Destiny's Daughter

by Ruth Ryan Langan

  "Listen." Annalisa strained to hear above the pounding of her heart.

  Everyone grew deadly silent.

  "Horses." It was Chase. "They’re getting closer."

  Annalisa glanced at Hattie Lee’s face. In profile, she could have been a statue, watching the leafy shadows of tree branches waving in the night breeze. When she turned, Annalisa could see the eyes wide and watchful, the mouth a grim, tight line of concentration. Catching Annalisa’s eye, she nodded, ever so slightly. Annalisa returned the nod, then turned her attention to the man who had taken command. With Chase beside them, she felt a sense of inner calm despite the storm raging about them. He was an anchor. Strong, unyielding. With Chase to lead them, they would see this thing through. Blinking away the distraction, she returned her attention to the blackness beyond.

  "There. At the line of trees."

  At Chase’s whisper, all eyes strained. Was it a horseman, or just the shadow of a cluster of azaleas? While Annalisa watched, the shadow moved forward several paces, and was joined by another, then another.

  "I count three."

  Chase nodded. "And four to your right. Just beyond the porch."

  She hadn’t even noticed them. She swiveled her head. How many? How many weapons? How many killers bent on vengeance?

  "Two at the far side of the veranda," Gabrielle said softly.

  The hair along the back of Annalisa’s neck tingled. And how many more still hidden in the shadows?

  While they watched, a ghostly light suddenly flickered in the darkness outside. Within seconds it became larger, brighter, as it loomed through the darkness toward the window.

  "Oh, God. A torch." Chase stood and fired, and the women watched in silence as the shadowy figure carrying the torch fell, dropping his burden. The flame ignited the robe that covered his head and shoulders, and his shrieks of pain sent a ripple of terror through all their hearts.

  Stepping over the fallen man, a second robed figure lifted the torch and began running toward the house. Without taking time to think, Annalisa fired. The man stumbled and arched his arm above his head as if to throw. A second shot echoed through the darkness, and the man fell like a stone.

  Turning her head, Annalisa saw Delia lower the carbine from her shoulder and load again.

  There was a terrible silence. And then suddenly the men outside began shouting.

  "They weren’t expecting us to be armed and waiting," Chase said into the darkness.

  Shots were fired, and Annalisa heard the tinkle of fine crystal as the prisms of the chandelier danced above her head. A second torch was lighted and carried toward the house. Hattie Lee squeezed the trigger and moaned when the figure continued running. Squeezing off a second shot, she felt a wave of relief when he stumbled, then fell forward, losing his grip on the torch. A figure raced out of the shadows and launched the torch toward the window. It fell short of its target, landing instead on the veranda. The women could only watch helplessly as a persistent flame flickered against the wooden boards of the porch and continued to spark.

  "Chase. To your right." As Annalisa called out a warning, Chase turned and fired at a man who lunged at him through the open window. The man fell at Chase’s feet, his sightless eyes staring at the ceiling.

  "Mon dieu." Gabrielle froze at the sight of a hooded figure running toward her. She aimed her rifle, and continued watching his progress as if mesmerized. When he lifted his gun she squeezed off a shot. Surprised, the eyes behind the hood widened in disbelief before he fell.

  "We have your house surrounded," a man’s voice shouted from the darkness. "We don’t want to kill all of you. Just send us your niggers and we’ll be on our way."

  Shocked, Annalisa turned toward Hattie Lee. The woman’s rich contralto rang through the night.

  "I was never a slave. I am a free woman of color. I have papers to prove it."

  "Papers don’t change what you are. We want all niggers out of here. We’ll leave the others alone."

  "You’ll have to kill all of us to get her," Annalisa shouted defiantly. "We are one family here. And one mind."

  A shot rang out through the darkness, singing past Annalisa’s head and imbedding itself in the wall beyond.

  Straining through the darkness, she saw a figure detach itself from the surrounding shadows and move stealthily toward the house.

  "Delia. To your left."

  The girl turned and fired. A moment later, a man was heard moaning.

