Forbidden to Love: An Historical Romance

by Patricia Hagan

  "Nothing." Simona giggled. "Except you sound like a girl falling in love."

  "That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard. For heaven's sake, I'm getting married in a few months, and—"

  "That don't matter," Simona was suddenly serious again. Placing an arm about Anjele's shoulders in a conspiratorial gesture, she said, "You can do nothing about that. That is decided by your family. But the rest of your life, you can do something about. And that includes loving another man if it makes you both happy."

  Anjele was only too familiar with the way Simona's blunt honesty could sometimes shock, but this was absurd, and she said as much.

  "Okay, okay, you do not agree with me, I know," Simona conceded, "but there be no harm if you and Gator have fun these last few months before you move away. Who's to know? You know Emalee and me would never say nothing. Jus' go your way and have your love, my friend," she urged, "and make beautiful memories to think back on when you have sad times. Gator, he know you gonna marry somebody else, don't he?"

  Miserably, Anjele nodded, wishing Simona would stop, because temptation was birthing.

  "Then he understand how you only want to have fun, and he not be hurt later. So go to him now. Tell him how you feel. Ask him if he want to help you make these memories."

  Anjele laughed, told her she was crazy, and they hugged each other in parting.

  She could feel Simona's eyes on her as she hurried to where Gator was waiting.

  "One of these days, I'll give you poling lessons," he remarked pleasantly as he helped her into the flat-bottom boat. "Then maybe you can make it through the swamp without turning over or running aground."

  Wanting to cast away the depression Simona had evoked, Anjele said cheerily, "Why not now?" She moved to the back of the craft and took up one of the long cane poles.

  "All right. I'll cast us off, and then do as I do. Take alternate prods with the pole and push."

  When they were on their way, carefully, slowly, gliding through the dark, honeyed water, Anjele asked, "Why do you use the pole? Why not an oar? I've gone fishing with my father on the river, and that's what he used to row us along."

  "That was deep water. This is shallow. You've got to not only feel your way along to make sure you aren't about to scrape bottom, but also probe for underwater cypress knees—and alligators.

  "Tell me," he went on, "How did you like fishing?"

  "I loved it. I think those were some of the nicest times I've ever had." She eagerly described how she and her father would leave the house just before dawn. Kesia would have a basket ready with bread and jam sandwiches and some fruit. They would hurry on their way and by the time the sun burst from the horizon, they'd be in their favorite spot on the river. It was in a fingered cove, shrouded by levees and draping willows and a few banana trees. There they would stay till midafternoon. Sometimes they would sit in the boat, but mostly they sat on the riverbank waiting for the fat catfish to bite the worm and swallow the hook.

  "If it hadn't been for all those times, I probably wouldn't know everything I do about BelleClair. Poppa told me everything, but Momma says business shouldn't be discussed around children."

  "You're hardly a child, Anjele," he interjected with a sweeping gaze.

  Pretending not to notice, she continued, "Poppa doesn't feel that way, and he's told me all about how BelleClair got started in the first place, and how cotton gets to market, and how sugar is made. Everything. I know how many acres he owns and what every inch of it is used for. Why, I'll bet if I had to, I could run the whole place by myself, and..." She realized she'd gotten carried away. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to run on so."

  "I was enjoying it. Go on, please."

  And she did, glad to share the pleasant reverie. She related how they'd fry the fish to a golden brown in a cauldron of lard. Kesia, or one of the other servants, would spread a tablecloth under one of the big old oaks, and they'd sit right down on the ground and eat. "Of course, Claudia complained about the gnats and flies and mosquitoes, and finally she and Mother would get up and go in the house, but Poppa and I would sit right there and eat ourselves sick and then lie down and look up at the stars, and he'd tell me more stories, and I loved every second of it." She was embarrassed to blink away tears of sadness over the good times ending.

  Brett sensed what she was feeling and asked, "Why don't you ever go fishing with him anymore?"

  "Because I grew older, and Momma said it wasn't ladylike. And besides, with the wedding and all, I guess I should be concentrating on other things now, anyway, instead of pining over childish memories."

