Heaven in a Wildflower (52 page)

Brett gathered Anjele close. “It’s over, Angel. He couldn’t face his family finding out he was a traitor. Maybe it’s best this way. But one thing is for certain—we’ve got to get out of here, now,” he emphasized.

“The plates…” she whispered above the roaring within. Reaching into her pocket, she brought out the key and pointed to the crypt. “In there. In my mother’s coffin.

“
Life
,”
she choked on a heart-wrenching sob, “
growing out of the aperture of death
…”

Brett had no idea what she was talking about, was concerned only with getting the plates so they could be on their way. Taking the key, he went to open the door. “You’d better wait out here,” he advised as she hovered beside him. He didn’t want her there when he opened the casket.

Once inside, he gathered all his strength to shove aside the heavy slab covering her mother’s tomb. Holding his breath, steeling himself, glad for the faint light, he slowly raised the lid of the coffin. Avoiding the grisly sight of the decaying corpse, he ran his fingers down the side of the casket. At her feet, he felt a burlap bag, and knew he had what he was after.

He wasted no time in closing it all up again.

Outside, he handed the bag to Anjele and triumphantly told her, “Let’s go.”

“Not yet,” she said, moving to where Raymond still held his father in his arms. “Raymond.” She attempted to comfort. “If you want to come with us—”

“No.” He shook his head vehemently. “No, I’ve got to take him home and bury him. Then I’ll leave. I’ll convince my mother there’s nothing left for us to do. You go ahead. And hurry. Mammy said Claudia had gone to get the Yankees.”

Just then, Brett saw Claudia running up the hill. “She’s here,” he warned. “And the soldiers won’t be far behind.”

Anjele gave Raymond a quick hug in parting and ran to Brett.

Raymond reached to pick up his father’s gun, which was lying close by. “Get going,” he ordered. “I’ll hold them back. Head for the bayou. They won’t dare go in after you.”

Brett didn’t argue, though he heard Anjele’s soft cry of protest. Holding tight to her hand, he rapidly led the way, and in seconds they were swallowed by the swamp, by the night.

Claudia burst on the scene, looked from Dr. Duval’s body to Leo’s and shrieked, “What happened? She’s killed them both. Where did she go? We’ve got to stop her, keep her here till the soldiers come.”

Raymond, still holding the gun, gently removed his arms from around his father. He got to his feet and calmly asked, “Where are the soldiers, Claudia? Why aren’t they with you? You did go to town to get them, didn’t you?”

“Of course I did.” She strained to see him in the semidarkness, puzzled by his composure in the wake of the carnage, the death of his own father. Reproachfully she admitted, “They didn’t think an escaped prisoner was important, said they’d be out soon, but they were all excited about a battle going on in Bayou Teche.”

Rage returned to remind her how she’d found the closet empty, then heard the gunfire. “Who let her out? Mammy swore she didn’t do it, so it had to be you, you stupid bastard! Don’t you know you’ll hang? And maybe it’s for the best. You can’t forget her, can you?”

Raymond knew she was nearing hysteria but easily soothed her with the lie, “She said if I’d let her out, she’d lead me to the engraving plates. I thought that was more important. It gives us something better to offer them, doesn’t it? The Federal government will reward us handsomely, don’t you think?”

Claudia was overcome with joy. “Of course, you ninny. We’ll have soldiers to help us rebuild BelleClair, all the food and supplies we need. Where are they?” She glanced about wildly, excitedly. “I want to be waiting with them in my hands when they get here.”

He pointed to the crypt. The door was still open. “In there. Elton didn’t think anyone would think to look in there.”

“Of course they wouldn’t. What a wonderful hiding place.”

“They’re lying on the top of Twyla’s casket.”

She blew him a kiss, suddenly cheered and buoyant to think everything was going to be all right, after all. To hell with Anjele. Let her go. As long as she didn’t come back, Claudia didn’t care.

She ran inside the crypt.

Raymond swiftly moved to slam and lock the heavy door behind her.

He could hear her screaming as he lifted his father’s body in his arms and started down the hill.

By the time he got to the bottom, he couldn’t hear any sound at all coming from the cemetery.

He figured in a few days, it would be real quiet up there.

Real quiet, indeed.

Safely in the bowels of the bayou, Brett took Anjele in his arms and kissed her till they were both breathless.

When at last he released her, she gazed up at him in the scant light and murmured, “I love you, Gator, believe that.”

“Oh, it’s Gator now, is it?” he responded huskily, then murmured, “I do believe you,
ma chère
,
and know that I love you, too. I always have. I always will.”

“What waits for us out there?” she asked timorously. “Where do we go from here?”

“We’ve got a war waiting, and when it’s over, we’ve got the rest of our lives—together.”

“That’s all we’ll have, but it’s all that counts, my darling. As long as I have you,” she promised, “I won’t look back to what I’ve had to leave behind.”

“If we can find it, we’ve got a gold mine waiting,” he told her with a mysterious grin, “but we’ve got something more important to look for than that.”

“And what might that be?” She pressed closer, lifting her face for his kiss.

“Springtime, Angel,” he whispered. “We’ve got to go find springtime, and flowers, so I can hold heaven in my hand, my heart, for always.”

And his lips claimed hers in promise of spring eternal…and
heaven in a wildflower
.

About the Author

Patricia Hagan might be the New York Times bestselling author of 38 novels and 2500 short stories, but she can also lay claim to being among the vanguard of women writers covering NASCAR stock-car racing. The first woman granted garage passes to major speedways, she has awards in TV commentary, newspaper and magazine articles, and for several years wrote and produced a twice-weekly racing program heard on 42 radio stations in the south.

