"She didn't die. She woke up. She will live."
Leo swore, licked his lips nervously, and dared ask, "Did she remember me?"
"It's being said she remembers nothing beyond her father lying on the floor. She's also blind," The Voice added accusingly.
Leo breathed a sigh of relief. "Then I'll be okay." He was grinning.
The Voice went on, ignoring Leo's mutterings. "You will continue to come by here and wait for my signal."
"Signal for what?" Leo yelped. "You just told me she's blind and don't remember nothin', and if she don't remember nothin', what's to worry about?"
"Shut up and listen to me, you damn fool," The Voice exploded in fury. "None of this would've happened if you'd done your job as you were supposed to. And when the time is right, you're going to finish what you started out to do, which is find those goddamn plates. When I give the order, you will use whatever means it takes to make Anjele Sinclair tell where her father hid them. Do you understand?"
Leo grudgingly said he did.
"There's some money above the door. Enough to keep you drunk for a while."
Leo leaped to get it.
Getting drunk was exactly what he intended to do.
Brett sat outside the tent, drenched with sweat. It was the end of June and steamy hot. All around him, other soldiers were sprawled on the ground, not moving in hopes of catching the blessing of even the slightest breeze. They were finally at Harrison's Landing, the Federal supply base on the James River, but getting there hadn't been easy. When word had come that General Lee's army had broken through Federal lines at Gaines' Mill, McClellan had ordered his troops to retire—he didn't like the word retreat. So they had fought their way, engaging in bitter battle at a place called Savage Station on the 29th of June, and Frayser's Farm and White Oak Swamp the next day. The worst had come at Malvern Hill the first day of July, but then they'd reached the protection of a Federal river fleet. The survivors were lucky to be alive, but a pall hung over the camp to know the dream of the North capturing Richmond had failed.
All Brett wanted to do was go to sleep like the other men, but he had been summoned to headquarters and now he waited. Finally, Sergeant-Major Peterson told him he could go in. He got to his feet wearily, brushed at the dust on his blue uniform, and entered the tent, offering a perfunctory salute.
Colonel Drake stood to reach across his desk to shake Brett's hand and smile. "I'm pleased to meet you, Cody. You've made quite a name for yourself." Brett saw the shoulder straps lying on his desk. Two gold bars. Another promotion. He supposed he should feel something, but what? Pride? He was just trying to stay alive in a war he didn't believe in. So upping his rank only meant he'd be drawing seventy dollars a month, an increase of ten dollars.
"Congratulations," the colonel was saying. "You've been promoted to the rank of captain."
Brett offered obligatory words of gratitude.
"But that's not the only reason you're here." He sat down, gestured for Brett to do likewise. "You're being transferred. General Butler in New Orleans reports they believe Confederate spies are slipping in and out through the bayous. I don't have to tell you his men don't dare try to go in after them, so he's asking for scouts who know the area to come in and show them the trails and make maps, so the bayou won't be so inaccessible to our soldiers. We know you're Acadian, and we've heard you used to live in that area, so you'll be familiar with the dangers associated with swamps and bayous. "You're being sent down there to help out," he finished.
Brett scowled. "I don't suppose it makes any difference if I say I don't want to go."
"Not a bit."
Stiffly, angrily, Brett got up to leave.
Colonel Drake reminded him, "Here are your shoulder straps, Captain Cody."
Brett took them and left the tent.
He headed to where he'd left his horse, because there was a bottle of whiskey in the saddlebag, and never had he needed a drink more.
The last place in the world he wanted to go was Louisiana, because the last woman in the world he wanted to see was there.
Chapter 22
Anjele began spending her days at the cemetery. When it was hot, the sun blazing down, she would sit beneath the shading arms of a leafy magnolia. When rains forced her inside the mausoleum, she didn't mind, for there was no fear, only peace. Hours passed as she thought of the past, when times were happy. Sometimes overcome with loneliness and despair, she could not hold back the tears. Yet being there was preferable to being back at the house where, to avoid Claudia's cruel nagging and the constant intrusion of the Yankees, she had to remain sequestered in her room.
