The sound of a distant whistle and the sight of lights offshore caused him to realize he'd traveled farther than he'd realized in his reverie. He was on the levee, overlooking the river, and not too far away was the huge, draping willow where he'd followed Anjele Sinclair that day.
He smiled to think of the encounter, for his first impression of her had been dashed. Though quite beautiful, she wasn't at all the spoiled rich girl he'd taken her to be. Instead, she seemed possessed of a zest for life, eager to experience everything it offered.
He started to turn back, but a movement caught his eye. A figure emerged from the darkness, skipping merrily across the lawn leading from BelleClair Manse. It was a woman, a girl, he could see now, for her long hair was flowing behind her in the wind, along with the sheer garment she was wearing.
The moon peered out from behind a silver-tinged cloud, and he saw the flaming tresses and knew it could only be Anjele Sinclair.
He watched with interest as she disappeared inside her leafy sanctum.
Something told him to leave, while another part of him reminded he was no longer an innocent boy of sixteen. He was a man. He had been around the world and few things fascinated or frightened him.
So there was no harm, he rationalized, in speaking to Anjele this warm, sweet night.
He headed for the willow tree.
It had been a particularly boring evening for Anjele. Raymond and his parents had been invited for supper, and afterward, his mother had insisted she play the piano. She hadn't wanted to, but polite protests went unheeded. Claudia had stood by glowering but expertly changed her expression to sweetness and light whenever she could catch Raymond's eye.
The men had eventually drifted into the smoking parlor for cigars and brandy, anxious to continue the political discussion they'd been forced to abandon at the dinner table, due to the disapproving glances from their wives. Abraham Lincoln had been chosen by the Republican Party of Illinois to challenge the incumbent Stephen Douglas for the senate. Mr. Lincoln, it seemed, had antagonized many staunch proslavery Democrats from the South when he'd said in his acceptance speech at the convention that he believed the government could not permanently endure if made up of half free states and half slave-holding states.
Anjele would have much preferred to listen to them criticize Mr. Lincoln than hear her mother and future mother-in-law prattle on about wedding plans.
Finally, the evening had ended, with Ida Duval setting a date for yet another party to celebrate the coming wedding. "Christmas isn't that far away," she'd gaily reminded them as they all exchanged good-byes on the porch.
Elton, a twinkle in his eye, had pretended to grumble, "Seems to me you young folks could've set a more convenient wedding date than a busy time like grinding season."
"Oh, listen to him." Twyla laughed. "You'd think there's a time at BelleClair that isn't busy."
"And that's exactly why I'm glad I married a doctor instead of a planter," Ida said. "I much prefer the excitement of New Orleans. But don't you worry, dear." She turned to Anjele. "Soon you can leave all this behind you and move into the city."
Anjele's smile was forced, because thoughts of leaving BelleClair made her sick. The last thing she wanted to do was live in town, but it seemed she had no say in her life anymore, and dismally realized she'd never had.
Finally, she had gone to her room. And once the house was settled and quiet, she had sneaked out and down the trellis to her special place.
Here, at least, she could dream about another kind of existence.
Spying the lights of a passing riverboat, she wondered what it would be like to travel the mighty river north. If she were a man, she knew she'd probably never be able to settle down, wanting, instead, to see as much of the world as possible.
Startled by the sound of movement in the darkness, she called nervously, "Is someone there?"
Brett pulled the draping fronds apart and stepped inside, barely able to make her out in the darkness. "I didn't mean to scare you. I was out walking and saw you come down here. Mind if I join you?"
She was glad to see him. Despite all her resolve, she'd thought of him constantly since their last meeting. "You might as well," she replied, laughing. "But I find it strange after all my years of coming here without anyone knowing, that suddenly my secret is discovered."
"I won't tell anybody." He lowered himself to sit beside her. "I'm surprised nobody noticed before now. Pretty as you are, somebody should watch you all the time."
She felt a warm tremor and instinctively moved a bit away from him, lest he notice the effect he was having. He was shirtless, and she tried not to look at his glorious chest. "So what brings you out this time?" She forced a teasing lilt to her voice. "Have you found more of my clothes?"
