Destiny's Daughter

by Ruth Ryan Langan

  * * *

  Late afternoon sunlight made patterns on the walls and ceiling. Far out on the river, a boat’s horn sounded. The sweet fragrance of roses and magnolias filled the room. Tangled in the sheets, Annalisa and Chase lay in each other’s arms.

  "Feeling better?"

  She heard his deep chuckle and smiled.

  "You’ve kissed away all the pain."

  "Good. Then I suppose you’d like me to stop?"

  "Never." Pulling her close, he nuzzled her temple and gave a long sigh of contentment. "I can’t remember the last time I felt so lazy."

  "I think it was the last time you came to my bed."

  He laughed. "You’re right. You must be like a witch’s brew—I taste you and lose my appetite for everything but you."

  "Good. I intend to keep you here forever."

  Lifting a handful of her hair, he watched as it sifted through his fingers. "Forever doesn’t exist." He remembered the words Hattie Lee had spoken, was it hours ago, or days ago? His voice lowered. "Tomorrow, I have to be in New Orleans."

  "Dr. Lynch said you weren’t to do a thing for at least a week."

  Chase’s voice became very calm. "I heard Hattie Lee say that the presidential commission is here to take the testimony of the citizens of New Orleans."

  "You knew about it?"

  He decided not to tell her that he was responsible for its presence here. He simply nodded.

  "Testimony about what?"

  "Land grabbing, hooded terrorists, the misuse of bank money, fraudulent elections." He shrugged. "And anything else the citizens want the president to investigate."

  She remembered insulting comments she had overheard, hurled in defiance by the men of this town. "How can the people of New Orleans believe that a war general like President Grant would care what is happening to us?"

  "Because," Chase said patiently, "the president wants this country to mend its wounds. And the best way to do that is to get rid of the corruption and go directly to the people."

  "Chase, how could you have let me believe that Nate was the Archangel of Mercy?"

  He went very still.

  "Would you have ever told me the truth?" she persisted.

  He shrugged. "That day by the willow, I thought you had guessed. When you finally told me you suspected Nate, and concocted that idea to filter information through me, it seemed the perfect solution."

  "I can understand that you didn’t want anyone to know your identity. But why couldn’t you trust me?"

  He heard the sadness in her tone and winced. "I believed that the less you knew, the safer you would be. I was wrong."

  "But you let me go on heaping praise on Nate, practically adoring him, when a simple word would have changed my feelings toward him. And toward you."

  His eyes were dark and fathomless as they held hers. "He had your respect. I had your love. I told myself that was enough."

  Annalisa’s voice lowered. "Now you have both." In the uncomfortable silence between them, she asked, "Why did you lie to that stranger in the shadows about your true feelings for me?"

  Chase felt a burst of pain and remorse. "The man was one of my contacts. He was clerking in the bank and was able to let me know how much money the Archangel needed to supply. I thought, by denying my love for you, I could keep you separate from all that was happening. Maybe I even foolishly believed that by denying those feelings aloud, I could pretend I wasn’t hopelessly in love with you."

  Feeling elation at his words made her bolder. "Can you tell me now about the words you and Montagnet spoke on Nate’s boat? They made little sense to me."

  Twisting her hair about his finger, he studied her for long moments, then took a deep breath. She deserved the truth.

  "I suppose the story begins with my father. He was a bit of a rogue."

  At Annalisa’s soft laughter, he glared at her. "Do you want to hear this or not?"

  "Of course I do. But at least now I know how you happened to inherit that rogue’s personality."

  Touching a finger to her lips to silence her, he went on, "My father grew up in the bayou country, running illegal goods through various ports. He also managed to do a lot of good for the poor people of Louisiana. When he met my mother, a proper Boston lady, it was love at first sight. He pursued her across the country but was thwarted by her family, who were prosperous shipbuilders. They especially resented him because they thought of him as a pirate."

  "Was he? Oh, Chase. That was you who happened to be on that pirate boat, wasn’t it?"

  Chase gave her a lopsided smile. "No more interruptions."

  Snuggling closer, Annalisa absently played with the hair on his chest and forced herself to remain silent.

  "When her family refused them permission to marry, my father simply sailed into Boston Harbor on his ship, the Destiny, and asked her if she would be willing to sail away with him. My mother said yes, and they sailed the Caribbean for the next year. I was born on the high seas. When they returned, they presented my mother’s parents with their first grandchild. Though they still objected to their daughter’s choice, my proper Boston grandparents had to accept the marriage."

  "What a wonderful love story," Annalisa said dreamily. "Were you close?"

  "Very," Chase murmured. "And I grew to love my Boston family as much as my Louisiana family. But that presented a problem. When the South seceded, I found myself in a terrible position—one shared by many. No matter which side I chose to fight on, I would be fighting my own kin." His voice remained expressionless. "Maybe I was more fortunate than most. Because of certain . . . talents I possess, coming from a line of respected smugglers, President Lincoln asked me to act as his special emissary."

  She let the words sink in. "You were a spy?"

