ALANA
By: Monica Barrie
This is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and events are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, places or incidents are coincidental and not intended by the author.
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All rights reserved.
Copyright © 1986, 2015, by Monica Barrie.
Originally published in Paperback Edition by DELL
Cover Design: Erin Dameron Hill / EDH Graphis
Dedication
For Devon Leah
Acknowledgements
Leslie O'gwin Rivers, for her invaluable research assistance
in South African diamond and gold mining
BOOK I
Charleston, South Carolina–
Riverbend Plantation
September 1865
1
Thunderheads, in all their mighty force, gathered in the east to hang over Charleston like a dark blanket; the heavy scent of magnolia clung to the humid breeze. It was obvious the roiling mass was moving westward, toward the large plantation called Riverbend. However, the thick, restless sky was not unwelcome, for a storm might bring some relief from the un-breathable air suffocating the river country.
Alana Belfores sat on the old wooden bench on the veranda gazing out at the murky horizon. Mosquitoes whined in the air, yet she paid them no heed. Her raven hair was aglow in the slanting light of the late September afternoon; the expression in her dark blue eyes seemed distant–although her mind was anything but idle.
Inner turmoil festered, bringing Alana’s attention back to the plantation. She wondered if it would still be standing in another year. The war was over and most of the men had returned, but not Jason. Tall, strong Jason Landow, who had sworn his love to her and had then ridden off to fight the Yankees; handsome, gallant Jason, who with his unselfish giving had saved Alana and the plantation from disaster time and again after Alana’s father had died and she had been left to run Riverbend alone.
She shook her head as if to deny her thoughts and then lifted the plantation’s account book from her lap. She glanced at it once more before closing it with an angry slam. The thunder rumbling in the distance seemed to echo her thoughts. She shut her eyes, but the figures she’d just read would not leave her sight.
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Along the packed dirt of the drive, a solitary rider walked his horse. From beneath brows dark as midnight, his deep green eyes looked everywhere. As he rounded the bend in the drive and came within full view of Riverbend, the rider pulled back the reins and momentarily stopped his mount.
Before him, in mighty splendor, stood what once had been a tall and elegant plantation home. It was clear that the war years had taken their toll; the house was chipped, stained, and worn. Yet it still held a fierce pride, a denial of any force that might try to claim or destroy it.
In the distance, the rider heard the sound of workers in the fields going about their jobs as if the world were unchanged and everything in it peaceful.
As he drew closer to the open veranda of the house, the rider’s gaze fastened on the woman who sat there, unaware of his presence. Without taking his eyes from her, he reined in his horse and dismounted, then started toward the house and the slender, seated woman. As he came closer to her, his breath halted and his heart raced. Long raven hair spilled along her back; her tanned face was a study in beauty. Silently he stopped to marvel at her profile; the soft sweep of her cheekbones, her elegantly straight nose, a mouth shaped like a drawn bow. Moisture glinted on her soft peach lips, and the sweeping, graceful lines of her neck were visible to him as he watched her silently staring outward. Her long fingers gripped a ledger.
She was even more beautiful than he had envisioned her for the two long years just passed. He had dreamed of her, thought of her, and used her image, taken from a photograph, to remind him there was more to life than the barbed wire of the prison camp.
But she had always been an elusive dream, a woman of fantasy and delirium; a photograph to be looked at, a hope to believe in, but never a woman of flesh and blood.
He had come here because he knew he must. Now he was uncertain if he should stay. He almost turned back to his horse, but he did not. As his thoughts grew strained, his muscles tensed, and the woman opened her eyes.
He froze, then realized she had not yet seen him; rather, she was looking up at the malevolent sky drawing closer to the plantation.
So beautiful, he thought.
“Alana,” he whispered, and started toward his destiny.
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Sighing, Alana drew her attention from the gathering storm clouds and looked back at the account ledger. Before she could open it, she sensed eyes upon her. Turning her head slightly, she saw a man standing at the foot of the veranda’s steps.
Her breath caught, and her mind reeled. The man started toward her.
He was tall and moved with catlike grace. Through Alana’s befogged thoughts, he seemed to grow out of all proportion. His chest, confined within an ill-fitting cotton shirt, pressed against the material in such a way that she could see the play of the powerful muscles beneath it.
His presence was powerful. His hair, black as midnight, was lightly sprinkled with silver and glinted in the last rays of the setting sun. His face was thin, as if he’d not eaten well for a long time, but in his face, was strength. His chin was square-set and showed the iron will of determination. His mouth was a straight, firm line, yet she imagined, strangely, how his lips might be shaped to a smile. The strongly angular face was unlined except for the crow’s feet of an outdoorsman that crinkled from the corners of his now-sparkling emerald eyes.
Her breath, which had suddenly bated, returned. Just as suddenly, a giant hand grasped her heart and squeezed it tightly. Her stomach fluttered as the man came to a stop not two feet from her. His sudden arrival and her unwarranted reaction to him made her feel as if she must be dreaming. But when he spoke, this illusion was shattered.
“Miss Belfores,” he began, his voice deeply resonant, his lips sensual and wide, “my name is Rafe–Rafael Montgomery.”
