Heaven in a Wildflower (50 page)

Opening the door, she peered inside, flooded with relief to see the room was empty. Quickly she went to the fireplace and knelt at the hearth. On the second row of bricks, to the left, her fingers danced their way to feel for the loose bar. One, two, and according to her father, it should be the third one, and…

The brick shook beneath her touch.

With an excited lurch of her heart, she saw the key right where her father had said it would be. She put it in her pocket and replaced the brick. She was tingling with happiness over how everything was going so smoothly. All she had to do was get up to the crypt and look for the plates. Once found, she could be on her way.

Maybe, she mused with a mischievous grin, she’d steal Claudia’s horse as she’d stolen Brett’s, which would mean more sweet revenge.

She stood, pausing to take one last look around the room. Melora Rabine had sensed it was the last time the two of them would ever meet, and now Anjele had the same feeling about this house. It was doubtful she would ever return. What reason did she have? BelleClair, as she had known it, lived it, was dead. Were it revived, it could never be the same. Perhaps it was just as well. A new life awaited her, somewhere, and even though she was all alone in the world now, she was not afraid to walk into the future.

She moved slowly around the room, touching things, reminiscing over happier days. Finally it was time to commit it all to memory.

With a wistful sigh of farewell, she turned to leave…then froze at the sight of Claudia.

She was standing in the doorway, a wretched sight to behold. Her once meticulously coiffed golden curls hung limp about her gaunt face. Her morning robe was stained, and despite the chill, she was barefoot. With a shrill giggle, she observed, “So, you can see again. Well, well.” She took another sip from the glass of whiskey she held before furiously demanding, “Why’d you come back? What are you doing here, you little bitch?”

“I’m leaving now,” Anjele said carefully, not wanting a scene, anxious to be on her way. “I shouldn’t have come. I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry?” Claudia echoed shrilly, hiccupping.

Anjele could tell she’d had too much to drink. “Yes. And I’m going—”

Claudia flung the glass at her, and Anjele ducked just before it smashed against the wall. “How dare you come back here?” she screamed. “All of this is your fault. If it hadn’t been for you, BelleClair wouldn’t be in ruins now…”

“I told you,” Anjele repeated, “I’m going. There’s no need for you to be upset.”

Her upper lip curling back in a snarl of contempt, Claudia cried, “I was going to have what I wanted at last—you out of the way and me in control of BelleClair. I thought I had it all figured out, to have you arrested for harboring bushwhackers, and then I’d be rid of you forever, but no, the Yankees had to find out your goddamn daddy was a thief and I was the one to suffer.

“And when you escaped from prison,” she raged on, “they came back, and they tore up everything again, looking for you. I told them they didn’t have to worry, that I’d kill you if you came back.” She started into the room.

Anjele warily backed away toward the wall separating the study from the dining room.

Reaching the fireplace, Claudia snatched up the poker, and Anjele was struck with horror to think it was the same weapon used to nearly kill her. “No, listen to me,” she pleaded, “just let me leave. You can have BelleClair, and I’ll never come back, I promise.”

Claudia began to swing the poker, slicing it through the air back and forth, sneering as she taunted, “Oh, really, dear
sister
?
You say I can have all this? I find that very generous of you, after you caused its destruction. Tell me, are you planning to give me my husband, too? Are you going to crawl out of his mind, so he’ll stop trying to drown his brain to keep from thinking about you day and night? Even when I told him how I saw you in the sugarhouse that night, rutting like an animal with that Cajun, it didn’t matter. Oh, he was anxious to marry me then, all right, thinking it’d make him forget you, but it didn’t work. He turned into a spineless ninny, grieving for you, and then you dared come back and drove him to become a worthless sot. But now you’ll pay…”

From the corner of her eye, Anjele saw the door to the dining room and realized she could escape through the connecting closet. She lunged for it, flinging it open and dashing inside. Crossing the small passageway, she reached for the knob and twisted, horrified to find it locked.