  "Well, I don't think it's childish, and frankly, I don't see anything wrong with it." He thought a moment, then yielded to impulse. "How would you like to show me your secret fishing hole? I might be able to slip away one morning. Those cane rows are getting awfully tall, and it's hard to count heads and discover somebody's missing."

  Anjele wondered if she dared, but Simona's plea began to echo, how she should make beautiful memories to think about when the bad times came. She reasoned Simona was right in saying Gator knew she was engaged. There'd be no misunderstanding. She made sure by forcing a casual tone to remark, "Well, if you don't mind sneaking around. I mean, I do have a fiancé, and although you and I know we're just friends, having a good time, we wouldn't want him or anyone else to get the wrong idea."

  He drew in his breath, let it out slowly before nodding, "Sure. I understand. Besides..." Suddenly, he couldn't resist adding bitterly, "I doubt your father would want you having anything to do with a Cajun, anyway."

  "No," she regretted having to concede, "I don't suppose he would."

  They moved on in silence, for suddenly there seemed nothing more to be said.

  Finally, they reached the place where she'd left her horse.

  Tension hung like an invisible shroud.

  "Thank you," she offered with a shy smile, "for coming to my rescue—again."

  "My pleasure, ma chère." His joviality was forced. "One of these days we'll have that fishing trip."

  She felt a disappointed stab. Back there, in the bayou, he'd made it sound like an invitation. Now it seemed like idle conversation, insincere and soon to be forgotten. "Sure," she tried to sound flip, uncaring. "I'd best get home."

  Brett knew he had to get away at once, or he was going to do what he'd been aching to do all afternoon, which was grab her and hold her and kiss her till they were both out of breath. "Yeah, I guess you do. Goodbye... Angel." He grinned and used the nickname he teased her about.

  Anjele was disappointed. Perhaps, she told herself, it was best if they didn't meet again, even though Simona's advice needled.

  "How about tomorrow?"

  "Wh.. what?" Her heart began to pound.

  "Tomorrow," he repeated. "Would you like to go fishing tomorrow?"

  It was all she could do to keep from shouting with joy. Struggling to maintain her composure, she explained, "But I won't be able to get out at dawn. It would be closer to noon. I could meet you at the willow. Nobody's around that time of day. Poppa lets everyone break an hour for dinner because of the heat. The fish might not be biting then, but..." She gasped, embarrassed at how she'd once again gone on. But he didn't seem to mind, because he was looking at her in a special way, as though he liked what he was seeing and hearing.

  Brett opened and closed his hands at his sides with the aching desire to touch her, hold her. He could tell she sincerely wanted to go with him and, while he longed to be with her, he experienced also a flash of pity. Exuberant, filled with life, she was the most spirited girl he'd ever met, and it was cruel for circumstances to keep her harnessed. Yielding to impulse, he asked bluntly, "How old are you, Anjele?"

  "Sixteen."

  He nodded, reminded of how guileless he'd been at that age. No wonder she looked at the world with dewy-eyed innocence. Born into wealth and all that implied, she hadn't been exposed to stark reality. He'd be doing her a favor, he told himself, to befriend her, and firmly, al
most angrily, he promised himself that was as far as their relationship would ever go. "I'll be there at noon," he finally told her, then hurried on his way, before they were seen by some of the field hands.

  Anjele allowed the mare full rein, galloping all the way home, hair flying in the breeze wildly, happily, in rhythm with her heart.

  Chapter 6

  Anjele awakened to the sound of her mother's excited voice right outside her bedroom. Curious, she scrambled out of bed and went to stand by the door and listen.

  "Elton, this is wonderful." Her mother was exuberant. "We haven't seen Delilah and Stephen in years. You know, he's about the same age as the girls. A few months older, I think. I wonder if he turned into a handsome man. Unattractive little boys often do," she added optimistically.

  "You can never tell," her father responded, "but what bothers me is whether you can be ready for them by tomorrow. Her letter took so long to get here. Knowing Delilah, she'll be upset to find out she arrived almost unannounced."

