“Claudia, that’s enough!” He was horrified, for he found himself looking at a stranger, a maniacal stranger to be suddenly feared. He began backing away from her, off the pier, stepping to the riverbank. “You’re crazy. To say such things about your sister, about me, you’ve got to be crazy. Mother and I are leaving this house first thing tomorrow. I won’t stay here around you and your filthy mind.”
She watched him run away, darkness quickly devouring him.
“So be it,” she called hoarsely after him. “I don’t want to marry an ugly toad like you, anyway.”
Maybe I failed, she fumed, doggedly heading towards the house, but Anjele will be the one to suffer.
Chapter Eight
Anjele had made up her mind. Gator had sworn he loved her, and she had no doubts as to her own feelings. Somehow they were going to find a way to be together the rest of their lives. To marry Raymond now was unthinkable. Never had she dreamed she could feel about any man the way she felt about her beloved Cajun. And after tonight, that love would be avowed for all times, and nothing could stand in their way. Sooner or later her parents would have to accept it, but until, and unless, that day came, she would live with him in the bayou. Together, they would face the future.
It was early, a Sunday morning, and everyone seemed to be still sleeping, for she’d not heard a sound from anywhere in the house. She’d been up since first light, quietly stepping onto the veranda to sit in a cushioned wicker chair and dreamily gaze towards Bayou Perot. He was there, she knew, for no one worked the fields at BelleClaire on the Sabbath. But on this day, she wished they did, for she longed to walk by in hopes of catching a glimpse of him. It seemed forever till night and the hour when, at last, she’d be in his arms.
Anjele jumped, startled, at the sound of voices coming from around the corner of the house. Getting up to look around to where the porch ran all the way down the side, she saw Miss Delilah and Stephen.
Not wanting to eavesdrop, Anjele began backing towards her room but couldn’t resist hesitating as she heard Claudia’s name mentioned.
“Mother, I can’t help it. I just can’t stand it any longer,” Stephen was saying, exasperated. “She’s all over me. Everywhere I go. I can’t get away from her. Last night was the final straw. She had me in a very compromising situation out there. What if she tells her father I was trying to seduce her, for heaven’s sake? He’ll march me to the altar with a gun in my back, and frankly, I’d rather die than marry Claudia Sinclair.”
Delilah told him to keep his voice down before chiding, “I really think you’re overreacting, dear. Perhaps Claudia genuinely loves you, the poor little thing. Just make sure you don’t do anything to encourage her.”
“I told you. I want to leave. Today.”
“That’s out of the question. What would Twyla and Elton think? They have something planned for every night next week. If we announce we’re leaving, they’ll know something is wrong. It’d be terribly embarrassing.
“No,” she said firmly, finally, “we’re not leaving till we’d planned to—next Friday.”
At that, Stephen said, “Well, I won’t stay here, and you can’t make me, and I don’t care what anybody thinks. I’m going into New Orleans to a hotel. I’ll wait for you there.”
“Oh, dear,” Delilah wailed, “we can’t have that. Give me time to think. You woke me up with this, and I’m still groggy. I’ll think of something, I promise, but don’t you go and do something foolish, you hear?”
Her voice faded, and Anjele peered through the spiky leaves of a potted palm to see them disappear through the French doors leading to Delilah’s room. What on earth, she wondered, had happened on the pier? Surely he wasn’t all that upset over the scene in the oak grove.
She turned to go back into her room, and that’s when she saw Claudia watching her from the other end of the veranda and wondered how long she’d been standing there.
Claudia stuck out her tongue and went back inside.
By the time Anjele bathed and dressed and went downstairs, she found her parents in the morning room with Delilah, and the atmosphere was one of excitement.
“Anjele, come in, dear,” Twyla called gaily, “Delilah has a wonderful idea. We’re going to live on a riverboat for a week. Won’t that be delightful?”
