Heaven in a Wildflower (44 page)

He reined the horse about. There was no point in looking for shelter within, for if any of the pirogues or huts remained, they’d be in worse condition than Laubache’s mansion.

The idea struck.

Laubache’s mansion was the perfect hideout. They could remain indefinitely. He could forage for food, slip into Vicksburg now and then to hear news.

Anjele, unable to stand the suspense any longer, asked, “Will you please tell me what’s going on? Why are you turning around? I thought you said we were almost there.”

“Well, ‘there’ isn’t there anymore, honey.” He reached to pat her thigh. “So we’re going back to that house we just went through.”

Anjele had felt the weeds slapping at her just before they’d turned around and figured the house had to be more comfortable than whatever he’d intended, but she was so tired of it all and protested, “I don’t want to stay there. I think we should try to go all the way to Richmond. We’d be safe there, and if I ever do remember anything about those engraving plates, I could go straight to the government, and they’d find a way to get them.”

“It’s not that simple. Not since we found out somebody is out to kill you, Anjele. We don’t know who to trust, because you can bet the Yankees have spies among the Rebs. Besides, from all the war news we’ve heard, Richmond isn’t all that secure. We’d be heading straight into the war.”

Wearily, impatiently, she asked, “So how long do we have to hide?”

He told her he had no idea, not ready to confide his plan. Sooner or later, he figured, the Yankees would forget about them, the way the war was heating up. When he felt the time was right, he planned to ask her to go away with him, out West, to make a new life. But he wouldn’t propose the idea to her till he felt she’d agree.

He couldn’t bear the thought of her rejection—again.

They settled into the little room in the far corner of the upstairs. Brett caught game, or fish, helping Anjele prepare it in what was left of the kitchen building out back. Rufus came around now and then, bringing catfish and crayfish, never needing persuasion to stay and share the feast.

By day, they walked hand in hand across the land. It was November, and Brett described the fading colors of autumn as nature prepared for winter’s arrival.

And by night, they made bold, breathtaking love, and Anjele never ceased to be awed by the wonder of it all.

Still, despite the peace and serenity of the world they’d created, she knew it could not last. They would either be found or have to return to civilization. They couldn’t hide forever. Yet when she broached the subject with Brett, he refused to discuss it.

“We take one day at a time,” was all he would say.

“But what about your assignment?” she wanted to know. “The Confederate government is going to wonder what happened to us.”

“Perhaps,” he hedged, “but they’ll probably think we got killed somewhere.”

“And you’re hoping the Yankees will think the same thing.”

“Exactly.”

“And then what?” she cried, exasperated. They were lying in bed in the secluded, out-of-the-way room. It was a chilly night. There was only one thin blanket, but they lay close together, as always, for Anjele felt safest when he held her.

He ran loving fingertips across her face, absently asked what she’d like to do, as he thought how much he adored her.

“Sometimes I think I want to go home. Then again, I wonder if the bad memories don’t really overshadow the good, and how maybe I’d be better off to start anew somewhere else.”

Brett’s heart gave a leap. He’d been waiting for her to say something like that, for it meant the time might be near when he could actually suggest she do just that—with him. The fact was, he didn’t really feel he had a stake in the war, never had. He’d been bitter about her, bitter about the prejudice of those who looked down on the Acadians. And while he’d always hated slavery, he just didn’t feel as if it was his fight.

“I think about it most of all when I’m standing on the riverbank,” she whispered, loving the feel of his hand moving downward to squeeze her breasts. His lips, warm and sensuous, nuzzled hers as she arched against him, pressing yet closer. “I can hear the water, and I think how all I’ve got to do is float right down that river and in no time at all I’ll be right in front of my weeping willow tree. I used to call it my dreaming tree, where all wishes would come true as long as I stayed wrapped up in the long, draping branches. And it was always so sad to come out from under it and find nothing in my life was as I wanted it to be.

“With you, Brett”—she boldly reached to encircle his manhood with her hand, delighting in the swollen hardness, evidence of his desire—“I feel as if I’m always beneath my willow tree, and instead of the soft fronds, it’s your arms holding me. And then I start believing dreams could really come true, if I could just see you…”

“Look at me with the eyes of your mind,” he said huskily. “Let your vision be driven by memory…and desire…”

He kissed her hard, fiercely, as though to seal absolute possession. Gathering her close, he reveled in the feel of naked flesh. His tongue moved inside her mouth, deliciously probing. Anjele could feel the tightening way deep inside her belly, moving on down into her loins as his fingers ever so gently pinched at her nipples. They leaped to hardness, her breasts aching, swelling against his chest.

With a moan, Brett assaulted her neck with his mouth, nuzzling, tickling with his tongue as he moved ever downward. Slowly, he began to trace hot, wet circles around her nipples. She gasped, reaching to entwine her fingers in his thick hair, holding him captive as he divinely assaulted.

“Take me, Brett, please,” she begged. “Give me all of you and stay inside me all night long…”

He positioned himself on top of her, the tips of her nipples brushing against the soft mat of hair on his chest. Yet he did not yield to the hunger to enter her, holding back to tease and touch, laughing softly as she squirmed beneath him, wantonly begging him to drive himself inside her.

At last, he could hold back no longer, and she buried her face in the hollow between his shoulder and neck, whimpering with delight as he thrust to and fro. She tilted her hips closer, clinging to him as wildfire raced through her veins. His hips ground into her mercilessly, and she welcomed every jab, willing him to push so deeply they fused together into one being, forever and always.

He felt the fever boiling forth from his loins, at the same instant she began to quiver against him, saw how her neck arched back, pressing her head into the pillow, flinging from side to side in wild throes of rapture beyond equal.