  "We won't tell her. What's to be done, anyway? She can have the guest rooms on the west corner, and Stephen can have one of the garçonnières. Having them here a whole month is going to be wonderful. I'll get started making plans right away."

  They went on down the stairs, and Anjele hugged herself with delight. House guests! And for a whole month! And, unless she missed her guess, Delilah Pardee's motive in coming was to try and find a wife for Stephen. Even in a place as large as Atlanta, Anjele sadly supposed it would be difficult to find a girl interested in someone so homely, for she didn't share her mother's optimism that Stephen had drastically changed. Of course, if the Pardees had been rich, there wouldn't be a problem, but they weren't. Her father and Wilbur Pardee had known each other as boys and stayed in touch when the Pardees moved to Georgia. Wilbur had his own feed store there, but she'd heard her father say he made only a modest living.

  But Anjele didn't care why Miss Delilah was coming. Exultation came over knowing her mother would be busy, while Claudia, since she didn't have a beau, would be expected to entertain Stephen.

  Sure enough, no one noticed when Anjele quietly left the house just before lunch. Her mother was so busy making up menus and invitation lists she had a tray sent to her room, and Claudia joined her, also caught up in the whirl of planning.

  Gator wasn't there when Anjele arrived at the willow tree, and she felt a stab of disappointment, but a few moments later, he came walking up the bank from where he'd left his boat tied below.

  "Okay," he greeted her, "let's see if you can fish any better than you can swim in quicksand."

  She wrinkled her nose in feigned annoyance and joined him to run into the warm summer day.

  Soon, they were in the isolated cove, and Anjele surprised him by placing the squiggling worm on a hook herself. Seeing his look of astonishment, she laughed.

  "What's the matter? Haven't you ever seen a girl who wasn't afraid of worms?"

  Brett knew he'd never seen a girl like her, period, and damn well liked everything he saw. "No, I guess I haven't, but frankly, I was starting to think you're completely worthless."

  "Oh, I'm so glad," she said with exaggerated pleasure. "I was really starting to worry about your opinion of me, kind sir, especially after you saved me not only from drowning but from quicksand as well."

  "You weren't going to drown. Snakebite, maybe, or lose a leg to a hungry gator. And I've poked that quicksand bed. It's not deep. You'd have been stuck till somebody, or something came along, but if you want to be eternally grateful, it's okay by me." His dark eyes shone, for he enjoyed the easy banter between them.

  Anjele continued to astound. In a short while, she managed to haul several large catfish up and into the boat, while Brett sat glumly without so much as a nibble on his line. Still, he couldn't remember a more enjoyable time. But all too soon, time slipped by, and reluctantly he said he had to get back to the field.

  "Do you want these fish?" she offered, a bit embarrassed to have bested him. She needn't have been, for although Anjele did not know it yet, Brett Cody was too sure of himself to ever feel threatened in any way, by anyone.

  He accepted her offer and, even though it was a futile gesture, impulsively asked if she'd like to come to his pirogue later to share them.

  "I really wish I could," she said sincerely but explained that Raymond had been invited for dinner. To soothe his disappointment, even though he was acting as if it didn't matter, she rushed to share the news of their expected houseguests and how she'd have more free time with her mother and Claudia so busy.

  "Anjele, I can't sneak out of the field very often," he reminded her soberly, "but we've still got the evenings, if you can manage to get away."

  "But it's hard for me to sneak out till after everyone's gone to bed, and that can be terribly late sometimes, especially with all the entertainment Mother is planning for the next month."

  "Well, we'll work it out." He reached to squeeze her hand. "I said I'd show you a good time this summer, and I will. I don't mind waiting at the willow, as long as I know you'll try to be there."

  "I'll do my best. I promise."

  Their eyes met and held. In that frozen instant, Brett was again waging an inner battle, for he desperately wanted to hold her, kiss her, while Anjele dared to wonder what it would be like if he did.

  His line gave a jerk, but the wily catfish got away before he could yank him in. Still, Brett was grateful for the diversion, which allowed the tension to melt away.

