“Hey, watch it!” he snarled, then, eyes narrowing in suspicion, accused, “You did that on purpose, didn’t you? You think ‘cause you’re a woman, we’re supposed to get out of your way, or you’ll just run right into us, won’t you?”
Anjele did not immediately grasp what was going on, because William, terrified of the ferocious-looking soldiers, dropped her hand and went to cower behind the carriage. Mammy Kesia, also struck with fear, was barely able to whisper, “Soldiers. Just let ‘em pass.”
To the delight of his companions, the soldier gave Anjele a rough shove that sent her stumbling back against the carriage. “Get out of our way. Show some respect.”
Anjele exploded. “What do you think you’re doing? You push a woman and dare speak of respect? You damn Yankee…”
She had bumped into Mammy and in throwing out her arms for balance, brushed the parasol. Groping for it, she swung out and managed to hit one of the soldiers across his face. Mammy started screaming, and with William right on her heels, took off down the middle of the street.
“Why, you arrogant little bitch,” the soldier cried, jerking the parasol out of her hand and breaking it across his knee. “I’ll teach you to hit me.”
“Yeah,” one of the others goaded. “Remember Order 28, Ned. She’s nothing but a prostitute. I say we take her in the nearest alley and throw her down and put her to work.”
Anjele was too mad to be scared, and as strong hands clamped down on her shoulders, she fought back, slapping, clawing, kicking, as they began dragging her away.
Inside the house, Melora Rabine had heard the commotion. Flinging open the door, she ran down the steps calling, “Stop it, you scalawags. Leave that poor girl alone.”
“Stay out of this,” one of the soldiers said, “or we’ll have you charged with Order 28, too.”
A crowd was gathering in the streets, and Melora was relieved to see other soldiers running toward them to intervene. “You better leave her alone,” Melora shrieked. “That poor girl is blind!”
“Blind?” one of the men echoed.
Anjele felt the clutching hands fall away, but still she fought, whirling this way and that, striking out.
Backing away from her, the soldiers stared in astonishment to realize she really could not see them.
Melora ran up and grabbed her. “It’s all right. It’s me, Melora Rabine. You’re all right now. Come with me…” She quickly led Anjele inside the house and closed the door.
Guiding her into the parlor to the sofa, Melora clucked. “Oh, you poor dear. General Butler and his Order Number 28.” She gave a disgusted snort. “It’s not safe for our women to be out, what with those soldiers having the right to treat them like a prostitute.”
Anjele, calming a bit, asked what she was talking about.
“Why, haven’t you heard? General Butler said he was tired of his officers and soldiers being subjected to insults from women of New Orleans, and he’s issued an order that says they’re to be regarded as no better than prostitutes.”
“Dear Lord.” Anjele shook her head from side to side. She felt like crying but could not, would not, determined to resist weakness of any sort.
Melora left her to make tea. Returning, she mustered courage to speak of that which cut like a knife to her soul. “I know you’re here about Jamie, and I want you to know I appreciate it. It’s something I’ll never get over. I thought when I lost Fred to malaria ten years ago, I knew what heartache was. I was wrong. When a mother loses a child, the pain is indescribable.”
Anjele found her hand in the darkness and squeezed. “It hurts to lose your parents, too. All of a sudden, I realize I’m nobody’s child.”
“And your own tragedy,” Melora offered. “So sad—”
“No, please, don’t.” Anjele was almost harsh in her protest. “Don’t feel sorry for me. I can cope with blindness but not pity.”
“And you’re doing very well, I hear. Ida Duval was telling me just the other day how Vinson is so pleased with how you’re managing to get on with your life. Though how you put up with that traitorous sister of yours is beyond me.”
“We do what we must and take one day at a time.” Anjele reached out and found the tray, felt for the cream pitcher and was grateful Miss Melora was allowing her to fend for herself.
Suddenly there was a loud pounding on the door, and Melora got up to answer. “That must be Mammy Kesia. I saw her run away, but she probably realized by now it’s safe to come back.”
Anjele frowned. Mammy would never be so rude as to pound on a door like that. Then the sound of angry voices reached her ears, and she knew her suspicions were correct.
Trouble.
She heard Miss Melora say nervously, “Well, she’s in here but remember she is blind, and—”
“We’ll handle it.”
Anjele groaned to recognize Major Hembree’s voice. He came right to her and crisply informed her that she had been charged with violation of General Order Number 28. When told she was being taken to Union Headquarters for arraignment, she bit her tongue to keep from screaming in protest. She did not want to upset Miss Melora any more than she already was, and besides, Anjele wasn’t about to give the major the pleasure of using force to take her in.
She spoke not a word, but kept her head held high as she endured the humiliation of having to be led away. Though she couldn’t see them, Anjele felt the staring eyes as she passed.
General Butler was in a meeting and not immediately available to pass judgment. Placed in a room to wait, she sensed others were around.
Among the adjustments she’d had to make was the feeling of being trapped in a night never ending, for time stood still in her darkness. She had no idea how long she sat there waiting but fiercely made up her mind not to let her anguish show. She sat with chin up, back straight, did not move.
When Major Hembree finally returned, he took one look at her and knew he’d never seen a more stubborn girl in all his life. Lovely, beyond a doubt, and her blindness, a tragedy. Yet it was a blessing the entire Southland wasn’t as obdurate or the Union would never have a chance for victory.
Without salutation, he brusquely informed her, “General Butler has left it to me to deal with you.”
Anjele had heard his footsteps and was not startled when he spoke. “So deal with me, Major. Tell me,” she continued with obvious contempt, “do you really plan to charge me with prostitution in accordance with your general’s famous, ridiculous Order Number 28? I should think a blind harlot would be something of a novelty, even for you Yankees.”