"Have you left any hidden about?" he fired right back.
"No, I've been forbidden to go into the bayou, don't you remember?" She feigned mock horror. "And I'd never dare disobey the fearless alligator killer."
He lowered himself further, till he was lying on the ground at her feet. He rolled to his side and propped his head on his hand as he gazed up at her. A snappy breeze was blowing in from the river, sending the willow fronds into a frenzied dance, as well as allowing mellow moonlight to steal inside and illuminate their shelter. "I think you're making fun of me."
"I wouldn't have to, if you'd tell me your real name."
"There's no need."
"It feels kind of strange talking to someone, when I don't know who he really is."
He gave a careless shrug. "It's not like we run into each other every day, though it might be nice," he ventured to add.
Anjele was enjoying the banter, well aware that moments like this in the future would be nonexistent. Marriage. Babies. Tea parties. Church. That would be her world—not slipping away in the night to meet a handsome, exciting man in the cradling arms of a willow tree on the banks of her beloved Mississippi River. Coquettishly she asked, "And what would we do if we did? You say I don't belong in the bayou. Where would you take me?"
"Do you have to be taken somewhere?" Once more, he was impressed by her beauty, her lovely face bathed in silver moonlight, emerald eyes shining with anticipation as she waited for him to weave a world of wonder. "Maybe I can take you there with words," he offered softly. "Where would you like to go?"
She didn't try to contain her excitement. There was no need, for theirs was a budding friendship without pretense. Each knew the other for what they were, and it was a comfortable awareness. "Where have you been?" she wanted to know.
"Everywhere. In three years at sea, I've probably been to almost every major port in the world."
"Tell me what you found the most intriguing," she urged, thinking again what warm, smoldering eyes he had, and wishing there were more light, so she could see the dimple appear at the corner of his mouth when he smiled.
He said he'd found it all exciting. He described for her the ports of the Pacific, where most American whaling ships were attracted by bowhead whales. He also enjoyed the trips to the Arctic, where the long hours of daylight made it possible to operate around the clock. His job, he said, had been to man one of the light double-ended rowing boats, put off in pursuit with hand harpoons and a coiled line to play the whale, which was then killed with a hand lance when it was sufficiently exhausted.
She drew a sharp breath before venturing to ask, "Was it terribly dangerous?"
"Sperm whales could be real dangerous. I once saw one leap straight up out of the ocean and grab a rowboat in its jaws and bite it in two."
She wrapped her arms about her and shuddered. "I don't blame you for giving it up."
"Oh, I didn't give it up because of danger. I..." He paused, and gave himself a mental shake. He had vowed never to let anyone know more about him than was absolutely necessary and he wasn't about to share his real reasons for not returning. Brusquely, he finished, "Maybe one day I'll go back."
"I envy you," she admitted wistfully. "If I could, I'd travel all over the world
instead of getting married."
He knew of her engagement. Workers and slaves enjoyed gossiping about what went on in the master's family. "I thought girls wanted to get married," he teased, "especially to rich men."
"Raymond isn't rich. His father is, but Raymond has never hit a lick at a snake in his whole life, as the saying goes. Oh, he's nice enough, kind and sweet, but he's always had anything he wanted, and..." she stopped, embarrassed by her own candor. "I'm sorry. My problems aren't yours."
He surprised himself by his own frankness, "A girl as pretty as you shouldn't have any problems, Miss Sinclair, and I figure you've got your pick of beaus, so why marry someone you obviously don't think much of?"
Anjele decided she'd already said too much and decided it didn't matter if she confided further. "I didn't pick Raymond Duval. He was picked for me. By our parents. And that's the way it is."
He nodded, understanding, for he knew it was the way among some of the wealthy planters to arrange marriages for their children. "Well, maybe it will work out," was all he could think of to say.
"Maybe..." she lamely echoed.
They sat in silence for a few moments. Anjele thought she couldn't remember having such a nice time with a man, and Brett also mused over how much he was enjoying himself.