  Dinner-table conversation centered on the expected arrival of their guests the next morning. Even Claudia was caught up in the excitement and didn't behave as she usually did when Raymond was present by hanging onto his every word while gazing at him adoringly. He seemed more relaxed and at ease and even volunteered to help entertain the Pardees by hosting a visit to a horse race when he returned from a planned trip to Kentucky.

  "Is this a business trip?" Elton was quick to inquire.

  He was not impressed with the young man's preoccupation with having a good time rather than establishing himself in some kind of respectable business. Elton held to the conviction that it didn't matter how much money a man had, he needed to work at something productive.

  Raymond didn't notice Elton's disapproving frown as he explained he was going to buy horses and would be away nearly a month. "There are several farms I plan to visit. It's beautiful country up there, and this is a wonderful time to visit."

  "I wouldn't know," Elton remarked tightly. "I have to work."

  Raymond shrugged, unmoved by the barb. He was used to the planters looking down on him, and it didn't bother him a bit.

  Anjele surprised everyone by unexpectedly pointing out, "If you were willing to live here, Raymond, you could keep your horses here, instead of boarding them at the racetracks."

  "Mother would have a fit, and besides, I don't want to live with my horses, for heaven's sake. I just want to visit them once in awhile. I'm afraid I'd never be happy anywhere but in the heart of a city."

  But it doesn't matter how I feel, Anjele silently, sadly, cried.

  She could feel her father looking at her and turned to see the sympathy mirrored on his face. He reached to pat her hand, and for an instant, she was reminded of how he always seemed to understand what she was feeling, and how very much she loved him for it.

  The house was spotless, with vases of freshly picked flowers in every room. Twyla had instructed Anjele and Claudia to wear their Sunday best. Lemonade and fig cake were ready to be served. Even the household servants were wearing special uniforms.

  It was nearly noon when Claudia, having kept a vigil at the front of the house since early morning, frantically called, "They're here. I can see the carriage coming up the road."

  Anjele, reading in the parlor, grimaced as she glanced at the clock. If Gator had been able to get away for a little while that morning, no doubt he'd given up waiting for her to meet him. But she hadn't dared duck out, knowing her presence was required for the
arrival of their guests.

  Little William, Kesia's son, wearing a red velvet coat Anjele knew had to be terribly hot, stood obediently waiting to take the reins of the team of horses when they were handed to him for looping into the hitching-post ring.

  Malcolm, the butler, also resplendent in velvet, opened the carriage door, while the accompanying footmen scrambled in readiness for any orders given.

  Delilah Pardee, Anjele decided at once, was nearly three times larger than she remembered—in all directions. Her face was a mass of fleshy jowls, and when she waved at Twyla, who was waiting on the porch, her flabby arms jiggled from shoulder to wrist.

  Behind her followed the young man Anjele had known as a child. The only change was that he'd grown taller. His ears were still large, and his nose was even more hooked, but he had a warm and friendly smile.

  She recognized Claudia's wide grin as what it was—forced and artificial. No doubt, she'd been telling herself, after all these years Stephen would've changed from ugly duckling to swan and her own Prince Charming would be stepping out of the carriage. But at least she was going to put up a front, and Anjele silently commended her. It would have been just like her to groan in disgust and rudely turn away.

  Spotting Anjele, Delilah gave a mock wail of disappointment and whined, "Oh, you had to go and get yourself engaged, you little dickens. Didn't you know I've been saving Stephen just for you?"

  "Now, now." Twyla's laugh was stilted. "You've always known Anjele was promised to Ida and Vinson's boy, but we've still got our Claudia."

  Anjele bit back a sympathetic groan. Stephen, poor thing, didn't deserve such a fate. No man did.

  That night, with her parents engrossed in conversation with their guests, and Claudia surprisingly hovering around Stephen, no one seemed to mind when Anjele announced she had a headache and excused herself for the evening. She didn't even have to crawl down the trellis, but simply walked out the front door and headed straight to the willow tree.