"He told me what was in it," she added.
Claudia sneered, "You don't really think that matters now, do you? Fool! I haven't ingratiated myself with the Yankees for nothing. All I have to do is ask General Butler to officially confiscate BelleClair, and for all intents and purposes, it's mine. I've already signed the loyalty oath, and believe me, I can have anything I want now."
Anjele sank deeper into her world of darkness and despair, for she knew Claudia was right. What difference did her father's will make now? He might as well have deeded BelleClair over to the Union.
Claudia was silent for a long time, wanting to give Anjele sufficient time to ponder her words. Remembering Mammy was still in the room, she dismissed her with a wave.
Anjele heard the door open and close, and, thinking it was Claudia who had gone, whispered brokenly, "What am I going to do, Mammy?"
She jumped at the sound of Claudia's laughter once more.
"You aren't going to do anything but stay out of my way as much as possible. And as soon as Dr. Duval says you're over your injury , you're getting out of here. I don't want you around whining and feeling sorry for yourself. I'm much too busy, and besides, I plan to make BelleClair a delightful retreat for the soldiers. I'm going to have balls and parties and barbecues and picnics, and I don't want you ruining everyone's fun by groping about and staggering into things." Each cruel, hateful word stung like an angered wasp, but with each venomous injection, Anjele's spine stiffened. "This is still my home," she reminded her sister, "and you can't run me out."
Claudia laughed, "We'll see about that."
After she left, Anjele lay there for a long time, carefully planning how she was going to learn to exist in a world of darkness. First she would memorize her room, which would be easy, for she knew it so well already. Next she would go through the entire house, a room, a hallway at a time. Once she could find her way from top to bottom without difficulty, the grounds would be next. True, she'd have to rely on others, like Mammy Kesia, to help her with certain tasks, but she'd succeed, by God. She would not allow Claudia to run her out of her own home.
This time, Anjele made up her mind to fight back.
In the following weeks, she amazed all the household servants by her dogged determination. Able to find her way about the house with ease, she mastered riding skills next. Admitting to needing a guide, for a horse was a moving object and sometimes unpredictable, she enlisted little William, Kesia's son, to go about with her.
Soon the sight became commonplace—the little black boy riding alongside the white lady. Anyone not knowing them would never have guessed she was blind, for Anjele rode with head high, shoulders straight, serene with confidence.
It was only inside, where no one could see, that she allowed herself sometimes to be frightened.
At first, Claudia had watched, waiting for Anjele to fail, and when she didn't, decided it made no difference. Anjele couldn't stop her from taking control of BelleClair.
Raymond, feeling more useless with each passing day, drank heavily. Most of the time, he was in a stupor, not caring what happened. Claudia had threatened to kick him out if she caught him so much as lifting a little finger to help Anjele, much less spend time with her. And he was terrified at the thought of being banished, for there was nowhere to go. His parents had both signed loyalty oaths to the Union, which he adamantly refused to do, and they were reluctant to have him visit, for fear he'd cause trouble, drunk as he always was. With his game leg, he was unable to fight, unfit for any kind of work. At BelleClair, he was taken care of. And when Elton's supply of whiskey and wine had been depleted, and Claudia had made no effort to persuade her Yankee friends to furnish him with more, he surprised even himself by devising a secret distillery to make a crude kind of rum from molasses. He then made one of the sugarhouses a secret retreat and spent most of his waking hours there.
Meanwhile, with the help of Major Hembree and approval of General Butler, Claudia was able to keep the cane and cotton fields efficiently moving right along, heading for a most successful yield at season's end. She was able to find several competent overseers willing to work for reasonable wages once assured that troops would be around to deal with any slave uprisings. Once everything was under control in that area, she turned her attention to making BelleClair a Union retreat. Officers were invited to stay in luxury indoors, while soldiers camped out on the lawn beneath the great, spreading oaks. No longer did she have to worry about the plantation being ransacked or raided. Woe to any forager who dared disturb the peace.