Claudia had also forbidden any of the servants to walk with her on the grounds, much less go riding with her. Mammy Kesia was allowed only to bring her meal trays to her room.
Actually, Anjele was surprised that Claudia didn't object to her daily treks to the cemetery, but so far, nothing had been said.
Using her grandfather's walking stick to poke and prod her way along the path, Anjele would stay until she heard the bell clanging to signal the end of the work day. Only then would she return, entering the house by the rear to climb the back stairs slowly to get to her room.
One day blended into the next. She never heard Raymond's voice anywhere, but Mammy had confided that he also disappeared much of the time, to drink, she suspected. Claudia didn't seem to care what anyone did, so long as the fields were efficiently run by the overseers. Her only interest was entertaining the conquering enemy, and nearly every day officers' wives came for tea, and a lavish dinner party was held almost nightly. Weekends were endless picnics and lawn parties, weather permitting.
Dr. Duval's visits became even more infrequent. There really wasn't anything he could do for her but repeat the prognosis that she might or might not regain her eyesight. The blow had been powerful, and he never failed to emphasize how fortunate she was to be alive.
But secretly, miserably, she was starting to wonder whether the latter was true.
It was strange, Anjele mused, that there were those who thought because a person was blind, she was also deaf. Sometimes, if she dared linger about the house, perhaps to sit on the veranda, Claudia's new friends would discuss her as though she couldn't hear.
"Such a pity," a woman remarked one day, standing, Anjele guessed, perhaps around ten feet away. "Claudia is a saint, caring for her as she does."
Her companion had eagerly agreed. "I know, and it has to be a terrible burden, especially with her attitude. I understand poor Claudia has to watch her constantly. They say she's quite the little rebel. She actually attacked one of our soldiers, you know. General Butler was about to put her in jail...." Their voices faded as they walked away.
Anjele had got up to find her way to the only place she felt at peace these days—the cemetery.
Sometimes, if Anjele had gone to the cemetery early in the day, Mammy would slip away around lunchtime with a small basket of food, then scoot back to the house to serve the ever-present guests.
One day, right after Mammy had come and gone, Anjele was about to bite into a ham biscuit, when she heard a rustling sound. She had never been scared before, even though the cemetery was hidden from view owing to the rise of the land and all the shrubs and flowers her father had planted. Now, however, she was starting to feel uneasy. "Who's there?" she called in a slightly tremulous voice, telling herself it was probably a field hand strayed too far to take care of his personal needs. "Is anyone there?"
She heard it again.
"Please..." she implored bravely, "just go away. You've nothing to fear from me."
True panic began to ripple up and down her spine as she heard footsteps slowly coming her way.
Reaching for the cane, she got to her feet, turning toward the noise to say nervously, "Go away. I don't want any trouble—"
She jumped, startled, as a man who suddenly seemed to be standing directly in front of her said in apparent wonder, "Why, you're blind. You can't see me."
&nbs
p; She swung her head sharply from side to side, taking small backward steps in retreat. "I told you to go. Get out of here. Leave me alone. I'll scream if you don't—"
"No, Lordy, don't do that," he was quick to plead. "I'll go. I'll go."
She dared to breathe a little easier.
"I didn't mean to scare you," he apologized, rushing to explain, "I just smelled food... ham, and I thought maybe you could spare a starvin' Reb a bite, you no doubt bein' Southern, yourself, but I'll be goin', 'cause I can see you're scairt...."
"No, wait." Anjele wasn't about to let a Confederate soldier go hungry. "Please, take this." Poking with her cane, she found the spot where she'd been sitting, touching the basket. "There," she told him. "Ham and lard biscuits, and Mammy usually puts some fruit in, when we have any, which isn't often, I'm afraid. And I think I smelled some muscadines."
"Oh, Lord, yes, grapes!" He cried around a mouthful of ham, because he'd quickly grabbed up the biscuit she'd laid aside. "Good ham, too. Can't remember the last time I had ham, and this is every bit as good as what we had in Mississippi."
