Destiny's Daughter (29 page)

*  *  *

When the wagon rolled down the road, Annalisa lifted the edge of a lace curtain and watched until it was out of sight. Turning, she glanced at the rifle leaning against her dresser, as if to reassure herself. Woodenly she walked downstairs to help Hattie Lee set the house in some sort of order before evening.

In the parlor, the others were talking in low tones. When she entered, they glanced up guiltily.

In the awkward silence that followed, Francine cleared her throat. "We were thinking that we would like to do something." She shrugged. "Something to stop the madness."

Annalisa waited, wondering where this would lead.

"We thought, chérie," Gabrielle interrupted, "that maybe we could do something to help the poor women here in New Orleans who are being driven from their land."

Annalisa eyed them speculatively. "What did you have in mind?"

Eulalie spoke softly. "It occurs to us that we hear a great deal about what is happening. Often before it actually occurs. Maybe there is some way to use that information." She glanced at Hattie Lee for reassurance, then moistened her lips and continued, "We thought we could warn the families whenever we hear that their land is about to be sold."

"What good would the warning do if they don’t have the funds to pay off their debts?"

The women glanced from one to the other in consternation.

Francine spoke. "Maybe it will do no good. But we have to do something. Delia is dead. We have a need to do something ..." She searched for a way to describe what she felt. ". . . good, something to make her life and ours count for something."

Annalisa stood very still, feeling a welling of love for these women that she couldn’t express. Then, lowering her voice, she said, "I know how you feel. And as long as you’re willing to become involved, I think there’s a way."

Very quickly, she explained that she had already begun funneling information to a person who in turn gave the information to the Archangel of Mercy.

"I didn’t want to involve all of you in this, because I didn’t think it was fair to place you in danger. But if this is what you want, we can all work together for a common good."

The women grew more excited at the prospect of striking a blow for the suffering families nearby.

"I must warn you, as I was warned when I first began. This is not a game. As you can see, these men are deadly serious. We will all be placing ourselves in grave danger."

Francine was the first to speak. "No one here is foolish enough to think that life can be lived without peril. But if my life can count for something good, I’m willing to risk my safety."

"I also," Gabrielle said sternly.

"I want to be part of it," Eulalie said emphatically.

"We are family," Hattie Lee intoned in a somber voice. "We will work together."

Corinna, watching silently, came forward to offer her hand. Annalisa accepted it, then hugged the old woman. Was it possible that a few short months ago she had thought this woman old and ugly?

"Family," she said softly. "Working together."

"Family." The women clutched hands and hugged each other, feeling a burden lifted from their hearts. One among them had died. But not in vain. They would draw even closer, for comfort, for sustenance, for strength.

*  *  *

Hattie Lee handed the young maid a basket of fresh linens. "Take these upstairs and start making the beds. I’ll bring the next basket up as soon as I get the last of the sheets off the line."

With the big wicker basket at her hip, she crossed the yard and reached up to take the billowing white sheets from the clothesline.

It was natural for her to plunge into the household chores with a vengeance. Work had always been her way of dealing with sorrow. Whenever she was troubled, Jessie used to say she could wash the spots right off the flowered wallpaper. Jessie. Hattie Lee’s eyes went soft just thinking about him.

Lately she found herself thinking about him too much. Him and that little farm in Ohio. Ohio. Even the word made her hurt. It was such a happy word. Ohio. And the way he used to say it. Like talking about heaven. So Jessie had chosen his heaven. And she had chosen hers.

She thought about the little loft above the shack, where she and Jessie had lain in each other’s arms on still, hot afternoons. Lord, how that man could make her burn. But from the beginning, they had known that nothing could ever come of their feelings.

He was the handsomest man she’d ever seen. At eighteen, he was over six feet tall, with shoulders wider than two axe handles, and a body hard, lean, and muscled from years of laboring. Jessie had been born a slave, and having earned the trust of his present master, was often sent alone to pick up supplies in New Orleans. Hattie Lee had been only fourteen. She touched a hand to her cheek as if unable to believe she’d ever been that young. Fourteen. She and her grandmother had sailed from their island in the Caribbean to work in one of the biggest sewing factories in New York. But Hattie Lee’s grandmother had yearned for the sun, and so she and her little granddaughter had journeyed to New Orleans, where they bought a small shanty and began sewing for the fine women of the town.