Anjele blinked, shook her head, sure she’d heard wrong. Then, remembering Stephen’s outburst and Delilah’s subsequent promise to rectify the situation, she quickly said, “I don’t see how. Don’t you have parties and things planned every night this week, since they’re leaving Friday?”
She directed the last to Delilah, who promptly, cheerily, countered, “I’ve thought of that. We’ve been over the schedule, and everything is small and intimate, so we’re going to send word to everyone to meet us at the boat. Your father has already sent a messenger to New Orleans to take care of everything.” Turning to Stephen for reassurance that he approved, she continued, “We just thought it’d be nice to sail around and enjoy the river breezes. It’s so terribly hot. Don’t you agree, Stephen?”
He was standing at the window but turned to agree dully, “Yes, Mother. I’m looking forward to it.”
And Anjele knew why. It was a compromise. His mother would be spared having to come up with a plausible reason for cutting their visit short, and on a riverboat, there’d be little chance for Claudia to get Stephen off to herself. But where did all of this leave her, she wondered frantically and ventured to suggest, “It’s a lovely idea, but if nobody minds, I’d rather stay here. I don’t care much for being on the river, and—”
“Of course somebody minds!” Stephen practically shouted, desperation ringing in his voice. “We all mind, for goodness’ sake. Why, what a boring week it’d be without you, Anjele.”
“He’s right,” Twyla chimed in. “We wouldn’t think of leaving either you or Claudia behind.”
At that, Stephen frowned and turned back to his unseeing vigil at the window.
Engrossed in the newspaper he was reading, Elton was unconcerned with what was going on around him. Mr. Lincoln and Mr. Douglas were going to engage in a series of seven debates, and Elton was interested in anything to do with Mr. Lincoln. Mr. Lincoln’s strong stand against slavery was getting people stirred, while Mr. Douglas was defending not slavery, per se, but the right of Americans to vote their preference. And Elton sure as hell went along with that.
Twyla took note of her husband’s preoccupation and gently scolded, “Please, dear. Can’t your paper wait? We have guests, you know.”
Managing a contrite smile as he laid the newspaper aside, he thought how glad he would be when they left. Delilah’s incessant chattering and the way she stuffed herself was getting on his nerves. Twyla had confided she thought Claudia was hearing wedding bells with Stephen, but Elton hoped she was wrong. God help him if Delilah made her visits a habit. Even if this season’s hogsheads set a record, he’d wind up in the poorhouse trying to keep that woman fed.
Claudia breezed into the room, looked around and sensed something was going on. “What have I missed?” she cooed, at once going to stand possessively beside Stephen. “Has something happened?”
Twyla told her of the change in plans.
Claudia forced a smile. Inside, she was bristling. “How nice.” She looked at Anjele. “And whose idea was this?”
Don’t look at me, Anjele felt like screaming but didn’t say a word. The last thing she wanted to do was move onto a riverboat for a week. And how was she going to get word to Gator? She didn’t dare try to go into the bayou by herself, not on a Sunday. The slaves walked about the plantation freely. Some of them even took their food and had a little picnic on the riverbank. Her father was very lenient and tolerant of their Sunday activities.
Twyla said they needed to be getting ready in order to leave for New Orleans right after lunch. Anjele felt like crying and went out on the terrace to try to figure out a way to get a message to Gator.
Stephen was right behind her. “I hope you’re going to help me out on the boat.” He told her what had happened, finally throwing up his hands in defeat to explain, “So you see? I had no choice. I can’t risk her getting me into a compromising situation this week. There won’t be an opportunity on the boat, if you’ll spend every minute outside my cabin with me.”
Anjele agreed. After all, she reasoned dismally, no need for him to be miserable, too. And Gator would understand when she explained.
The week passed with agonizing slowness.
Once Claudia realized what Stephen was up to, and how Anjele was conspiring to keep her from being able to get him off by himself, she retired furiously to her cabin and stayed there. Twyla fretted she might be sick, then decided she was pouting about something and left her alone.