Before she realized what he was doing, he took one of her hands within his. Her fingers relaxed against her will as he brought the back of her hand to his mouth. His lips whispered across her tanned skin, and her heart pounded.
Alana’s hand was numb, her mind sluggish in a way she’d never before experienced. A wavering thread of the unknown wove through her when she discovered she could not find the strength to pull her hand from his grasp nor tear her gaze from the endless green depths of his eyes. She felt as though she were being pulled within twin whirlpools.
When at last he released her hand, she saw him straighten, and she saw, too, an invisible barrier fall across his eyes. Alana’s breathing was still forced, and her head seemed to grow lighter. Concentrating, she took a calming breath and did her best to control the unexpected feelings that were rising within her.
“Mr. Montgomery, you have me at a loss.” After another silent second, she asked, “Who are you?”
“A friend of Jason’s,” he replied. A low rumble of thunder accented his words.
Alana’s mind spun; her thoughts froze. His words bounced relentlessly within her mind; her ability to speak had momentarily deserted her. That he would come alone to bring her news of Jason could only mean one th
ing.
After several long seconds, the shock of his words eased, and she recovered her aplomb. “You have news of Jason?” she asked tentatively.
“He is almost here.”
Again, Alana was at a loss. “Then–”
“Why am I here?” Rafe asked, his eyes locked to hers.
Alana nodded, unable to speak.
Rafe Montgomery spoke in a low voice, barely louder than a whisper, but his eyes were steady and unblinking. “He asked me to prepare you for his arrival,” he said, his manner overly formal.
“Prepare me?” A chill raced along her spine. “Prepare me for what?” Her hand went to her throat and grasped the small golden locket that rested there as a sinking sensation tried to capture her.
When Rafe broke the intensity of their gaze and drew his shoulders back further, Alana was again aware of the straining muscles of his chest.
“You knew he was a prisoner of war, did you not?”
Alana nodded mutely.
“Did you know he was wounded?”
Alana stared at him for a moment before slowly shaking her head from side to side. “No,” she whispered.
She saw that Rafe was watching her closely, studying the angles of her face while he spoke. “It was in Virginia. His cavalry unit had been cut off from the main body of troops. He had rallied his men together, and they’d charged at the Federal position. It was the only way to get through. Jason’s horse was shot out from under him. Before he could regain his feet, a rocket exploded nearby. He took several pieces of shrapnel in his back.”
Rafael Montgomery paused as he gazed into the moist blueness of Alana’s eyes. “I’m sorry, Miss Belfores, but a piece of shrapnel lodged in Jason’s spine. There was little that could be done. He no longer has the use of his legs.”
Alana squeezed her eyes shut, the horror of the words striking deeply into her. She had prepared herself for Jason’s death, but never for his being maimed. She was aghast at the idea–not for her own sake, but for Jason’s. Her hand tightened around the locket, pulling it so harshly the chain dug into her neck. The pain from the golden links reached her, breaking through her onslaught of grief and heartache. Stiffening, Alana drew in a deep breath and then opened her eyes.
“He’ll be here shortly,” Rafe said softly, as if reading her mind. “Miss Belfores, I am truly sorry.”
The veranda grew silent. Alana gathered her wits about her and rebuilt her shattered thoughts. She lifted her head, the ghost of a smile etched on her lips. “And I am sorry for failing to give you a warmer welcome to Riverbend.”
“Jason will be glad to see that Riverbend has survived the scourge,” Rafe said. Alana had the distinct impression he was speaking softly to aid her at this terrible moment.
“His family home did not,” she stated sadly.
“He knows that already.”
A dark curtain of misery fell across Alana’s eyes. After so much time, her hopes had been devastated. Yet Alana’s years of standing against all odds helped her now, and she knew she would not allow herself to give in to pain and grief.
Instead, she fastened onto the one anchor that was in her world at this instant: Rafe Montgomery. Slowly, she shook her head. “Again, my apologies. You’ve had a long ride, and I’ve been thinking only of myself. Would you like a drink? Something to eat?” She rose and gestured toward the large mahogany doors of the house.
Rafe shook his head quickly.
“Did you serve with Jason?” Alana asked suddenly.
A bitter laugh escaped his lips. “Unless you consider the time in prison. No, the first time I met Jason was in prison camp, two years ago.”
“Are you from these parts?”
“California.”
“So far away,” Alana whispered as she looked into his face. Rafe was so vital and strong. Her eyes misted as she thought of Jason Landow, wondering how he had withstood both pain and imprisonment.
Be strong! she commanded herself. Resolutely, Alana cleared the mists shrouding her eyes. She drew her shoulders straighter and looked at Rafe Montgomery. “I am indebted to you, Mr. Montgomery, for bringing me this news.”
With her words, she saw a flicker of change cross his face, but it vanished as quickly as it had come. “No, it is I who must thank you.”
“Thank me?” she asked, confused by the strangeness of his statement.
“Yes.” He said the one word only, and Alana intuitively knew there would be no others at this time.
In the ensuing silence Alana looked about and saw Rafe’s untethered horse grazing upon the short grass near the veranda’s steps. “When will Jason arrive?”