  The sound of splintering glass sounded from the kitchen. Crawling on her hands and knees, Annalisa moved along the hallway toward the big kitchen. An eerie orange light filled the room, and flames began licking along the edge of the curtains.

  "Fire." Reaching for a bucket, Annalisa doused the flames dancing across the curtains, then began beating with a rug the fire that raced along the floor. Black smoke billowed toward the ceiling, as she continued tamping out the flames until they were smothered.

  By the time Nate crawled and crouched and felt his way in the darkness, the fire was out and the charred remains of the curtains hung at a crazy angle above the window.

  "Are you all right?"

  "Yes. Fine," she said, shaking off his hand. "But they’ll be back with another torch. If not here, then in another corner of the house." She shuddered, thinking about Luther, all alone, forced to listen helplessly to the sound of gunfire. "I hope their torches can’t reach to the upper bedrooms."

  Crouching, she made her way back to the parlor and took up a vigil alongside a window. Kneeling beside her, Nate took her rifle. "I’ll load this. You take my gun."

  Seeing a figure running, Annalisa took careful aim and fired. The figure swayed. Chase lifted his rifle and fired at the same target. This time the man dropped. Annalisa cast a quick look in Chase’s direction, then returned her attention to the darkness beyond her window.

  "Here." Nate thrust her rifle toward her.

  As he began to crawl away, she called, "You forgot your gun.

  "Keep it," he whispered. "I have no need of it."

  While she watched, he moved up behind Hattie Lee and loaded her rifle for her. Handing it back a moment later, he moved on, loading each of the women’s rifles in turn. His gun handle, she noted, was cool. He’d never even held it.

  The hooded figures outside held a conference. Three figures began running toward the house. Each carried a lighted torch. Each veered off in a different direction.

  "Take careful aim," Chase called loudly. "They mean to burn us out."

  Annalisa heard the sound of rifle fire. Turning, she saw that the figure coming toward Chase had dropped his torch. It flickered beside his still form, then slowly lost its flame. Sucking in her breath, she watched as a second figure came directly toward Gabrielle. The Creole woman prayed aloud in French, then squeezed the trigger. The man faltered, then continued running. Hattie Lee pushed a frightened Gabrielle aside and fired through the open window. The figure fell.

  The acrid stench of gun powder and charred wood filled the room, along with the scent of sweat and fear. Was this the smell of death? Annalisa shivered at the horrible thought. Giving a fleeting glance around, she felt such a welling of love for these people who were willing to stand against such overwhelming odds. Family, she thought, with a lump clogging her throat. This odd assortment of characters was truly her family.

  From her position, Annalisa could see the third figure coming toward her. In the flickering light of the torch, the eyes peering from the hooded creature were so vicious, so filled with hatred, she felt as if she were looking at a creature from hell. The smell of death was forgotten. The fear that had clutched her heart earlier was swept away. There was only one thought now in her mind. She must stop this devil, or he would kill them all.

  Taking careful aim, she fired. The figure gave a shriek of pain and continued coming straight for her. She saw him lift his gun. She froze. Delia walked up to stand beside her. With barely time to aim, she squeezed off a shot and saw the figure reel. He remained upr
ight, and, though dazed, continued coming toward them. He was now only a few feet from the window.

  "He is the devil," Delia said aloud. "Nothing can stop him. He isn’t real."

  "That’s no devil. He’s a man. And he must be stopped. Nate," Francine shouted. "Get them down. Out of the line of fire."

  Instinctively grabbing Annalisa’s arm, Nate pulled her to the floor, then reached for Delia. A shot rang out, and then another.

  The hooded figure staggered, then fell. Annalisa, Nate, and Delia lay in a heap on the floor. Behind them, Francine stood rigid, absorbing the shock from her rifle’s report.

  From outside, they could hear the sound of horses’ hooves. Rushing to the window, they saw the last of the hooded figures mounting their horses.

  "You haven’t seen the last of us," a man’s voice shouted. "If you value your lives, send your niggers away. Or we will take them by force."

