Chapter 16
Anjele sat with hands primly folded in her lap, teeth clamped tightly together in an effort to control her temper. Captain Brannigan had said that if she'd kept her mouth shut when the gunboat caught them sneaking into the Barataría Waterway, they would have been turned back again, instead of being taken into custody. Now, thanks to her, he and his crew were being detained till the Yankees decided whether they were actually Rebels passing themselves off as innocent fishermen. The boat had been confiscated, and Captain Brannigan worried it was gone from him forever, even if they didn't all wind up in a Federal prison.
"And it's your fault, damn you," he'd cursed Anjele. "You just had to say something about their mothers, didn't you?"
Anjele had surprised herself by being so crude, but at the time, with the Yankee soldiers roughly shoving her around, accusing her of being a spy, as well as insinuating she was onboard merely to provide sexual pleasure for the crewman, something had snapped. She had indeed given them a good tongue-lashing, which resulted in handcuffs and a very uncomfortable trip back the way they'd come, except this time they were on board a Federal gunboat, going directly into the port of New Orleans.
It had been late in the day when they'd arrived, and she was relieved when she was finally separated from Captain Brannigan and his crew. She really did feel badly about their plight and tried to tell them, but they furiously refused to listen. So she was glad to escape their angry glares and muttered curses.
In the eerie glow of the still-burning fires on the levees and docks, Anjele was horrified at the scene of chaos and pandemonium. It tore her heart out to see her homeland invaded, and she was struck even harder with the desperate desire to get to BelleClair and find her father and make sure he was all right.
She was taken into City Hall, where a grim-faced Union officer named Major Tyler Hembree listened to her story, then accused her of lying. "I think the men on board are Confederate spies, and you"—he raked her with a contemptuous glare—"are merely a prostitute, traveling with them."
"That is absurd!" Anjele cried indignantly, "and if you will send for my father, he'll verify what I say is true."
"Tomorrow," he'd said, airily waving to a guard to take her away. "It's late. My dinner is waiting."
She'd been locked in a small cell, without privacy from the men on either side, and the night had passed miserably. At dawn, she was taken to a closet where a bucket had been placed for her toilet, then returned to her confinement. Breakfast was a cup of water, a piece of bread, and a chunk of boiled salt pork, which she gladly gave to one of the other prisoners.
It was nearly noon when she had once more been taken downstairs to wait in the office which had been commandeered by Major Hembree, only she hadn't seen him.
A soldier sitting at a nearby desk leered at her till she couldn't stand it any longer. "Why do you keep staring at me?" she yelled at him. "Haven't you ever seen a woman before, or are all Yankee women as repugnant as you are?"
"Bitch," he muttered, turning away.
A few moments later, he got up and went out, no doubt to report her insolence to Major Hembree. Well, there was a limit to how much she could take, and whatever they planned to do with her, she wished they'd go ahead and do it and get it over with.
Finally the door opened, and Anjele glanced up, expecting to see another blue uniform. Instead, with a joyful lurch of her heart, she saw that it was her father. She leaped into his arms, crying, "Poppa, it's you. It's really you. Oh, thank God, thank God..."
"Girl, let me look at you," Elton said, choking on the knot in his throat, his own eyes welling with tears. Smoothing back her mussed hair, he shook his head and pretended to scold, "What do you mean, running away and coming all this way by yourself? Didn't you know the dangers? It's only through God's grace you made it."
"Did you think I could stay away? We need each other, Poppa. With Momma gone, and the war..." She blinked furiously, trying to get hold of herself. "I knew I had to come home and be with you."
"And you got yourself in a lot of trouble doing it." He managed a smile, wanting to lighten the mood, reluctant to talk about Twyla right then. "Now will you please tell me why they say those men you were with are spies?
"And we won't go into what they're saying about you," he added angrily. "Any other time, they know a father would shoot a man dead for insinuating such a thing about his daughter, but they're in control now, and they know it."
Anjele repeated her story, and he believed her, saying he felt that between Dr. Duval and him, they could straighten everything out.