Hattie Lee would never forget the first time she’d ever seen Jessie. She was walking out of Franklin’s Mercantile. A giant of a man lifted three sacks of grain at one time and tossed them into the back of a wagon. The corded muscles of his back and arms were slick with sweat. When he turned, he nearly collided with her. She’d stepped back and found herself staring into narrowed brown eyes. And then suddenly he’d smiled, and she felt as if her heart was going to leap clean out of her mouth. Neither of them spoke, but they began looking for each other along the streets of the Vieux Carré. Each time they passed, they smiled, then looked away quickly. But one day, he touched a hand to her arm and asked her name. Hattie Lee smiled dreamily. She’d nearly choked, but she finally told him not only who she was, but where she lived. And when her grandmother died within the year, Hattie Lee turned to Jessie for comfort. Whenever he could sneak away from his chores, they would lie together in her little loft and bring each other untold pleasure.

It always rankled Jessie that Hattie Lee was a free woman of color. He felt that because he’d been born a slave, he was somehow beneath her. Snapping a sheet from the line, Hattie Lee folded it crisply, then folded it again and again until it formed a perfect square. How many times had she told him it didn’t matter what station a body was born to? It was what they did with their lives that mattered. But Jessie was proud. Oh, that man was proud. Placing the sheet in a basket, she paused to stare at the broiling sun. She’d had her pride too.

Miss Hannah Elliott had seen some of Hattie Lee’s gowns and told her she was the best seamstress she’d ever met. And she offered to move the fourteen-year-old into her own luxurious house, where she could live in comfort, in exchange for the latest fashions for her women. It was what the girl had dreamed of. She’d always known she had a talent. She could take a piece of simple cloth and see in her mind just how to turn it into the latest Paris design. And Miss Hannah Elliott was offering her the chance to make her dreams come true.

Jessie had dreams of his own. He wanted to own his own farm. And he wanted to have a son. A son who would be born free. And when he told her about the underground railroad, and a man in Ohio who would give him a piece of land, she knew she would never see Jessie again. She remembered the bitter cold of New York and knew that she couldn’t live in Ohio. And besides, she wanted the chance to live her dream. She wondered if Jessie’s farm had brought him more pleasure than her talent had brought her. She wondered what kind of woman shared his life and bore his sons. Fools. Two young fools. She’d been only fourteen. And he’d been eighteen. Hattie Lee sighed. Was she really almost thirty-five? Some days she felt like a hundred. And in a hundred years, she wouldn’t be able to stop loving that man.

*  *  *

Annalisa started across the yard, then hesitated. It was so rare to see Hattie Lee standing quietly. She was always a whirlwind of activity, doing three or four jobs at once. Where was she? Annalisa wondered, watching as the black woman lifted a hand to shield the sun from her eyes. When she went all still like this, where did her mind go? Not wishing to break the spell, Annalisa turned and retraced her steps to the kitchen. She would wait until Hattie Lee came inside to tell her that the new shipment of silks had arrived.

*  *  *

Annalisa looked up from her ledgers when the door to her office opened. Chase stood in the doorway for long minutes, studying her in silence. She wore a simple navy gingham dress that made her look like a schoolgirl. She had pulled her hair back with two combs, leaving it loose to spill down her back. All she needed was a straw bonnet and a McGuffey’s Reader.

"I’ll be gone for a day or two."

"Gone? Where?"

He loved the way her eyes went all big and round. His gaze was drawn to the chunk of topaz nestled in a mound of papers on her desk. He crossed the room and leaned a hip against the edge of her desk, crossing his hands over his chest. With studied casualness he said, "East. I’ve been neglecting my work."

"Of course." With a stab of pain, she realized that she’d expected him to stay on here indefinitely. She felt safe with Chase here. Without him she felt—empty. The thought startled her.

"Luther is mending. At least he can hold a gun now," Chase said. "And since Dr. Lynch intends to stop over every day to examine Luther’s wounds, I thought he might be persuaded to stay for supper, and possibly through the evening. That way, you’ll have another man around."

"I’m sure Gabrielle can persuade him."

He smiled at Annalisa’s words. Though the good doctor tried to hide his feelings, it was obvious to all of them that he felt more than a doctor-patient relationship for the lovely Creole woman.

"I’ve also asked Emile Soulet to keep an eye on your place until I return." He breathed in her soft rose fragrance and resisted the urge to lean closer.

"Thank you." Annalisa picked up a pen and dipped it in an inkwell. Still stung by the fact that Chase was leaving, she refused to meet his eyes. "And I know we can count on Nate as well."

She chanced a quick glance from beneath lowered lashes and saw Chase’s sudden frown.