Anjele hated the Yankees, and when they were about, she refused to leave her room. Mammy would describe the lavish dinner parties, and she knew her father was probably turning over in his grave.
Sleep did not come easily, for she was haunted by memories of that fateful night. She knew there was something important just out of her grasp that desperately had to be recalled. Yet she could force her memory to go no further than kneeling beside her father, sickened and terrified by the blood, the knife sticking out of his chest. It had finally come back to her that, yes, he had said something to her, but it was like feathers in the wind, floating higher, higher, always out of reach, only to swoop and dance and tease as she desperately tried to discover what it was that tortured so.
Eventually she had also been able to dwell on the terrifying glimpse of the poker, slicing through the air. She had seen a man—but who? Always, as his face started to emerge from the wispy clouds of oblivion, the image slipped away, lost in the shadows of her tormented mind.
Anjele found the lack of war news frustrating, for she clung to the hope that Rebel forces would retake New Orleans, but she didn't know what was going on anywhere. Raymond was forbidden to come to her room, and she did not encounter him anywhere in the house. Claudia wouldn't allow her to take her meals downstairs, and she didn't want to, anyway, what with Mammy telling her how the Yankees came and went at leisure. The only information she got was from Dr. Duval, which wasn't often. As time passed, it became obvious there was no need for him to examine her several times a week. The wound to her head healed. He told her over and over how lucky she was. A bit more force, and she would have died. He could give her no words of encouragement that her vision would return. All she could cling to, he regretted having to say, was hope. He only came about every ten days or so.
He had told her about all the fighting going on in Virginia, as Federal forces tried to capture the Confederate capitol at Richmond. And though the final assault went badly for the South, General Robert E. Lee's forces had been able to hold the Union Army of the Potomac at bay. Anjele was saddened to hear of so many casualties after what was being called the Seven Days' Campaign—over twenty thousand Confederates reported dead.
She was further stricken to learn Jamie Rabine was among them and knew Miss Melora would be devastated with grief. However, she was surprised by Dr. Duval's reaction when she remarked she'd like to go into town to pay her respects to her former music teacher.
"No, it's not safe for a young lady. Especially in your... condition," he gingerly added.
Anjele did not argue but quietly made her own plans. Two days later, when Mammy Kesia dutifully reported Claudia had left to go into town to spend the day with Elisabeth Hembree, Anjele ordered her carriage made ready. "You'll go with me," she told Mammy, "and be my eyes. We'll call on Miss Melora and then we'll go for a walk, and you can tell me what you see. I want to know what it's really like in New Orleans now."
Mammy was leery, confiding she'd heard terrible tales.
"Nonsense." Anjele breezily tossed aside her protests. "The Yankees are in control, aren't they? Surely, they won't allow rioting and such. What could happen? We'll be fine."
Mammy described the streets of New Orleans as very crowded, mostly with soldiers, and Anjele could hear the noise. "I do hope Miss Melora's house wasn't stolen like so many others," she remarked.
The carriage slowed, stopped, and Mammy told her, "We'll soon know, 'cause here we is
. But maybe we better wait awhile," she added, "some soldiers are comin' down the sidewalk, and they're starin' right at you."
"So? We aren't doing anything wrong. Help me down, William," she called to the boy, unaware he was already standing in front of her till she felt his hand touching hers.
Warily, Mammy followed, opening a parasol to shade Anjele from the sun.
The soldiers reached them. William held back, but Anjele thought he merely underestimated her bravado in darkness. Stepping forward, she bumped right into one of the men.
"Hey, watch it!" he snarled, then, eyes narrowing in suspicion, accused, "You did that on purpose, didn't you? You think 'cause you're a woman, we're supposed to get out of your way, or you'll just run right into us, won't you?"
Anjele did not immediately grasp what was going on, because William, terrified of the ferocious-looking soldiers, dropped her hand and went to cower behind the carriage. Mammy Kesia, also struck with fear, was barely able to whisper, "Soldiers. Just let 'em pass."