In the afterglow, Anjele lay once more with her head on his shoulder. “It’s times like this, when I’m content to stay here forever, in this room you tell me is so small, in this house you describe as falling down.”

“Suits me,” he agreed, turning to kiss her cheek. “The condition this place is in, it’s no Garden of Eden, but I’m in no hurry to leave.”

“You’ve forgotten your assignment, soldier?” she charged with mock severity. “All you do is ravish your prisoner.”

“Mmmmm.” He smiled, playfully patting her bottom as she turned on her side to snuggle. “I think I like it better this way.”

“Ahh, but what if I do one day remember?” She sought and found his cheek, pressing her finger against it. “And what if I get my eyesight back? What happens to us then? We can’t stay here. We’ll have to return to the world.”

He had instinctively tensed at the thought of her being able to see him, recognize him.

Nothing had really changed, he was pained to remember. Instead of dreaming beneath the weeping willow tree, grasping fantasies and pretending they were real, she was doing the same thing under a cloak of blindness.

None of it was real or ever could be, for when the day ultimately came that she guessed who he was, they’d be right back in the sugarhouse at BelleClair, from two different worlds, forbidden to love.

Till then, he could only seize the day, the moment…

He froze, instinctively tightening his arm about her, at the same time using his free hand to press against her lips for silence.

“Someone is in the house,” he whispered, mouth against her ear. “Don’t move. Don’t make a sound. Stay right here.”

She obeyed, silently screaming in protest as she felt him move away, but he made no noise once he was off the bed, and she was terrified to be alone.

But he returned swiftly to guide her up and to her feet. “They’re coming up the stairs. I’m hiding you in the dumbwaiter, in case they notice this room. Whatever happens, you stay in there, understand?”

“But what if you get hurt?” she whispered in response.

“No matter what, stay there.” He squeezed her arms for emphasis, then helped her up and inside.

She felt his parting kiss, then heard the soft click as he closed the door.

Then she could only wait, crouched in fear, desperate to know what was going on.

Finally, when she could stand it no longer, she heard voices, but curiously realized the sound came from below, where the dumbwaiter opened into the service pantry.

“Nobody in here.”

“Nobody any place.”

“I’d say this is a perfect place for a command post,” one of them was saying. “It looks deserted. Our dispatchers can slip in and out to rendezvous when the time comes. Nobody will know. We’ll be able to gather information about what’s going on in Vicksburg and get word to General Grant.”

Anjele’s hands flew to her mouth to stifle a gasp of horror. Yankees! And they were spying on the Confederate troops defending Vicksburg. She pressed her ear to the wooden platform, desperate to hear more.

“General Grant’s up at Grand Junction. He’s got troops moving in from Corinth and Bolivar, Tennessee. We can get a line of communication going as they move south.”

“Yeah,” came the response of the other soldier, “but right now I got to get some sleep. Can’t hardly keep my eyes open. Let’s bed down in the front hallway.”

“Yeah, sounds good. Nobody will come in. We’re safe…”

The voices faded away, and Anjele began to tremble, anxious for Brett to come and get her out of the dumbwaiter.

He was there in moments, and she understood the need to continue to be quiet as he helped her down. He then gathered her in his arms to tell her what she’d already figured out. General Grant was planning to attack Vicksburg, was gathering troops, and the soldiers downstairs were advanced scouts. Their job was to learn the strength of Vicksburg’s defense and get word back to Grant.

“We’ll wait till they leave in the morning,” he said, “then find another place to hide.”

She stared into the black ocean in which she eternally swam, wishing for perhaps the thousandth time she could gaze into his face and read his expression when she asked, “Why would you want to leave? This is wonderful, Brett. We can hide here, in the dumbwaiter, when they come, and listen to them and report to the troops in Vicksburg. We can let them know what’s going on.”

He didn’t respond, because he didn’t know what to say just then. Good Lord, she was asking him to spy on the Union but was forced to remember she believed he was part of the Confederacy. “It would be risky,” he began. “They might find out we’re here, find out who you are, and I’ve told you over and over, we don’t know who to trust.”

“We have to take that chance. We don’t have any choice.”

Brett grimly, silently, knew it was so.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

The Confederate picket stared at the bedraggled man and the blind woman beside him. He’d been told not to let anybody through without proper papers. “I don’t care what kind of news you got. You’ll have to wait till I send word to the general. And say…” His eyes narrowed as he addressed Brett. “How come you ain’t in uniform? Ain’t you heard about conscription? Law says if you’re between eighteen and thirty-five, and fit, you gotta fight. You ain’t seventeen, and you don’t look thirty-six. And I’d say you’re real fit, mister.”

Brett had been prepared for censure. “As you can see, my wife is blind. She has no one to look after her except me. I scraped up the five hundred dollars to pay somebody to take my place. That’s allowed, you know.”

The soldier relaxed a little. “So tell me what’s so danged important?”

Brett hedged. “It’s best we speak to an officer—”

“We have news of advance scouts for General Grant,” Anjele burst in, anxious to let someone, anyone, in the Confederate army know of the danger. She was exhausted, had been unable to sleep the night before, knowing the Yankees were on the porch. And the minute they rode away, she’d insisted on starting for Vicksburg.

She had the picket’s attention, and he turned from Brett to her. “What’re you talkin’ about, lady? Where’d you see Yankee scouts?”

Nervously, Brett glanced about to see other soldiers curiously moving toward them. The last thing he wanted was to draw attention. Attention meant questions, and all he wanted to do was get the information to someone in authority, and then find a new place to hide out. Maybe get out of Mississippi. Head west. Anywhere Anjele would be safe from whoever was out to kill her. There could be Union spies, right there in the encampment, and they would waste no time in getting word out that she had been located.