"I hope you understand that if this weren’t important, I wouldn’t consider leaving you for even one day."

"Of course. I do understand. Please don’t worry about us, Chase. We’re perfectly capable of taking care of ourselves."

He recognized the thread of anger in her tone. She didn’t understand. And he couldn’t explain.

"Damn it. I’m not abandoning you." Without thinking, he caught her roughly by the shoulder and yanked her to her feet.

"Take your hands off me."

"Not until I make you understand that I have to go. It isn’t something I want to do."

Her voice was shrill with anger. "You don’t owe me an explanation. Go wherever you want. You’re free to do whatever you please."

"If that were true," he snarled, hauling her against him, "I damn well wouldn’t be fighting with you right now. I’d be loving you."

The words she’d been about to hurl died on her lips. Her lashes swept up. Her eyes widened.

"Chase ..."

"Shh." He touched a finger to her lips, and she felt a flash as blinding as lightning.

They were both painfully aware of what was unfinished between them. That scene in this very room had ended far differently than they had planned. So much had happened in the short time since then. But neither of them had been able to forget the desire, the overwhelming passion that had blazed between them.

"Why do we always fight?" She felt the timbre of his voice deep inside her as he pressed his lips to a tangle of hair at her temple.

"Because we’re so wrong for each other."

His lips stilled. Pushing her a little away, he studied her so closely she felt as if he could see clear to her soul. "Are we?"

Pain as sharp as a razor sliced her heart. It was time for them to face the facts, before this went any further. Running her tongue over her lips, she said softly, "You know we are, Chase. We’re as different as two people can be. Look at you. While your country is torn apart by corrupt politicians and men who have no room in their hearts for anything except hatred and bitterness, you can’t even think of anything more serious than a game of poker. While people are suffering and starving, you waste your precious money on trinkets."

She saw his eyes narrow slightly. He said nothing in his own defense, and she realized that, though her words were harsh, they were accurate. Except for the little muscle that worked in his jaw, he showed no further anger.

"They say opposites attract."

She swallowed. "I can’t deny there’s an attraction. But we’d be wise to take great care to see that we never let it go beyond this."

His smile was beginning to return. His lips quirked at her serious tone. "Why? What harm can there be in a little kiss?"

"Sister Marie Therese said ..."

His lips covered hers so quickly the rest of her words were swallowed up by his mouth. A shower of stars exploded in her brain. Her hands pushed fiercely against his shoulders, then stilled.

Gradually she became aware of the strong hands at her back, so strong they could break her. Yet they held her as gently as if she were made of eggshell. He smelled of horses and leather, and faintly of tobacco and Hattie Lee’s homemade bayberry soap. The collar of his shirt was stiff and scratchy, and she longed to press her lips to the hair-roughened chest beneath. Now where did that thought come from? Never before in her life had she thought about pressing her lips to a man’s chest. Or any other part of his anatomy. His lips were warm and firm, and as they moved and nibbled and suckled at her mouth, her thoughts scattered. She could think of nothing but the fire that seemed to grow deep inside her and spread until her whole being was aflame.

Chase had known it would be like this. From the first moment he allowed himself to touch her, desire consumed him. Holding her, kissing her, and not being able to have her completely was sheer torment. But the thought of not touching her was worse. Every waking minute, he thought of her. And while he slept, thoughts of her flitted through his mind, teasing, taunting, robbing him of precious sleep.

Beneath the soft fabric of her dress, her breasts were flattened against his chest. Her thighs were pressed to his. Her hands no longer fought to push him away, but were instead twined around his neck. She was so small, so delicate, that if he chose, he could take her here, in a shaft of sunlight, on the floor of her office, and she would be unable to resist. A fresh wave of desire washed over him as he moaned and took the kiss deeper. His hands grasped her hips and pulled her firmly against him. Then he slid his hands along her sides until they encountered the soft swell of her breasts. There his thumbs teased her already hardening nipples.

He heard her little gasp of breath and knew that it wouldn’t be enough to take her. He wanted it all. He needed her to want him as well, as desperately as he wanted her. And he would have it. He would. Because no matter how much she protested their differences, there was no denying the heat that simmered between them. It was only a matter of time before it leaped into a flame that would devour them.

Lifting his head, he stared down into eyes the color of molten gold.

"I’ll be gone only a day or two. Three at the most." He brushed a strand of hair from her eye, then bent and brushed his lips over hers. "And then we’ll have to settle our—unfinished business."