"You're from Mississippi," she said, pleased. Gingerly, she lowered herself to sit while he ate and could hear him eagerly devouring the food. "Tell me, please," she urged, "anything you know about the war. No one tells me anything. Are we winning? Will our men come back and run the Yankees out of New Orleans? Is that why you're here?" She was relaxing, grateful for his company.
"I wish it was, but it ain't, and I ain't got time to tell you 'bout that miserable war, 'cause I got to get back to it soon's I can. I got separated from our regiment when they was fightin' at Baton Rouge and been tryin' to find my way back ever since."
"You've been hiding here? At BelleClair?" she asked, astonished. "Why, this place is crawling with Yankees, thanks to my... sister." She nearly choked on the word. "She courts them to get protection for BelleClair, and they're everywhere."
"Well, I ain't been hidin' right around here, but close by. I think I've got my sights set now, and I'm ready to head back to our lines, but I was so hungry I knew I couldn't go nowhere till I got somethin' to eat."
"I'm afraid there's not much here. If I'd known about you, I'd have made sure there was more."
"You mean you folks got food to spare?" he asked incredulously. "Lady, not too many people around these parts got enough to eat themselves."
"Yes, we have plenty." She was bitter to think why that was so. "The Yankees use BelleClair as a kind of retreat, and there's lots of everything. I'll be glad to sneak some of it to you, if you aren't leaving right away."
"You'd do that? You'd sneak lots of food out for me?"
"Of course I would."
"When can you bring it? I'll wait for you. I'll stand a better chance of makin' it back if I don't have to forage for food. I can just keep goin' and head straight for Tennessee."
Anjele's heart began to pound. She had felt so useless, unable to fend for herself, much less her beloved Southland. Here at last was a chance to help at least one Confederate soldier. "Come back tomorrow at dawn, just before folks start moving around and getting ready to go into the fields. I'll have everything you need."
"Can you really?" he asked skeptically. "I mean, you bein' blind, you might not know if you're being followed, and if they catch me, they'll shoot me."
"That won't happen. No one will see me, because they'll all be asleep. Besides, I know my way around the house and the kitchen out back. I can gather what you'll need. Flour. Sugar. Coffee. Fatback. Even some ham," she added with a smile.
"You're an angel," he cried, "and I'll be here, for sure. Now I'm gonna take the rest of your food and skeedaddle 'fore somebody comes along."
"Oh, no, please," she protested, "Don't go. You haven't even told me your name...."
"Letchworth. Tom Letchworth."
She could tell he was moving away. "Tom, please," she begged, "Stay awhile longer. I'm so hungry for news of the war, and you don't have to be afraid of anyone coming around. This is the family cemetery, and nobody ever comes here but me, so..." She sadly became aware she was once more alone, as the sound of his footsteps faded away.
Suddenly she felt like crying with frustration.
How would she know when it was dawn? For that matter, how would she even know when it was really night? All she had to go on were her instincts, listening for silence that would indicate the nightly parties were over and everyone was sleeping. Only then could she dare make her way out to the kitchen and pack satchels with food. It might mean sitting at the cemetery for hours, for she'd be unsure of exactly when it was time for the soldier to come. But so what, she bitterly asked herself. What else did she have to do? At least, for the first time in a long time, she was doing something worthwhile. And dear Lord, that meant so much.
Time dragged more than ever. When Mammy Kesia brought her supper tray,, Anjele knew she wouldn't eat a bite but would save everything for that poor starving soldier. It smelled delicious, too. "Roast chicken?"
"Sho' is," Mammy cheerily confirmed. "And cornbread stuffin' and sweet taters. Got some blackberry cobbler, too."
"Is Claudia having a very large dinner party tonight?"
Mammy snorted. "The usual. 'Bout six o' them fancy-pants officers and only five of 'em got women with 'em. Don't look nice. Not with Mastah Raymond passed out drunk in his room, most likely sleepin' till noon tomorrow. Naw sir." She sniffed. "Don't look nice atall, but Miss Claudia would have my hide fo sayin' so."
Anjele murmured agreement, thinking that if she weren't blind, by God, it wouldn't be going on. Not under her roof. She'd run the hated Yankees off fast, and Claudia with them, if she dared protest. And Raymond would stop going around in a stupor and straighten himself up and get busy and help out, and...