"Dr. Duval is here?" Anjele asked, suddenly embarrassed to think of others hearing about this.
"He's the one who came and told me. One of his patients saw you being brought in and ran to tell him. He's outside now, talking to a Major Hembree.
"Vinson," he went on to confide, unable to keep the resentment from his voice, "has decided it's in his best interest to cooperate with the enemy. He has volunteered to provide medical services, which I suppose is preferable to being sent: to a Yankee prison for the duration of the war. Claudia feels the same about BelleClair, but we can discuss all that later. The thing to do now is get you out of here and home."
While they waited to learn whether Dr. Duval was successful in his attempt to clear up the matter, Anjele recounted her voyage home.
Elton was astonished, as well as impressed by her courage and determination. "But where did you get the money?"
"I'll tell you all about that later." The door was opening, and she was anxious to hear the verdict but the moment she saw Dr. Duval's smiling face, she knew everything was all right.
Major Hembree was right behind him. Without offering any apology for how she'd been treated, he dismissed her by saying, "You can go."
Elton grabbed her arm. "Let's get out of here."
She jerked free. "No, wait a minute." Major Hembree had sat down behind his desk, and she walked over to ask, "Is that all you have to say?"
His brows snapped together. "What else needs to be said?"
Elton hurried to reach for her again, but she shrugged him away.
"You know now I was telling the truth, and I think you owe me an apology."
He leaped up so quickly his chair toppled backward to hit the floor with a loud bang. Instinctively, Anjele pulled back, but he leaned so that his face was mere inches from hers, eyes bulging with fury, nostrils flaring, breath hot against her skin as he roared, "Let me tell you something, Miss Sinclair. You and all the citizens of New Orleans and surrounding parishes are now under the jurisdiction of the Union. We are in control now, and we will tolerate neither insolence or insubordination. I don't owe you anything. You have been conquered, and you owe me gratitude for not having you hanged because of your disrespectful mouth.
"Now get out of here"—he pointed to the door—"before I change my mind."
For a moment, Anjele stood there, ignoring the pleas of both her father and Dr. Duval to please come, now, before there was more trouble. Finally, she turned, but at the door turned to say quietly, "I am not conquered, Major Hembree. You can put me in jail, put me in chains, but you'll never conquer my spirit. Just like you Yankees will never be able to conquer the spirit of the South. And that's what counts."
"I'll remember you," he shouted as Elton and Dr. Duval pulled her from the room. "When General Butler gets here, you can be sure your name will be at the top of his list of Rebels to keep an eye on...."
No one spoke till they were outside, and then Dr. Duval gave Anjele a belated welcome.
"Thanks for all you did for me." She clasped his hand. "I'm afraid this was a homecoming I wasn't prepared for, and I lost my temper."
"I'll agree on that," he nodded without smiling. He turned to Elton. "I appreciate your taking care of Ida for me. I'll get there as soon as I can, but there's much to be done here. Some of the soldiers are sick, and the fleet is short on doctors, so I'm doing what I can."
Anjele gasped. "Surely you aren
't treating Yankees, Dr. Duval."
He regarded her coldly. Once, he had adored Anjele, but the fact was, if she hadn't rushed off to Europe, his son would probably not have married her dreadful sister. He shuddered to think of the distress it had caused Ida and him. The only reason he'd bothered to go fetch Elton to help her was that he knew Ida would want him to, regardless. "I'm a doctor," he crisply reminded her. "I treat anyone who is sick, regardless of which uniform he's wearing."
"I see." Her biting tone, her tightly set lips and flashing eyes, mirrored her disapproval.
Annoyed, Dr. Duval blazed, "It's time you realize how things are, Anjele, and get off your high horse."
"I don't care," Anjele spoke through clenched teeth, ignoring her father's prodding to get in the carriage. "I don't intend to make trouble, but neither will I bow down to those bastards. This is our home. They've no right to be here."
Dr. Duval shook his head. With her attitude, she was headed for trouble, and he was only wasting his time trying to make her realize that. Nodding to Elton, he turned away.