Finally, it was over. Stephen and his mother said their good-byes, gushing with gratitude over a splendid visit. Anjele was shaking with anticipation to be on the way back to BelleClair.
Claudia noticed Anjele’s nervousness, and, as they rode home in the carriage, started thinking about her behavior lately. Despite her jealousy, Claudia knew Anjele really had no romantic interest in Stephen and was merely being obnoxious. She thought about last Sunday morning, how she’d seen Anjele on the veranda, all moony eyes and staring out into space. But why? She wasn’t missing Raymond. For that matter, she hadn’t said a word about him all the while they were on the riverboat. She hadn’t even mentioned that he was due home the first part of the week. It was as if he didn’t even exist, yet something surely had Anjele stirred up.
Something…or someone.
Claudia thought about the last night at home, when she’d spied Anjele sneaking out the back way. At first, she had thought Anjele and Stephen were planning to meet outside, but as she had hovered at his side, Claudia hadn’t noticed any anxiety on his part to indicate he was supposed to be anywhere else. So, if Anjele’s bizarre behavior wasn’t caused by Stephen, or Raymond—then who?
As she watched Anjele practically wriggling in her seat with anticipation to get home, Claudia made a silent vow to find out what was going on.
Lightning stabbed the night with iridescent forks, and thunder crashed and rolled in the heavens.
As Anjele stared from the open French doors, she knew it could start pouring any time. The last few days had been swelteringly hot. Everyone had been saying it was time for a real Louisiana frog strangler. The thought of going to the willow with a storm about to explode was disconcerting, but she’d been waiting a week for this time. If he wasn’t there, she’d be disappointed but not surprised. After all, he’d had no way of knowing why she hadn’t shown up for a week and might be angry. But if he wasn’t there, she vowed with jaw firmly set, fists clenched at her sides, she’d go to the fields tomorrow and find him and explain what happened.
Her father had been too busy to join them on the riverboat, so he and her mother had retired to their suite right after dinner to catch up on news between them. Claudia had said she was tired and likewise called it a day. An hour had passed, and Anjele could wait no longer.
The wind was screaming as she stepped onto the veranda, carefully closing the doors behind her lest it rain in. Her hair was blowing about her face as wildly as the fronds of the potted palms along the porch.
The sky was split by a fiery streak of white, and she stared at the trellis. It was a precarious climb in such weather but her only chance without the risk of being seen sneaking out. Thoughts of Gator and how she loved him inspired the courage to climb down.
Lifting her skirts above her ankles, she ran as fast as her legs would carry her. Leaves torn from wildly tossing branches slapped against her face, but she kept on going. Bursting to the top of the riverbank just as lightning once more set the sky ablaze, she could see the willows in a macabre dance of protest against the assault of nature gone mad.
He wasn’t there.
She told herself it was crazy to think he would be in such horrible weather. Even the river was rolling with waves crashing against the banks. It was a dangerous time, and there was nothing for her to do but turn back.
And then she heard it.
The sound of her name above the roar of the wind. With pounding heart, she turned to see him coming towards her.
She ran to meet him, and he gathered her in his arms and swung her round and round, showering her face with kisses.
“God, I can’t believe you’re really here,” he cried. “I’ve been here every night, waiting, hoping, and I told myself there’s no way you’d come tonight, but I dared to hope…”
She started telling him what had happened, and before she finished, he was laughing and kissing her and telling her how he’d thought she’d been too scared to come back.
“Oh, no,” she whispered, reaching to cup his dear face in her hands as she drank in the blessed sight of him. “I’ve thought of nothing but this time. Day and night.”
He lifted her in his arms. “We can’t stay here.”
Once more the sky lit up and the outline of the sugarhouse could be seen. Holding her tightly, he ran for it.
Inside, the air was pungent with the sweet smells of last season’s grinding. In the intermittent flashes of the storm, Brett found a stack of mats and laid her down. Stretching out beside her, he murmured, “God, I love you, Anjele. I kept telling myself you weren’t lying to me, that you really do feel the same for me.”