At the same instant, she was plunged into darkness as the door behind her slammed shut. There was an ominous clicking sound, and she knew she was locked in…trapped.

Claudia laughed shrilly. “I’ve got you now, bitch. Did you think you could outsmart me? I saw you going down the hall, heading in here, when I was coming down the stairs, you little fool. I slipped around to lock the other door so I could drive you in there, and that’s where you’ll stay till the soldiers get here to take you back to prison. I’m going after them now.

“And thank you, Anjele,” she crowed, pounding on the door in triumph. “Thank you for making it possible for me to get back in their good graces. Turning you in will prove my loyalty, and I hope this time they hang you.”

Claudia rushed out of the study and up to her room, trembling with excitement over what she had done. She dressed quickly, grabbed her warmest cape and bonnet, and headed back downstairs.

Mammy Kesia was waiting in the foyer, and Claudia could tell by the worried look on her face she knew what was going on. She walked right up to her and slapped her face, hard. Mammy cried out, stumbled away, eyes widening in fright.

“Yes, the bitch is locked in the closet, Mammy,” Claudia said between clenched teeth, “and I’ve a feeling you knew she was here, and if I weren’t in a hurry, I’d beat you till you bleed for not coming and telling me. If you’ve got any ideas about letting her out once I leave, you’d better think again. I’m going into New Orleans to tell the authorities she’s here, and if they come back and find her gone, they’ll arrest you for helping her. They will shoot you, Mammy. Do you understand?”

Trembling from head to toe, hands clenched over her quaking bosom, Mammy fearfully whispered, “Yassum, yassum, I hear you. I won’t let her out. I promise.”

Claudia pushed by her and out the door, heading for the stable.

Anjele once more found herself locked in a world of darkness.

She sank to the floor in dismal defeat, and for the first time, knew it would have been better had her eyesight not returned.

She would not be here, about to be turned over to the enemy, for God only knew what fate.

She would still be with Brett, blissfully oblivious to his treachery.

He had spoken of love, a new life together, and even if it had all been a part of the deception and the scheme, at least the happiness would have lasted awhile longer.

Perhaps, she thought in bitter defeat, blindness to the cruelties of life was merciful.

Leo shuffled into the storage room and took out the broom. Damn Yankees, he fumed, they wouldn’t let him alone. He had signed their stinking oath, even though he’d told them he didn’t give a hoot about the war. But that wasn’t good enough for them. They wanted him to work. So he had faked a limp and said he wasn’t able. Then they argued that he and all the other derelicts had to be good for something, so they gave him the job of sweeping up, emptying trash, doing small chores. But last night he had forgot, because he’d managed to steal some whiskey out of one of the officers’ desks and he’d got himself real drunk and passed out in his favorite alley, oblivious to the cold. The soldiers had found him and kicked him right in his butt and told him if he didn’t want to find himself digging ditches, he’d better get those floors swept.

It was hard to remember to limp, because it was awkward, and his head was pounding, but he managed. Hardly anybody was around, anyway, and the place was practically deserted. Leo had heard some soldiers talking about how the officers were gathered at the navy’s headquarters on the waterfront, because all hell was said to be fixing to break loose in Bayou Teche.

He didn’t care. He didn’t care about a damn thing but getting through and finding some more whiskey. Every week, he found a little money above the door of the tomb, but it wasn’t much, and it didn’t last long. He just wished he’d find that blasted glove impaled one of these nights, which would mean The Voice had found out where Anjele Sinclair was, and he could then take care of her, collect his money, and leave these parts.

It was nearly three o’clock when he finished, and he was cursing because he hadn’t found any liquor in any of the drawers he’d searched. That meant he’d have to roam the alleys in hopes of finding somebody passed out with a bottle that wasn’t quite empty.

He went back to the basement storage room. A lantern on the wall provided light to see the way. Opening the door, he started to put away the broom, and that’s when he saw it and cried out loud with joy.