As they rode out of town, Elton urged Anjele to pay no attention to the Yankee soldiers roaming the streets.
She obliged, but with great effort. The scene was deplorable—people being dragged from their houses screaming and begging as Yankee officers moved in. Slaves, now freed, danced in the streets and sang in jubilation. "They won't be so happy when they get hungry and start wondering who's going to feed them," she quietly mused aloud, then, wanting to get her mind away from the present nightmare, asked, "How are things at BelleClair?"
Elton proceeded to tell her that not much had changed. "Our slaves have always been treated well, so I haven't had the problems a lot of the other planters have with belligerents and runaways. We planted full crops, and I'll keep on operating as I have been till we see what happens."
Anjele listened as he droned on, sensing he did not want to talk about her mother. She would wait till he was ready, and only then could the grief and heartache be shared.
They were almost home when Elton reluctantly, quietly, told her, "Claudia is here. She and Raymond moved in after"—he hesitated before murmuring softly—"your mother died. I hope it won't be difficult for you, them being there, I mean."
Anjele squeezed his hand. "Claudia has always been difficult, and if you want to know the truth, I never wanted to marry Raymond, anyway."
"I knew that," he said, flashing her an adoring smile, "and you want to know something else? I'm glad you're back, Angel."
Ida was waiting on the porch. Unlike Vinson, she didn't blame Anjele for Raymond's impulsive marriage. She hadn't liked her leaving as she did, however. Not one little bit. There had been something quite mysterious about her sudden departure, but Twyla always changed the subject whenever she asked questions.
"Thank goodness, you're safe." She threw her arms around Anjele. "We've been so worried."
Arm about her waist as they entered the house, Ida said she'd been waiting for her to get there before leaving.
"You're going back to New Orleans?" Anjele was surprised. "But it's terrible there. You may not have a home to go to, the way the Yankees are confiscating property."
"I know, I know, but Vinson says he doesn't think we have anything to worry about, since he's agreed to treat the soldiers." Not wanting to tell of the ugly scene with Claudia, she instead offered the explanation, "If he's going to be there constantly, my place is with him."
Anjele was greeted warmly by Mammy Kesia and all the household servants. There was no sign of either Claudia or Raymond, and she went slowly from room to room, touching things, evoking quiet nostalgia.
Ida insisted on leaving light away, and Anjele found it strange that Raymond didn't appear to say good-bye but made no comment. Her father said she should get some • rest, and he'd talk with her later. She was exhausted and after a quick lunch of Kesia's wonderful crawfish gumbo, climbed the stairs and went to her room.
Claudia was sitting in a chair by the window, pinch faced and hostile. Before Anjele could speak, she lashed out, "Why did you come back?"
"This is my home," Anjele reminded her. "Look, we haven't seen each other in nearly four years. Couldn't we try to get along? Do we have to start sparring with each other the minute I walk through the door?"
"I hate you," Claudia said calmly, "and I don't want you here."
"Well, I'm staying." Anjele began to walk about the room, glad to find everything just as she'd left it.
Claudia waited, watched, then coldly said, "Not for long."
She whirled to stare at Claudia and winced at her expression. It was frightening, but Anjele wasn't about to let her trepidation show. "Mother isn't here to take sides with you now. I think Poppa always saw through your schemes and lies. It won't be as easy for you to make trouble this time, Claudia. Now get out of my room." She went to stand by the door.
Claudia made no move to oblige. "I'm not going anywhere till we settle things where Raymond is concerned."
"What's to settle? The two of you are married. I wish you well. Believe me."
"Believe you? I'd be a fool if I did. After all, there aren't many men around for you to chase after. They've all gone off to war. But don't think you're going to take Raymond away from me. Don't you dare even try!"
Anjele was tempted to say if she didn't want him four years ago, she certainly didn't want him now, but Claudia might tell him what she said, and there was no need to hurt him further. With great patience, she sought to assure her. "You've nothing to fear, Claudia. Now will you please get out of here?"
Claudia still didn't move. "I think you should get out. I think you should go to New Orleans and move into a hotel. Maybe one of the soldiers can take care of you."