To the delight of his companions, the soldier gave Anjele a rough shove that sent her stumbling back against the carriage. "Get out of our way. Show some respect."
Anjele exploded. "What do you think you're doing? You push a woman and dare speak of respect? You damn Yankee..."
She had bumped into Mammy and in throwing out her arms for balance, brushed the parasol. Groping for it, she swung out and managed to hit one of the soldiers across his face. Mammy started screaming, and with William right on her heels, took off down the middle of the street.
"Why, you arrogant little bitch," the soldier cried, jerking the parasol out of her hand and breaking it across his knee. "I'll teach you to hit me."
"Yeah," one of the others goaded. "Remember Order 28, Ned. She's nothing but a prostitute. I say we take her in the nearest alley and throw her down and put her to work."
Anjele was too mad to be scared, and as strong hands clamped down on her shoulders, she fought back, slapping, clawing, kicking, as they began dragging her away.
Inside the house, Melora Rabine had heard the commotion. Flinging open the door, she ran down the steps calling, "Stop it, you scalawags. Leave that poor girl alone."
"Stay out of this," one of the soldiers said, "or we'll have you charged with Order 28, too."
A crowd was gathering in the streets, and Melora was relieved to see other soldiers running toward them to intervene. "You better leave her alone," Melora shrieked, "That poor girl is blind!"
"Blind?" one of the men echoed.
Anjele felt the clutching hands fall away, but still she fought, whirling this way and that, striking out.
Backing away from her, the soldiers stared in astonishment to realize she really could not see them.
Melora ran up and grabbed her. "It's all right. It's me, Melora Rabine. You're all right now. Come with me...." she quickly led Anjele inside the house and closed the door.
Guiding her into the parlor to the sofa, Melora clucked. "Oh, you poor dear. General Butler and his Order Number 28." She gave a disgusted snort. "It's not safe for our women to be out, what with those soldiers having the right to treat them like a prostitute."
Anjele, calming a bit, asked what she was talking about.
"Why, haven't you heard? General Butler said he was tired of his officers and soldiers being subjected to insults from women of New Orleans, and he's issued an order that says they're to be regarded as no better than prostitutes."
"Dear Lord." Anjele shook her head from side to side. She felt like crying but could not, would not, determined to resist weakness of any sort.
Melora left her to make tea. Returning, she mustered courage to speak of that which cut like a knife to her soul. "I know you're here about Jamie, and I want you to know I appreciate it. It's something I'll never get over. I thought when I lost Fred to malaria ten years ago, I knew what heartache was. I was wrong. When a mother loses a child, the pain is indescribable."
Anjele found her hand in the darkness and squeezed. "It hurts to lose your parents, too. All of a sudden, I realize I'm nobody's child."
"And your own tragedy," Melora offered, "So sad—"
"No, please, don't." Anjele was almost harsh in her protest. "Don't feel sorry for me. I can cope with blindness but not pity."
"And you're doing very well, I hear. Ida Duval was telling me just the other day how Vinson is so pleased with how you're managing to get on with your life. Though how you put up with that traitorous sister of yours is beyond me."
"We do what we must and take one day at a time." Anjele reached out and found the tray, felt for the cream pitcher and was grateful Miss Melora was allowing her to fend for herself.
Suddenly there was a loud pounding on the door, and Melora got up to answer. "That must be Mammy Kesia. I saw her run away, but she probably realized by now it's safe to come back."
Anjele frowned. Mammy would never be so rude as to pound on a door like that. Then the sound of angry voices reached her ears, and she knew her suspicions were correct.
Trouble.
She heard Miss Melora say nervously, "Well, she's in here but remember she is blind, and—"
"We'll handle it."
Anjele groaned to recognize Major Hembree's voice. He came right to her and crisply informed her that she had been charged with violation of General Order Number 28. When told she was being taken to Union Headquarters for arraignment, she bit her tongue to keep from screaming in protest. She did not want to upset Miss Melora any more than she already was, and besides, Anjele wasn't about to give the major the pleasure of using force to take her in.
