the officers' wives adore me."

  Anjele muttered, "Don't be too sure."

  Elton hated to do so but felt there wouldn't be a better time to break the rest of his news and told Claudia, "You would have been invited to the ball, anyway." He turned to meet Anjele's questioning stare. "I received an invitation for all of us."

  Vehemently, she shook her head. "I've no intention of going to any social for any Yankee."

  "Please," Elton surprised everyone by pleading. "I want you to go with me, in your mother's place."

  At that, Claudia cried, "I don't want her there. She'll ruin it for me. She'll do something to humiliate all of us. I know she will. General Butler will probably have the whole plantation destroyed, the house burned down...." She melted into furious sobs.

  Raymond looked at her in disgust, shook his head, and continued eating.

  Anjele said she would think about it, knowing all along she would go, but only because her father had asked her to.

  Elton excused himself, after hardly touching his meal, and the instant he was out of the room, Claudia began railing at Anjele. "I warn you, if you do anything at that ball to embarrass me, you'll be sorry. I intend to be a part of the new society of New Orleans, and you better not ruin it for me."

  Anjele wasn't about to sit and listen to her. She got up and went out on the veranda. It was a nice evening. The sleepily flowing river glowed in the late afternoon sun; the sky was a limpid blue, tinted with streaks of peach and coral. A gentle breeze brought the fragrance of freshly turned soil as the hoe gang completed their day. It was so tranquil, and she took a deep breath, wanting to drink of the temporary respite from the chaos of her world.

  The sound of his cane striking the floor heralded Raymond joining her. Lowering himself into a rocker, he said lightly, "If Kesia weren't such a good cook, I swear I think I'd rather starve than endure another round at the table like that one."

  "Poppa was right," Anjele dully told him. "Momma never allowed unpleasantries."

  He snickered. "Everything is unpleasant when Claudia is around."

  Anjele didn't say anything. It made her uncomfortable when he criticized Claudia to her.

  "Remember the day you arrived?" he continued, oblivious to her silence. "Did you wonder why I wasn't out here with my mother waiting to greet you? Oh, I wanted to be, all right, but Claudia was so mad when she heard you were back, she ranted and raved and dared me to come out here. I would have, anyway, if Mother hadn't been here, but I didn't want her to have to witness another scene. Claudia had already had a fit when Mother showed up planning to stay with us. I didn't want to put her through another.

  "Though heaven knows"—he paused for an exaggerated sigh—"poor mother was certainly well acquainted with Claudia's tantrums. The short while we lived there, those two were at each other's throats constantly. I tried to referee for a while but finally gave up and got out of the way. It was a relief to march off to war, believe me."

  Out of the corner of her eye, Anjele caught movement and turned in time to see her father walking through the garden and heading up to the family cemetery. He was paying another visit to the tomb. She hadn't wanted to intrude before but now seized the chance to get away from Raymond. "Please excuse me. I'd like to walk with my father."

  She hurried away but not before hearing his despondent sigh. Her heart went out to him, but there was nothing she could do. She had enough problems of her own with Claudia without becoming involved in his.

  The rose garden sloped gently up to the highest point of the property, where the cemetery was situated. She could see her father emerging from the other side of the garden, heading up the path. She was about to call out to him to wait for her but was startled to see a man standing at the edge of the woods. He saw her at the precise instant she noticed him and swiftly stepped back to disappear into the foliage.

  She had but a glimpse of his face and was nettled by the awareness of having seen him before but couldn't remember who he was. Since he was white but not in uniform, she decided he was probably just one of the Acadians who didn't go off to war and was out for a walk. Hurrying to catch up with her father, she put it out of her mind.

  He was unlocking the new cast-iron gate covering the door of the tomb. Turning, his eyes lit up. He was obviously glad for her company. "I'd been wanting to ask if you'd like to come up here with me, but I wasn't sure the time was right."

  "And I've been waiting for you to ask me, but I'm here now, and that's all that matters."