  With a gentle shake of his head, he said, "With a letter from both the president and General Lee, along with the goods I smuggled, I carried dispatches between the Union forces and the Confederacy. You see, during the fighting, they were the only lines of communication. In the course of my actions, I was in the unique position of discovering many secrets. Among them, I discovered a military leader who was using his position to further his own personal fortune."

  "Montagnet."

  Chase nodded. "I knew him first as Louis Lafleur. The man was a disgrace. Because of his villainy, I was left for dead. But the war was winding down, and there were too many other crises more compelling than Lafleur. By the time all the evidence was in, he had changed his name and had ingratiated himself to the governor. Because of his attacks on you, I had him investigated. When I found out who he was, I realized that he had made a great many political friends who offered to look the other way at his past transgressions. With his visions of grandeur, I have no doubt that he believed he could one day be president."

  Annalisa shuddered at the thought. "And what about you, Chase? Did your spying ..." Seeing his frown, she chose her words more carefully. "... special duties end with the war?"

  He shook his head. "The president was killed before he could implement many of his ideas. But it was believed in Washington that his successor needed my work to continue. And when President Johnson was succeeded by President Grant, my work went on."

  She gave Chase a hopeful smile. "Is your job now over?"

  He stared at the ceiling, avoiding her eyes. When he spoke, his voice was a monotone. "I suppose as long as there are men like Montagnet in this world, a job like mine is never done."

  Annalisa lay very still, absorbing the shock. He was trying to tell her, as gently as he could, that he would be going back to Washington, to do what he did so well. How could she stand in his way? The country needed brave men like Chase. She felt like weeping. She had wanted him to be brave, noble. "Be careful what you pray for," Sister Marie Therese used to say, "or you may get it." Chase was her heroic Archangel of Mercy. And because of his work, he could never be hers.

  But I need him, her heart cried. Without him I’ll go back to being alone and achingly lonely. Rolling
away to hide her fears, she crossed the room and mechanically began to dress.

  "The smuggling," she began, hoping her voice wouldn’t betray her. "Did you really do that, or was it just a ploy?"

  "It’s what my father did," he said, sounding like the rogue she’d first met. "It’s what I do best. The president explained that if I were caught, I could expect no aid from Washington. I would be condemned as a common criminal. Of course," he added with a smile in his voice, "I suppose someday I’ll have to join my Boston family in shipbuilding. It’s much more respectable, don’t you think?"

  How could he make jokes when her heart was breaking? "The money you gave to the landowners." She licked her dry lips. "Was that given you by the president?"

  His voice was so low she had to strain to hear it. "I did that on my own. It wasn’t part of my job."

  "But there was so much money needed, Chase," she protested.

  "My family made a great deal of money building ships during the war. Those ships saved a great many lives. They also inflicted much pain. It seemed a fair exchange to give some of the profits back to the people I love."

  They both grew quiet. Annalisa digested all that he had told her.

  The sun drifted behind a cloud, leaving the room in shadow. She felt a heaviness across her heart. She was so proud of Chase. But there was no joy in the knowledge that he was everything her heart had ever yearned for. Because he could never belong to her. His world was far more important than her narrow little world. There was no place for her in his life.

  And if she truly loved him, she would have to be prepared to let him go.

  * * *

  The day was awash in colors. A pale blue sky, dotted with white clouds, topped a countryside of waving green grass and delicate wildflowers. In the square, the townspeople arrived in carriages and buggies, carts and wagons. The men wore their Sunday coats, with large, stiff collars lined with buckram, or single-breasted frock coats buttoned high, concealing a waistcoat beneath. The women wore their hair in ringlets, topped with low-crowned hats. Their gowns of organdy and grenadine were as colorful as garden flowers. While most of the men stayed with their rigs, the women sat in the grassy square, arranging their skirts neatly about their ankles. Everyone in the city had come to see what kind of men would travel all the way from Washington to New Orleans just to listen to simple men and women.

  Off to one side, Chase leaned against a pillar and watched the passing parade. He had used all of his influence to persuade the president to send these men. What they heard today would color their report to President Grant. Glancing at the cluster of men seated at a long wooden table, he felt a growing sense of unease.

  Beneath his heavy black coat, Mallard was visibly sweating. Being from the East, he wasn’t accustomed to such heat. He would want this session to end as quickly as possible. Swanson was an important official from Washington. His imperious tone and bearing often caused people to freeze in his presence. He would intimidate these gentle citizens. Compton was honest, but dull. His report would be plodding and difficult to read. Thatcher was impatient with the process of reconstruction. His impatience was obvious in his angry movements as he dipped his pen and scratched notes for himself. The last two men were important members of the president’s commission because they were personal friends of President Grant. Hilliard was a military man. He would brook no testimony without documentation to back it up. With Hilliard, everything had to go by the book. And McFarland was an ordained minister, whose dour manner left no doubt that he expected the laws of God to be followed to the letter.

  Mallard brought a gavel down hard, and the people twisted forward to watch the proceedings. Looking out at the rainbow of attentive onlookers, he announced, "In the name of President Ulysses S. Grant, I call this meeting to order. We are here to document any evidence of wrongdoing by public officials. Who wishes to speak?"