Patricia’s books have been translated into many languages, and she has made promotional trips to Europe, including England, France, Italy, Norway, Greece, Turkey, Croatia, Spain and Ireland.

Hagan’s exciting eight-book Coltrane saga, which spans from the Civil War to the Russian Revolution, has appeared on every major bestseller list and is one of the most popular series published in France, never having been out-of-print in that country in nearly 30 years.

Born in Atlanta, Georgia, Patricia grew up all across the United States due to her father’s position as a federal attorney, finally settling in Alabama where she graduated from the University of Alabama with a major in English. She now resides with her husband in south Florida where she volunteers as a Court-appointed Guardian Ad Litem for abused children.

But of all her accolades and accomplishments, Patricia most of all loves to boast of being the proud mom of a Navy SEAL.

Look for these titles by Patricia Hagan

Now Available:

Midnight Rose

Souls Aflame

Passion’s Fury

This Savage Heart

Golden Roses

The Coltrane Saga

Love and War

The Raging Hearts

Love and Glory

Love and Fury

Love and Splendor

Love and Dreams

Love and Honor

Love and Triumph

Coming Soon:

Ocean of Dreams

A Touch of Love

A mysterious beauty…a determined man…and the forbidden passion that unites them.

Midnight Rose

© 2013 Patricia Hagan

Erin Sterling is a breathtakingly beautiful debutante of Virginia. The stepdaughter of a despised slave trader, Erin’s sympathies lie with those in bondage.

From the moment Ryan Youngblood spies the raven-haired beauty at the annual Rose Ball, he knows he must have her. When his offer of protection is declined, Ryan does the unthinkable—he offers marriage.

From the sweeping plantations of Virginia to the Underground Railroad movement in Philadelphia, Erin and Ryan succumb to their passions while fighting the evil forces determined to separate them at any cost.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Midnight Rose:

Their carriage proceeded slowly along
the curving driveway, which was crowded with fine saddle horses and other conveyances. It was not yet dark, but already lightning bugs performed their glowing dance of twilight beneath the canopy of spreading oaks. The velvet-green lawn of Pine Tops plantation was a rainbow of pastel-gowned debutantes. Their glittering jewels vied to outshine the eager eyes of potential beaus.

The mansion was huge and impressive. Wide marble steps led up to the terrace, which swept the front and sides. White columns stretched to the overhanging roof, which shaded both porch and second-floor balcony.

Erin tensed as the carriage pulled up in front of the steps. She could see the receiving line waiting at the top: Tyler Manning and his wife, Opal. Opal was this year’s chairwoman, the reason for the ball being held at Pine Tops. No doubt that was Carolyn, their daughter, standing beside them in a flounced white gown. Erin, who hadn’t seen her in years, wondered if she was still haughty and conceited. Fearfully, she asked, “Surely we aren’t going in the front entrance?”

“Well, of course we are.” Arlene’s laugh was forced, because she was every bit as dubious and nervous as Erin but determined not to show it. “What did you think? That we’d sneak in the back way?”

Erin was mortified. “But they’ll know we weren’t invited, and they might not let us in. I thought we’d just sort of drift in and out, not stay long…and, oh!” She pounded her knees with her fists. “I was a fool to let you talk me into this.”

Arlene crisply reminded her, “You had no choice. And you’re overreacting anyway. It’s not as if I don’t know the Mannings, as well as almost everybody else that will be here, for that matter. Zachary might be a heathen and never darken the door of a church, but
I
try to live a Christian life, and I’ve met these people either through church or charity work. I consider them my friends, even if I’m not on the invitation list for their parties. Now just relax and be yourself. Act as though you have every right to be here, and no one will say a word.”

“This is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard of!”

“It’s the only way to introduce you to Richmond society, Erin. We have to let everyone know that you’ve reached a marriageable age, and the only way to do that is for you to dazzle them here tonight.” She flashed a spirited smile. “So now, my beautiful daughter, go forth and dazzle!”

It was only with great effort that Erin forced her reluctant legs to carry her up the stairs. Before she was halfway in her ascent, she could see the expressions on the faces of the hosts. First, confusion and bewilderment; then astonishment; and, finally, resentment and controlled anger.

Reaching the receiving line, she couldn’t bring herself to utter a word, but Arlene was the epitome of charm and composure. “Tyler. Opal. Carolyn,” she cooed, grasping their hands in turn. “How wonderful to see all of you again. Erin was so thrilled she arrived from Atlanta in time for your little soiree.” She abruptly whirled away, calling out to someone she knew from church, not about to linger before their contemptuous glares.

Erin was slower, hesitated a fraction of a second too long, and was thus vulnerable to Carolyn Manning’s loud whisper. “You weren’t invited, and you know it! You’re no debutante,” she added with a sneer, turning away as she felt the warning jab of her mother’s elbow in her side.

Erin was well aware of the young men turning to stare appreciatively as she followed her mother inside the grandiose house. She ignored them and turned her attention to the lavish decor. There seemed to be an overabundance of everything—furniture, sculptures, paintings, crystal, gilt—as though the Mannings were desperate to display their wealth.

All around, the ladies were conspicuously gowned and bejeweled, striving, it seemed, to flaunt every precious gem in their collections.

They accepted champagne from a white-gloved servant who looked hot and uncomfortable in a red velvet coat and black velvet trousers.

Arlene led the way to the ballroom, with its waved parquet floor and mirrored walls reflecting myriads of flickering tallow candles that other servants were just beginning to light.

A string ensemble was playing in one corner, and along one wall were banquet tables filled with sumptuous foods. Beyond the French doors opening onto the rear terrace, the huge fountain had been transformed to offer a steady stream of bubbling champagne which flowed over the strawberries lining the bowl. Already, young girls with hopeful suitors hovering were giggling, becoming tipsy.