A glove was hanging on the broom nail.

It could mean only one thing, he realized, breath coming in quick, excited gasps—The Voice wanted him at the cemetery right away, not at the usual time.

And that could also mean but one thing.

He ran from the building and headed for the cemetery and the tomb, anxious to hear The Voice tell him where Anjele Sinclair was.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Anjele pounded on the closet door, calling for Mammy, for anyone, to let her out. Finally, wearily, she sank to the floor in defeat.

It was over.

The soldiers would come and take her away, and all her efforts would be for naught. Yet, angered by the futility of it all, she knew she wouldn’t give up. Let them take her away. This time she had her eyesight, and she’d never stop trying to escape. She was wiser now, and never again would a man be able to trick her, for she’d learned her lesson, and…

She lifted her head. “Who’s there?” She held her breath.

Mammy’s agonized voice was barely audible. “It’s me, missy, and I just had to come tell you how sorry I am I can’t let you out. Miz Claudia, she said if I did, the soldiers, they’d shoot me. And I’s scared, missy, so scared…”

Anjele sprang to her feet, jiggling the door knob as she pleaded, “Mammy, listen to me. You’ve got to let me out. The soldiers won’t shoot you, because I’ll take you with me—”

“No, I can’t do that,” Mammy cried. “I can’t leave here, Miz Anjele. Don’t you see? I ain’t got no place to go, and I can’t leave my baby. He’s buried here, and I feel close to him, and—”

“Mammy, stop it!” Anjele was losing patience and nearing hysteria in her determination to get out before the Yankees got there. “Unlock this door and let me out. You can’t do this to me, do you hear me? Claudia is lying. They won’t shoot you.
Now open this door
…”

Suddenly all was silent.

“Mammy, do you hear me?”

When there was no response, Anjele knew she had gone away. With all hope lost, there was nothing to do but wait for the inevitable. She sank to the floor again in desolation.

The afternoon wore on. Anjele began to wish they’d hurry up and get there so she could start making plans to escape. Maybe on the ride back to New Orleans she’d have a chance. If they put her on a horse by herself, even with her hands tied behind her back, she might be able to get away by lunging into the swamp when they crossed the bridge just down the road. They’d never be able to follow her once she reached one of the old trails, and maybe one of the Cajuns would still be in Bayou Perot to help her, and—

Again she was alert to a sound outside the door, only this time it was a scraping noise amidst muted curses.

Slowly she got to her feet, groping along one of the shelves behind her in search of some kind of weapon. Obviously the Yankees had smashed all the dishes, for she touched a piece of broken crockery. It would have to do. If she could slash out at the first soldier to enter, they might all be caught off guard, and she could dash by, and—

“Damn this lock!” a masculine voice bellowed.

The door burst open at the same instant Anjele recognized Raymond’s voice.

With a shriek of joy, she tumbled into his arms, seeing Mammy standing to one side, nervously wringing her hands. She reached out to her and whispered, “Bless you, Mammy, bless you.”

“Took me a while to find him,” Mammy said. “Had to look all over. He changed hidin’ places. Guess Miz Claudia found all the old ones.”

Raymond was clinging to Anjele like a child, head resting on her shoulder as he wept. He reeked with the sickening sweet smell of his homemade rum. She looked at Mammy with brows raised in question.

“He’s like that most of the time,” Mammy said with a helpless shrug. “Only time he sobers is when the food runs out, and he has to go into town to see his poppa.”

Carefully, Anjele pulled from his embrace. He looked at her then with bloodshot eyes, a mellow smile on his lips as he said, “I’m not too terribly drunk at this moment, dearest. I was able to save you from Claudia’s clutches, wasn’t I?”

“And I’m grateful,” Anjele assured but was quick to add, “You have to save Mammy and say you let me out, say you heard someone screaming and opened the door to see who it was.”