Finally, reluctantly, he got to his feet and held out his hand to her, and when she touched him, there was no mistaking the caressing of their fingertips. In the soft glow, their eyes met and held. Anjele was a maelstrom of emotions within, unsure of what to say.
Brett finally cleared his throat, released her and murmured, "I guess it's best we say good-night, Miss Sinclair, before somebody discovers you're missing and sounds an alarm."
"Oh, that wouldn't happen. I do this all the time." Oh, why did she have to rattle on like a ninny, she chided herself, fearing it would sound as if she were inviting yet another clandestine meeting.
And that was, indeed, the meaning he interpreted.
Resisting the sudden urge to crush her in his arms and kiss her till she was breathless, he remarked, "Well, I'm not in the habit of wandering this far from the bayou at night, but it could get to be a habit."
He yielded to impulse and softly touched her cheek before disappearing into the night.
Anjele was left shaken by the overwhelming reality that since Gator had walked into her world, nothing was the same.
And the restlessness within burned ever brighter.
Chapter 5
Anjele couldn't stop thinking about him. She told herself it was wrong and crazy to fantasize about what it would be like to have those strong, bronzed arms hold her tightly, his full, sensuous lips pressing against her mouth. But her heart refused to listen to her head, and she found herself obsessed with daydreams and the memories of their time together.
Melora Rabine, seated beside her on the piano bench, gave an exasperated sigh and complained, "No, no, Anjele. Bach intended this piece to be fluid, soft, and you make it sound like a march into war. You just aren't concentrating."
Yes, I am, Anjele silently, mischievously responded, but not on playing the piano. Aloud, she lied. "I'm sorry, Miss Melora. I guess I'm just not feeling well today. You know, sometimes a girl has bad days." Darting a sideways glance, she bit back a giggle over the way Miss Rabine blushed.
"Well, then, I suppose we'll make this a short lesson." Melora got up and began to gather her things. "I suggest you have some hot lemonade and lie down."
As soon as Anjele heard the buggy leaving, she laughed out loud and promptly began to play from memory one of the songs she'd heard in the bayou that night.
At the sound of the lively music, Claudia came running to shriek, "Where on earth did you learn that godless music? You... you'll get the piano out of tune," she sputtered.
Anjele ignored her, continuing to play as she swayed back and forth in rhythm.
"I said stop it!"
Claudia charged to the piano, intending to slam down the keyboard cover, but Anjele caught her adopted sister's wrist in time to keep her fingers from being smashed. "What do you think you're doing? You could break my hands."
"If that's all they can play, they deserve to be broken. Now get away from that piano."
Enough was enough. Anjele was sick of yielding. "You don't tell me what to do, Claudia."
Their eyes locked in fiery challenge.
Claudia was shaking, she was so mad. "You're going to be sorry," she whispered between clenched teeth. "You think you're better than me because you aren't adopted, but I'll be the one to inherit BelleClair, wait and see. And one day, I'll have Raymond, too. And you'll have nothing, and..."
Anjele had been slowly sliding across the bench away from her to get cautiously to her feet. There was a huge silver candelabra sitting on top of the piano, and she wouldn't put it past Claudia to attempt to hit her with it. While she was used to Claudia's temper and tantrums, never had she seen such a maniacal expression on her face, as though any second she'd go stark, raving mad.
Kesia appeared in the doorway, took one look at the scene, and cried, "You girls stop that fightin' now, you hear me? I'm gonna tell Miz Twyla, and—"
"That won't be necessary, Kesia." Twyla swept by her and into the music room. "I could hear them from my room." With hands on her hips she looked from one to the other. "Well? What's it about this time? I'm sick to death of this bickering."
Kesia discreetly disappeared as Claudia began to wail, "She was ruining my piano, banging on the keys, getting them all out of tune. I asked her to stop, and she wouldn't, and she started calling me names, like always. She said it wasn't my piano—"
"It belongs to both of you." Twyla sighed. "She said it was hers, that nothing in this house is mine, because I'm adopted, and I haven't got a right to claim anything, that I don't even have the right to be here, anyway, and when you and Daddy are dead, she's going to see to it I'm thrown out. It's not fair. And she's mean and cruel, and I wish I'd never been born...." Pretending to burst into wild, uncontrollable sobs, Claudia rushed out, leaving Anjele to try and dig her way out of the grave of lies.