  The wounded lifted their arms, beseeching their comrades to save them. Snatching them up in the saddles behind them, the few remaining unscathed attackers wheeled their horses. Leaving their dead behind, the horsemen thundered across the yard toward the safety of the woods. Within minutes, there was only stillness.

  No one moved. Gradually everyone in the house became aware of the return of typical night sounds. Far out on the river, a boat’s horn sounded. A cricket chirped. A locust sang. It seemed impossible that there should be anything normal about this night.

  "Are they really gone? Or is this some kind of trick?"

  "They’ve gone." Chase stood and rested his rifle against the windowsill. "They’re cowards," he said with venom. "They expected to find a house filled with sleeping women who could be easily frightened and overpowered. When they found instead brave armed women, they fled like the vermin they are."

  Hattie Lee timidly opened the door and surveyed the charred boards on the veranda. "We’re lucky these old boards didn’t go up like tinder."

  Chase walked up beside her to examine the damage. "The workmen can have this repaired tomorrow. Let’s take a look at our hooded cowards."

  Lifting a burned-out torch, he held a match to it and crossed the yard. Pulling off the hoods, he began examining the faces of the dead men. "I don’t recognize a one of them. They must have been brought in from some distance. From their accents, I don’t believe they’re even from Louisiana."

  When he walked back inside, the women began to stand on trembling legs. Wearily they set aside their weapons.

  "You saved my life," Gabrielle said softly to Francine. The beginnings of tears glistened in her eyes.

  "Nonsense. You wounded him. I just finished him off."

  "But I panicked. I don’t think I could have shot him again."

  "It doesn’t matter." The tall woman gave Gabrielle a warm embrace, then turned toward Hattie Lee. "That was good shooting."

  "I hope I never have to do it again."

  The others nodded.

  Annalisa was helped to her feet by Nate, whose face was the color of chalk.

  "I’m sorry I was such a coward," he said softly. "I’m afraid I wasn’t any help to you."

  "No help? Who pulled me to safety? Who loaded my gun? Who crawled to investigate the fire in the kitchen?"

  "You’re being kind. When it came to actual battle, I froze inside. Maybe I really am more dead than alive."

  Was he acting? Annalisa wondered. Was this his way of protecting his dual identity? Was he forced to play the coward so that no one would guess that he was really the noble Archangel? Or, and she tried vainly to ignore the tiny voice that nagged at the edge of her mind, was he really afraid to handle a gun?

  "There are no cowards here," she said gently. "I know what you’ve been through." At his look of surprise, she said, "Hattie Lee told me about your wife and baby."

  At her admission, he looked stricken.

  Francine touched Nate’s arm. She was almost as tall as he, and blue eyes looked directly into blue eyes with understanding. "Annalisa is right, Nate. Many of us know your story, and have similar stories to tell. All of us have shared the same kind of pain and suffering during the war."

  "I’ve learned that sometimes," Annalisa said in a voice thick with emotion, "it takes real courage just to go on living."

  Turning to Delia, who was still half-sitting, half-lying against a velvet chair, Annalisa touched her shoulder. "I know how exhausted you must be. Come on. I’ll walk with you to your room."

  At Annalisa’s light touch, the figure fell to one side.

  "Delia." Annalisa reached for her, then gave a cry. "Delia. Oh, my God. Delia."

  As she tried to pull Delia upright, Annalisa’s hand encountered something warm and sticky. The chair against which she had lain was soaked with blood.

  Rushing to Delia’s side, Chase knelt and touched his fingers to the young woman’s throat. He could find no pulse. Lifting an eyelid, he studied her in silence, then pressed the lid closed once more. When he straightened, the others watched him in stunned silence.

  "I’ll send for Dr. Lynch." Annalisa turned away.

  "No." He touched a hand to her arm, as if to provide a buffer for the words he had to say. She lifted pleading eyes to his, begging him to keep his silence. She wasn’t ready. This was too sudden. She needed time. Time.

  "Delia," Annalisa said, kneeling beside the silent figure. "You said you would never hide again. You vowed that if we ever had to defend ourselves, you would fight bravely."

  "And she did fight bravely," Chase said, lifting Annalisa gently to her feet.