“Two hours at most,” Rafe replied.
“Lorelei!” Alana called loudly. There was no time for tears and hardly any time to prepare for Jason’s arrival. As she had always done during times of adversity, Alana turned away from her grief and sought relief in action. She knew that preparations must be made immediately.
Turning back to Rafe, she looked up into his handsome, taut face. “I–” she began, but paused to organize her thoughts.
“Try to be calm,” Rafe advised. “To relax will be difficult but not impossible.”
Her eyes locked with those deep green pools of his, and she almost let herself be calmed by what she saw within them–almost. Then she delved within her own reservoir of strength.
At that moment, a black woman, wearing a white bonnet, appeared on the veranda. “Miss Alana?” she asked.
Alana turned to Lorelei, the housekeeper. Lorelei had been at Riverbend when Alana was born, had been Alana’s nurse from infancy, and was the only constant person in Alana’s life. Shaking away the grip of sadness, Alana said simply, “Master Jason is coming home.”
“De Lord be praised,” cried Lorelei, a wide smile breaking across her countenance.
Alana didn’t smile in return, and a second later, Lorelei saw that something was wrong. She stood still, her smile fading.
“He’s been wounded, Lorelei, very badly. He cannot walk, so we must prepare a room for him on the ground floor. Have Ben and Gabriel bring a bed down.” Sensing Lorelei’s confusion and fear, Alana spoke swiftly in an effort to make the older woman react. “And see that Mr. Montgomery’s horse is attended to.”
When Lorelei disappeared into the house, she turned to Rafe. “You will stay the night?” she asked. For some reason she could not yet fathom, Alana believed it important for Rafe Montgomery to stay with Jason and herself at Riverbend.
“Thank you, I will,” Rafe said. His eyes were unreadable. Alana tried not to think about what they might be saying behind their barrier.
With her hands clasped together before her, Alana said softly, “Tell me everything. Tell me the worst,” she added, her voice breaking on the last word.
Alana stood at the foot of the stairs, her account book still gripped in one hand, watching until Rafe’s broad back disappeared above. Her mind was mired in a darkness she fought but could not completely defeat. Jason is coming home, she told herself. Dear God, he’s crippled.
She did not know how long she stood there, but when she heard Lorelei’s orders echoing through the hall, she forced herself to go to the study.
Entering the study, she put the ledger on the desk. As she stared at the wood-paneled walls, she summoned from within her the deep-rooted determination that had helped her to survive the war and the last two grim years.
Twenty thousand of the twenty-five thousand acres that constituted Riverbend’s lands had lain bare in the final stages of the war. They’d grown only enough food to keep Riverbend’s workers alive, and these staples had had to be cultivated far from the eyes of any passing people. They had harvested rice regularly, and hidden enough from the Federal troops to feed the people of Riverbend.
When the war had finally ended, Alana had realized that her troubles were not yet over. Riverbend was still in danger. A migration of moneyed people had flowed into Charleston at the conclusion of the war, protected by the Federal troo
ps who remained to control the state. These unscrupulous and avaricious businessmen bought every business that was available and every acre of land they could lay their hands on at prices that were but a joke.
A half dozen times, Alana had refused to sell Riverbend to these northern businessmen. Six times, she had held fast. Still, with every passing day, Riverbend and its mistress went further into debt.
She had no choice but to sell half her jewelry, jewelry that had been in the Shockley family for over seventy years. Sadly, her gems had gone for but a fraction of their true worth in order to keep Riverbend alive for Jason’s return.
Shaking her head at the thought of Jason, Alana squared her shoulders and left the study. She paused in the main hallway and, from years of habit, glanced around.
The main hall of Riverbend was a magnificent room. A full thirty feet deep and twenty-five feet wide, it retained its air of grandeur. Twin staircases radiated upward, their mahogany banisters gleaming in the low light. The floor’s wood planking was now dull with age, and because of the war, oil was almost impossible to find. Alana missed the grand oriental carpet that had protected the floor, yet even without it the room still held an ageless splendor–a reminder of what Riverbend had been like in its prime.
That the plantation had survived the war intact was a miracle. Whether Alana would be able to keep her home after she had come so far was yet to be determined.
Suddenly the walls of the house seemed to close in on her. Turning, Alana quickly went out onto the rear veranda and stood at the top of the steps. She looked at the dark clouds that stretched toward Riverbend from Charleston, some seventeen miles east, then saw a thin black man hurrying in from the fields. The overseer, Ben, had received Lorelei’s message. As she watched him, she could not stop the lump building in her throat, for Ben had been the mainstay of Alana and Riverbend’s survival these past years.
Alana had given the slaves of Riverbend their freedom shortly after the war had begun. Ben, along with two-thirds of the others, had remained. Alana had not deceived herself that most had stayed out of loyalty; they had not–except for Ben, Lorelei, and a few others. For most of them, there had simply been no other place to go. If they had left Riverbend, they would have ended up in one of the two armies. And from the stories of those who had made it to the North, there was no good news there. Starvation often overtook those seeking to be free of slavery and the South.
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