She shook her head to dismiss such wishful thinking.
Toying with the idea of asking Mammy to help, Anjele decided against it. If anything were to go wrong, she didn't want her involved.
Mammy hadn't noticed she hadn't left the lunch basket on the table in the service closet. Instead, she'd brought it up to her room, apparently unnoticed by anyone who might have been watching. Carefully she packed her supper inside, then slid it under the bed.
There was nothing left to do but wait.
For a while she dozed, then awoke sometime later with a start. It would have been nice to be able to hear the case clock in the hallway strike the hour, but that was another way Claudia had to bedevil her. She had ordered all the striking clocks in the house stopped so Anjele wouldn't be able to tell time. "What difference does it make?" she had taunted. "For you, it's always nighttime, so why worry about it?"
Counting the memorized number of steps to her bedroom door, Anjele pressed her ear against it but didn't hear anything. Cautiously she turned the knob, then poked her head out into the hall. All seemed quiet.
Retrieving the basket and her cane with a silent prayer for help and guidance, she left the room and felt her way down the hall. At the stairs she moved extra slowly, hand gripping the railing. The farther down she went, the more assured she became that it was actually quite late. She could almost hear the house breathing, as though relieved to be at rest.
Finally she reached the kitchen out back. Using her sense of touch and smell, Anjele was able to find a large slab of ham, a loaf of bread, and a sack of coffee. Gathering what other staples she could locate, she filled the basket to the rim. Though it would be heavy to carry all the way to the cemetery, she had only to think how much it was going to mean to the poor soldier, and she was instantly fired with energy.
Dear Lord, let it still be night and nowhere near dawn, she prayed, moving as fast as she dared back to the house. Mammy had gone; with her the first day to the cemetery, and she'd counted steps, so she knew exactly how far it was and the location of every potential spot where she might trip and fall. But counting had to be started from the veranda, not the kitchen building.
It was a long, arduous trek. She could only walk a few steps before
having to set the basket down and catch her breath, for she had to tote it with one hand. Her other held the cane, needed for poking the ground to make sure nothing was in her path.
She listened for every sound but heard only the mournful call of a whippoorwill and the whispering breeze rustling through the trees. Moving slowly along, her mind drifted back to the delightful nights when she'd visit her special place on the river bank. And as always when she allowed such thoughts to invade her heart, sadness overwhelmed as she remembered those sweet, wonderful nights when Gator had come to her there. No matter that he'd broken her heart to bits and pieces with his lies. There was no denying he'd given joy beyond belief, and despite everything, the happy memories were cherished and savored. Never would she forget the first, wonderful night in the bayou, when he'd showed her the magic of that ethereal place in a way she'd never dreamed possible—the tiny creatures of the forest, the way the moonlight dappled through the Spanish moss clinging to the branches above, lacing their paths in silver gleaming.
Yes, those were the moments Anjele allowed herself to dwell upon, for they were all she'd ever have. Why throw them away? Instead, why not cast aside the betrayal and think only of the splendor and glory in his arms? For even now, so many years later, he came to her in dreams, and as she gazed lovingly into his warm, caressing eyes, she saw no doubt, no mendacity, only the adoration and devotion promised. And it was these precious thoughts she clung to in the despair her life had become. It didn't really matter anymore that he had lied, had never meant a word of anything he said. He gave her joy for a little while that now, sadly, would have to last a lifetime.
The cane found the iron gate. She set the basket down and maneuvered the latch, then took the food and went the last little way.
The air was cool, a soft wind blowing, and she found her way to her favorite spot beneath the tree and sat down. Gathering her shawl about her, she leaned back, hoping it wasn't too long till dawn, so the soldier would come and go. Then she could breathe easy, for if a Yankee did come by, it would be difficult to explain why she was there at such an hour, especially with such a large quantity of food. It would be obvious what she was up to, and not only would the soldier be captured, but she'd be in serious trouble, as well.
Forbidden to Love: An Historical Romance Page 25