"How could you be so cruel to your sister? How could you say such hurtful things?"
"I didn't," Anjele denied futilely. Twyla pressed her fingertips against her throbbing temples. It was never going to end. As long as Anjele lived in the house, it would be this way. Peace would come only when Anjele got married and moved to New Orleans. Claudia, she knew, could be difficult at times, but the poor child had to be going through a terrible time, forced to endure that the man she fancied herself in love with was marrying her sister. "I'm so tired of all this," she began slowly, "and if it doesn't stop, I'm going to have to ask Ida if you can go ahead and move in with her before the wedding."
"No!" Anjele protested. She had to have these last months at BelleClair and also couldn't deny wanting to get to know her new and exciting friend.
She ran to her mother to throw her arms about her. "I'm sorry. It won't happen again. I swear it. Just don't send me to New Orleans. Not now. I wanted one more season here, because once I'm married, nothing will ever be the same. You can't do it, Momma. Please don't send me away."
Twyla sighed again, managed a stiff smile, and gently brushed at her daughter's tears. "All right," she reluctantly conceded, "but another scene, and you leave me no choice.
"Now then." She pushed from Anjele's embrace. "Where is Mrs. Rabine? And what were you playing that upset Claudia so?"
"She left early," Anjele hedged. "And I was playing Cajun music."
"Well, don't play it anymore, if Claudia feels it gets the piano out of tune."
Anjele thought that was the most ridiculous thing she'd ever heard, but wasn't about to say so. She was determined now, more than ever, to avoid any confrontation with Claudia, for she knew her mother did not make idle threats.
She sat back down at the piano and played the Bach piece, and her mother finally left her.
Mercifully, Anjele's thoughts took her away to travel once m
ore to all the exciting places Gator had described so vividly. And she wondered again what had brought Gator to Bayou Perot and BelleClair. Handsome, dashing, obviously intelligent and keen of wit, he was wasted in the fields—as she would be, in her new life, married to Raymond. Dear God, there was just so much she wanted to see and do before settling down to marriage.
That evening, she stood on her veranda and willed darkness to descend quickly. From far in the distance came the sound of a riverboat's whistle. A warm breeze drifting up from the river caressed her face as she recalled once more the pleasant evening with Gator.
Yielding to temptation, daring to hope he might come back, she quickly scrambled down the trellis and ran through the night.
But he was not at the willow.
She waited perhaps an hour, feeling more like a fool with each passing moment. Finally she told herself she'd been ridiculous even to want to be with him again. What was the point? They came from two different worlds, and he'd already indicated he didn't think she belonged in his. Obviously he hadn't been serious when he hinted he'd see her again.
So be it.
She went back to the house and climbed into bed, only to stare into the darkness and wonder why, after the scant time they'd been together, he so easily monopolized her thoughts. And all the while, she chided herself and resolved to put him out of her mind.
For the next few days, Anjele did, indeed, manage not to think about him. She spent her time at the piano or reading, but was soon bored to tears. The weather was hot, but lovely, and she couldn't stand being indoors.
One morning she arose at dawn to dress quickly and hurry downstairs. As expected, her father was in the breakfast room, enjoying his usual cup of hot chicory coffee with a platter of eggs, hominy grits, and fried ham.
He was pleasantly surprised to see her. "It's been a long time since you joined me for breakfast, angel. What's the occasion? I haven't forgot my own birthday, have I?" he teased.
"I'm bored." She indicated to Kesia that she'd like juice and toast. "I swear, Poppa, if I have to spend one more day in this house, I'm going to lose my mind. Bad enough, I'll have to move into town once I'm married, so why can't I enjoy what time I've got left here?"
Forbidden to Love: An Historical Romance Page 6