  The crowd shifted uneasily. In their midst, Chase noted the conspicuous absence of Jasper Willis and several bank officials. Standing to one side of the crowd where he could observe anyone who testified was the chief of police.

  From her vantage point at the back of the crowd, Annalisa waited for the first citizen to volunteer. After a prolonged silence, she turned to Hattie Lee, who sat on her left. "What can be wrong with these people? Why will none of them speak?"

  "They’re afraid, child," Hattie Lee whispered.

  "Of what?"

  "The men who attacked us wore hoods. They could have been any one of these men. The other people know this. Don’t you think they’ve been threatened as well?"

  "But these men are here to help us."

  "What help can they give? Tomorrow morning they’ll climb on their fancy trains and riverboats and go back home to Washington. And we’ll be left here to fight alone once more."

  "But without testimony, the president can’t take steps to protect the citizens of this country."

  As Annalisa glanced around at the stony faces of the people, Hattie Lee whispered, "The president can’t be here to save their plantations, or fire a gun at armed terrorists."

  The gavel banged again, causing everyone to jump.

  "This meeting was called because we were told that the good citizens of New Orleans were being threatened. Have we been led astray?"

  No one in the crowd moved.

  Annalisa noticed several men clustered together who nudged each other and exchanged knowing smiles.

  "Unless you are willing to come forward, we will be forced to adjourn this meeting."

  Chase swallowed back the oath that sprang to his lips. He should have realized how frightened these people would be. If he had been given more time to prepare for this, he could have asked the commission to meet with individual witnesses privately. No one, it seemed, was willing to stand up before his neighbors and friends and testily. Especially if they suspected that one of those neighbors or friends wore a hood on nightly raids.

  "Very well." Mallard mopped his forehead, looking greatly relieved, and lifted the gavel. "I will have to declare this meeting officially closed."

  "I’ll testily." Annalisa sprang to her feet before the gavel could fall.

  All heads turned to study the woman who had dared to break the silence. Women craned their necks for a better view of one of "those women." Behind their hands, the men began to whisper and smirk.

  "Your name, Miss?"

  "Annalisa Montgomery."

  A ripple of murmured voices ran through the crowd.

  "Are you married or widowed?"

  "Neither. I am an unmarried woman."

  "Do you live alone or with your family?"

  Annalisa heard the snickers and lifted her head higher. Beside her, Hattie Lee glared at a man who called out a comment. Seated beside her, Gabrielle, Francine, and Eulalie straightened their spines and waved their fans in agitation. Corinna, comical in her orange hair lifting in the slight breeze, touched a hand to her sweating forehead and stared at the smudge of pearl white powder that clung to her fingers.

  "I live with my friends." Annalisa motioned toward the women.

  At the growing sound of laughter, Mallard banged his gavel for silence.

  "Do you farm one of the plantations?" he asked.

  "No." Annalisa squared her shoulders, feeling a sense of growing despair, but determined to go on.

  "Just what is it you and your friends do?" Mallard asked, then stared around in shock at the coarse laughter that followed his question.

  Watching her, Chase thought he had never loved Annalisa as much as he did this moment. With his hands clenched tightly at his sides, he watched as she braved the humiliation.

  "I own and operate Hannah Elliott’s House of Pleasure."

  The laughter grew to a roar. The minister, McFarland, spoke sharply to Hilliard, who began to write furiously.

  Swanson’s imperious voice rang with authority. "This is a serious town meeting, young woman. I will not allow you to turn this into a circus. If you and those other . . . women, wi
sh to flaunt your wares, I suggest you do it on the streets. Now please sit down."

  Annalisa had never felt so alone in her life. Hadn’t she always known what the good people of New Orleans thought about her and the other women of the house? How could she have been foolish enough to think that she could change their minds? What had she herself thought about these women when she found out what they did? With her lips trembling, she said, "You don’t understand. The good citizens of this town are afraid to stand and speak. There are men here who will later extract revenge if they testify. But I have no such fear. My friends and I have already fought off hooded attackers several times. They have burned our barn, seriously wounded one of our members, and killed another. These men are cowards who wear masks to hide their identities. They thrive on fear and intimidation. In addition . . ." She began to speak faster when she noticed the men on the panel begin to talk among themselves. "... our banker worked with a corrupt mayor-elect and the governor’s assistant to steal land from families who have lost everything in the war. Many of these families have owned the land for generations. But they were forced to sell for a few cents on the dollar or risk being evicted with nothing at all."

  The gavel fell heavily, shocking Annalisa into silence.

  "Young lady, I must ask you to sit down, or you will be removed from this meeting. I came here to hear from responsible citizens. I have no interest in the words of a whore."

  Annalisa felt her face flame. Her heart lay as heavy as a stone in her chest. It had all been for naught. Beside her, Hattie Lee caught her hand and tried to pull her down to the grass.

  As Chase started toward the table, he was caught from behind by Luther, who dragged him behind a tree.

  "What were you planning to do? Hit the president’s own commissioners?"

  "Did you hear what he said to Annalisa?"

  Luther clung tightly to his friend’s arm. "These men represent the president, Chase. They’re here because of your influence."