She spoke not a word, but kept her head held high as she endured the humiliation of having to be led away. Though she couldn't see them, Anjele felt the staring eyes as she passed.
General Butler was in a meeting and not immediately available to pass judgment. Placed in a room to wait, she sensed others were around.
Among the adjustments she'd had to make was the feeling of being trapped in a night never ending, for time stood still in her darkness. She had no idea how long she sat there waiting but fiercely made up her mind not to let her anguish show. She sat with chin up, back straight, did not move.
When Major Hembree finally returned, he took one look at her and knew he'd never seen a more stubborn girl in all his life. Lovely, beyond a doubt, and her blindness, a tragedy. Yet it was a blessing the entire Southland wasn't as obdurate or the Union would never have a chance for victory.
Without salutation, he brusquely informed her, "General Butler has left it to me to deal with you."
Anjele had heard his footsteps and was not startled when he spoke. "So deal with me, Major. Tell me," she continued with obvious contempt, "do you really plan to charge me with prostitution in accordance with your general's famous, ridiculous Order Number 28? I should think a blind harlot would be something of a novelty, even for you Yankees."
Major Hembree stiffened but remained composed. Soldiers were about, having been stationed to keep an eye on the prisoner, and he wasn't about to allow them to witness his discomfiture before a woman, especially a Rebel. "I'll ignore your insolence, Miss Sinclair, yielding once again to your disability. But I want you to know it's only because of your sister that I was able to convince General Butler to be lenient. He was unmoved when I told him about your blindness, because he shares my opinion that you use it to your advantage."
"A lie," Anjele had to protest, biting back the tongue-lashing she ached to inflict.
He went on as though she had not spoken. "So I did talk him out of sending you off to prison, which he thought was the best way to handle your situation. He agreed to give you another chance, but you won't be allowed to return to New Orleans. Until further notice, you are not to leave the grounds of BelleClair, understand?"
"That's not fair. For you to tell me where I can and cannot go isn't right."
She heard the sound of snickering and knew her instincts had been right in sensing others were watching.
"It's not my fault your soldiers are rude and disorderly. They cause the trouble, not the women, and—"
"Oh, for heaven's sake, Anjele, just shut up, will you?" Claudia breezed into the room, murmuring a quick apology to Major Hembree for all the trouble before going on to admonish, "I swear, I've never been so embarrassed in my whole life. There I am, having a lovely time with Elisabeth, when soldiers come to tell me you've been arrested. So help me, if I have to lock you in your room, this isn't going to happen again."
Turning to the major, Claudia assured, "I'll make sure all the groomsmen and servants know she's not to leave. I promise she won't cause any more trouble."
"I hope not. General Butler made it clear next time she'll go to prison. He's fed up with his troops being treated disrespectfully."
"They're treated like royalty at BelleClair," Claudia cooed, offering her most dazzling smile. "And you tell General Butler I'm looking forward to having him visit any time he wants to."
Anjele stood, feeling sick to her stomach to hear such fawning.
Claudia grabbed her arm and yanked her along, furiously condemning her behavior and swearing she'd be sorry if she ever caused one more ripple of annoyance to the army.
Anjele was determined to remain silent. It wouldn't do any good to argue. Not now. Till her vision returned, there was little she could do to assert herself. But she could not, would not, allow herself to think her blindness might be permanent. To lose all hope meant she would be at Claudia's mercy.
And God help her if it came to that.
Leo felt his pulse quicken at the sight of the white glove. He glanced about, to reassure himself no one else was in the cemetery. It was midnight, and it was creepy, and every night he had to go there, hating it more and more. "You in there?" he softly, anxiously called.
"I am here," The Voice replied.
At once, Leo wanted to know, "Did she die?"
Forbidden to Love: An Historical Romance Page 24