  Annalisa knew that she was rambling, avoiding the truth. She couldn’t hear it. Not yet. "You don’t understand, Chase. Her mother made her hide in a bucket in the well. While she was hidden, Delia was forced to listen to the sounds of her entire family being murdered." Tears welled up, then spilled over Annalisa’s eyes, streaming down her cheeks, leaving their bitter, salty taste on her trembling lips. "She heard her mother plead for her brothers’ lives. And she had to hide there, listening to the sounds of the gunshots that took her entire family away from her. And she was helpless. Helpless."

  The tears were falling faster now, as Annalisa took a ragged breath. She needed to keep talking about Delia, to keep from hearing those terrible, final words.

  Beside them, Nate stared at the still figure on the floor and realized suddenly how many others had had to suffer as he had. Annalisa’s words echoed in his mind. Helpless. He’d felt so helpless. Shock. Denial. Rage. And a void in his life that could never be filled. He brought his tightly clenched fists to his temples and pressed, as if trying to erase the pain that throbbed.

  "She liked having a gun, Chase. She said it made her feel safe. She was the best fighter among us. Ghosts." Annalisa could no longer see through the blur of tears. Wiping the back of her hand across her eyes, she sobbed, "She said each time she fired the rifle she was shooting at the ghosts of the men who killed her family."

  Nate stiffened. Gabrielle turned to a dry-eyed Francine and cried soundlessly against her shoulder. Beside them, Eulalie turned into Hattie Lee’s arms and began to cry, softly at first, and then more loudly, as Annalisa said, "But ghosts can’t shoot back, Chase, can they? They couldn’t hurt her, could they?"

  Taking her into his arms, Chase held her against his chest and allowed her to cry out all the pain. As her slender body shook with wracking sobs, he pressed his lips to her hair and cursed the fact that he was helpless to do anything more. She’d been so brave. He was so proud of the way she’d fought their cowardly attackers. She’d endured so much. And now he would have to stand by and watch her endure even more.

  She felt her own tears flow freely. "I’ll send for Dr. Lynch now," she said between sobs.

  "Annalisa." Chase stroked her hair and framed her face with his big hands. Staring down into her brimming eyes, he said softly, "There’s nothing more we can do for Delia."

  "She needs blankets, Chase. She’s so cold. So young. So alone."

  "Annalisa." Wiping her tears w
ith his thumbs, he pressed his forehead to hers, as if to absorb some of her pain. "Delia will never be cold again. Or alone."

  "But Chase ..."

  "She’s gone to be with her family now. There is nothing more we can do."

  She turned to stare at the lifeless figure. He felt her stiffen in his arms. His words struck her with the force of a blow.

  Old Gray brushed against the still figure, making lazy circles around her feet, meowing pitifully. Stooping, Francine picked up the cat and cradled it against her chest, just the way Delia always had. Seeing that, Annalisa seemed to crumple in Chase’s arms. Her knees buckled and he slipped his arms under hers to support her. For a moment her face whitened. Then she lifted her face to him. "Delia?"

  He’d never loved Annalisa so much or wished so desperately he could shield her from the pain she had to face. He nodded, and finally brought himself to say the words she most dreaded to hear. "No one will ever hurt her again. Delia is dead."

  Chapter Twenty-two

  It was a somber group clustered around the open grave the next day. Annalisa, still in shock, leaned heavily on Chase’s arm. His mouth was a thin, tight line of repressed fury as he fought an overwhelming need to lash out at the cowards who hid behind masks and extinguished the bright young light that had been Delia.

  Hattie Lee stood alone, dressed in a long black gown of heavy satin. A black veil cast shadows across her eyes. She carried a parasol to ward off the sun.

  How could the sun shine on such a day? Annalisa thought dully. The skies should be leaden, oppressive. In fact, she thought, the skies should open up and weep for their loss. This day they were burying a part of themselves. One of the band of survivors had been cut down. There was one less ray of sunshine in their lives. Above them, the sky was the kind of hard, clear blue that poets write about. The sun was so bright it hurt to look at it, and Annalisa looked away, resenting it, resenting the tears that pooled.