  He pulled open the gate, then unlocked the metal door. As it swung open, he told her, "I keep these keys hidden. There's a loose brick in the hearth of the fireplace in my study. Third one, second row from the left, should you ever want to come up here and visit her by yourself."

  Inside, she was stunned to see how he'd made it resemble a small parlor, with a rocking chair and a rug she recognized as one her mother had crocheted. There was even a small table, with a Bible sitting next to a vase of wilting flowers.

  Respectfully, she stood back as he knelt and prayed for a few moments beside the concrete vault which held her mother's coffin. Finally sitting in the rocker, he began to talk. He told her of the last days, how he couldn't believe how quickly her mother died after falling ill. There was nothing Dr. Duval could do. Nothing anyone could do. She took to her bed complaining of headache and chills. Then the fever swept her, and she went into a coma. He did not leave her bedside for three days and three nights, and at dawn on the fourth morning, she breathed her last.

  "She loved you," he whispered, caressing her hair as she knelt before him and placed her head on his knee, her own tears flowing. "And she missed you so much. Once the war started, everytime I mentioned your staying in England where you'd be safe, she'd get real quiet and sad. She knew it was best, too, but she wanted you home."

  "I'm sorry"—Anjele began and paused to swallow past the constricting lump in her throat—"that I ever went away. I never meant to hurt either of you, believe me."

  "It's over. No need to talk about that, except to say Claudia didn't make it any easier. Your mother and I suspected she went to Raymond and upset him so badly he went crazy for a while, and that's how she was able to get him to marry her. But if he was so weak, well, God help him." He shook his head.

  They stayed until the sun began going down, and Elton said it was time to be getting home while they could still see their way.

  He locked the door and gate, then paused before pointing and crying out in astonishment, "Look! There! Coming out of that crevice. Wildflowers. And your mother's coffin is right on the other side."

  Anjele followed his gaze to see tiny flowers in a rainbow of colors, sprouting from the tomb.

  He reached out with shaking fingers to lovingly caress the delicate petals. "Don't you see?" he whispered in awe, "It's life, growing out of the very aperture of death."

  Leo cautiously approached the crypt. He had just heard the chimes from Jackson Square and knew it was midnight. No one had seen him go into the cemetery. Even the Yankee patrols avoided the place, figuring nobody would want to hang around there. He sure as h
ell didn't but was eager for his money. He was just reaching above the door to get it when The Voice spoke, startling him, as always. "Shit," he said, as the money slipped from his fingers. He quickly stooped to grope for it in the inky darkness. "Don't scare me like that."

  "Have you anything to report?" The sound came, as always, from inside the cold, gray walls.

  "Nothing. Sinclair don't do nothing but hang around the house or sit at his wife's tomb. I tell you," he added with a derisive snort, "I'm getting sick of hanging around graves."

  "Shut up," The Voice hissed. "You're paid to do whatever's necessary to keep an eye on him. Are you sure he hasn't had any visitors? Talked to anyone?"

  Leo related John Carraway's visit but said he had no idea what they had discussed. Carraway didn't stay very long, he recalled.

  The Voice didn't find the information important. He knew Carraway, and he would not be the sort to work undercover for the Confederates, so he'd know nothing of the plates, and Elton wouldn't confide in him. "Listen to me," he said then, making his voice harsh, stern. "It's time for you to know that Elton Sinclair has something that belongs to the Federal government. I was in hopes you would see him make contact with someone, passing it along to them, and it could be recovered quietly, discreetly, without a fuss. But from what you've told me, he's done nothing out of the ordinary."

  "That's right. Just sits up at that tomb. Either inside or out. Doesn't give a hang about his crops, looks like."

  "The time has come for us to move. I want you now to do whatever you have to, to make him talk and find out where the property is hidden."

  Leo grinned, excitement building. He'd been waiting for a chance to get rough with Sinclair. "Just tell me what it is you're looking for."

  "I don't want any trouble," The Voice emphasized. "I want you to catch him by himself. Be sure to wear a mask so he doesn't recognize you. Tell him you know what he took from the Mint, and one way or another, he's going to give it to you."