"Oh, for heaven's sake! I'm not listening to any more of this." Anjele walked out and kept on going, right out the front door and into the warm spring afternoon. Something had to be done about Claudia, but dear Lord, she didn't have a solution.
"Hey, Miss Anjele. Is that you?"
She turned in the direction of the voice calling, and though the face was familiar, she couldn't immediately remember the woman's name.
"Don't you remember me? Annabelle." The old woman grinned, walking toward her from where she'd been filling buckets at the well.
She was one of the Acadians, and Anjele recalled seeing her in the cane fields sometimes, carrying water with Simona and Emalee. She'd been old enough to be their grandmother, they hadn't been close, certainly shared no secrets. But Anjele was glad to see her, all the same.
Anjele told her how she'd just returned but quickly turned the conversation to her old friends. "Have you seen them about? Where are they working? I'm dying to talk to them. It's been four years, you know."
"You didn't know? They left years ago."
Anjele felt a wave of disappointment. "Are you sure?"
"Oh, yes. I helped them all pack. They went somewheres in Alabama. I never heard from them again." She shrugged. "But lots of us leave. Even to fight in the war. Those who stay are helping the Rebels in the swamps, 'cause nobody knows the way like our people."
Anjele wasn't really listening as she dwelled on the sad likelihood of never seeing her friends again. She'd deeply looked forward to renewing the friendship.
But then something Annabelle was saying got her attention once more.
"Hey, you remember that one they used to tease you about? The one called Gator? My cousin got wounded and came home, and he say he saw Gator in the battle, in the uniform of a Union soldier. He couldn't believe he would fight for them, but he not have a chance to ask him why."
"I guess not," was all Anjele could think of to say, for she was trying not to show any emotion. She couldn't deny her heart had skipped a beat at the sound of his name, but tenderness was quickly washed away by anger at the memory of how he'd betrayed her, and now betrayed her people as well.
"You take care," Annabelle called as Anjele turned back towards the house.
She did
n't want to think of Gator, not now, not ever, because it still hurt deeply.
She didn't see Raymond, didn't know he was anywhere about, as she walked up the porch steps, head down, lost in thought.
"Welcome home."
Anjele looked up into his doleful eyes. For a moment, she couldn't speak. The last time she'd seen him, they had been engaged. Now he was married to another, and suddenly it became an awkward moment.
Forcing a smile, she held out her hand to him in greeting. Noting how he leaned on his cane, she asked, "Does it hurt terribly? Mother wrote me about it, and I was so sorry but relieved to hear you survived."
"No pain now, but it was pretty bad for a while. The ball bent my leg bone, though, leaving it crooked and weak. I get by. It could've been worse." He grinned. "But tell me about you. I hear you made quite an entrance into New Orleans."
She sat down in one of the wicker rockers, and he took the one next to her. Relieved he didn't seem to want to dwell on the past by asking a lot of questions, she eagerly described her so-called capture in detail.
He listened, shaking his head in wonder, finally exclaiming, "You always were one to take a dare, Anjele. If anybody could make it from England to here in the middle of a war, it's you."
They talked and laughed and shared memories. Kesia brought them both glasses of lemonade. There was a soft breeze from the river, and with the air sweetened by the fragrance of the first honeysuckle blossoms, it was a nice afternoon. For a little while, both were able to forget how their world was slowly crashing about them.
Claudia stood inside the parlor window listening and getting angrier by the minute. Anjele had said it wouldn't be easy to best her this time. So be it. If she wanted a war of her own, she would have one.
Brett embraced the woman called Big Ruby. He knew she got the name due to her voluminous breasts. But when he thought of the bigness of her, it was her heart, for she had been the one to nurse him back to health, and he knew he owed her his life.
He had tried to make it back to the way station but passed out from loss of blood. By the time the horse ambled in on his own, Brett was near death. He was taken into the next settlement, but there wasn't a doctor. Big Ruby was the next best thing, and she'd made up her mind he wasn't going to die.
Forbidden to Love: An Historical Romance Page 19