Major Hembree stiffened but remained composed. Soldiers were about, having been stationed to keep an eye on the prisoner, and he wasn’t about to allow them to witness his discomfiture before a woman, especially a Rebel. “I’ll ignore your insolence, Miss Sinclair, yielding once again to your disability. But I want you to know it’s only because of your sister that I was able to convince General Butler to be lenient. He was unmoved when I told him about your blindness, because he shares my opinion that you use it to your advantage.”
“A lie,” Anjele had to protest, biting back the tongue-lashing she ached to inflict.
He went on as though she had not spoken. “So I did talk him out of sending you off to prison, which he thought was the best way to handle your situation. He agreed to give you another chance, but you won’t be allowed to return to New Orleans. Until further notice, you are not to leave the grounds of BelleClair, understand?”
“That’s not fair. For you to tell me where I can and cannot go isn’t right.”
She heard the sound of snickering and knew her instincts had been right in sensing others were watching.
With a chuckle, Hembree asked, “Do I really need to remind you’re a prisoner?”
“It’s not my fault your soldiers are rude and disorderly. They cause the trouble, not the women, and—”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Anjele, just shut up, will you?” Claudia breezed into the room, murmuring a quick apology to Major Hembree for all the trouble before going on to admonish, “I swear, I’ve never been so embarrassed in my whole life. There I am, having a lovely time with Elisabeth, when soldiers come to tell me you’ve been arrested. So help me, if I have to lock you in your room, this isn’t going to happen again.”
Turning to the major, Claudia assured, “I’ll make sure all the groomsmen and servants know she’s not to leave. I promise she won’t cause any more trouble.”
“I hope not. General Butler made it clear next time she’ll go to prison. He’s fed up with his troops being treated disrespectfully.”
“They’re treated like royalty at BelleClair,” Claudia cooed, offering her most dazzling smile. “And you tell General Butler I’m looking forward to having him visit any time he wants to.”
Anjele stood, feeling sick to her stomach to hear such fawning.
Claudia grabbed her arm and yanked her along, furiously condemning her behavior and swearing she’d be sorry if she ever caused one more ripple of annoyance to the army.
Anjele was determined to remain silent. It wouldn’t do any good to argue. Not now. Till her vision returned, there was little she could do to assert herself. But she could not, would not, allow herself to think her blindness might be permanent. To lose all hope meant she would be at Claudia’s mercy.
And God help her if it came to that.
Leo felt his pulse quicken at the sight of the white glove. He glanced about, to reassure himself no one else was in the cemetery. It was midnight, and it was creepy, and every night he had to go there, hating it more and more. “You in there?” he softly, anxiously called.
“I am here,” The Voice replied.
At once, Leo wanted to know, “Did she die?”
“She didn’t die. She woke up. She will live.”
Leo swore, licked his lips nervously, and dared ask, “Did she remember me?”
“It’s being said she remembers nothing beyond her father lying on the floor. She’s also blind,” The Voice added accusingly.
Leo breathed a sigh of relief. “Then I’ll be okay.” He was grinning.
The Voice went on, ignoring Leo’s mutterings. “You will continue to come by here and wait for my signal.”
“Signal for what?” Leo yelped. “You just told me she’s blind and don’t remember nothin’, and if she don’t remember nothin’, what’s to worry about?”
“Shut up and listen to me, you damn fool.” The Voice exploded in fury. “None of this would’ve happened if you’d done your job as you were supposed to. And when the time is right, you’re going to finish what you started out to do, which is find those goddamn plates. When I give the order, you will use whatever means it takes to make Anjele Sinclair tell where her father hid them. Do you understand?”
Leo grudgingly said he did.
“There’s some money above the door. Enough to keep you drunk for a while.”
Leo leaped to get it.
Getting drunk was exactly what he intended to do.
Brett sat outside the tent, drenched with sweat. It was the end of June and steamy hot. All around him, other soldiers were sprawled on the ground, not moving in hopes of catching the blessing of even the slightest breeze. They were finally at Harrison’s Landing, the Federal supply base on the James River, but getting there hadn’t been easy. When word had come that General Lee’s army had broken through Federal lines at Gaines’ Mill, McClellan had ordered his troops to retire—he didn’t like the word retreat. So they had fought their way, engaging in bitter battle at a place called Savage Station on the 29th of June, and Frayser’s Farm and White Oak Swamp the next day. The worst had come at Malvern Hill the first day of July, but then they’d reached the protection of a Federal river fleet. The survivors were lucky to be alive, but a pall hung over the camp to know the dream of the North capturing Richmond had failed.
All Brett wanted to do was go to sleep like the other men, but he had been summoned to headquarters and now he waited. Finally, Sergeant-Major Peterson told him he could go in. He got to his feet wearily, brushed at the dust on his blue uniform, and entered the tent, offering a perfunctory salute.
Colonel Drake stood to reach across his desk to shake Brett’s hand and smile. “I’m pleased to meet you, Cody. You’ve made quite a name for yourself.” Brett saw the shoulder straps lying on his desk. Two gold bars. Another promotion. He supposed he should feel something, but what? Pride? He was just trying to stay alive in a war he didn’t believe in. So upping his rank only meant he’d be drawing seventy dollars a month, an increase of ten dollars.
“Congratulations,” the colonel was saying. “You’ve been promoted to the rank of captain.”
Brett offered obligatory words of gratitude.
“But that’s not the only reason you’re here.” He sat down, gestured for Brett to do likewise. “You’re being transferred. General Butler in New Orleans reports they believe Confederate spies are slipping in and out through the bayous. I don’t have to tell you his men don’t dare try to go in after them, so he’s asking for scouts who know the area to come in and show them the trails and make maps, so the bayou won’t be so inaccessible to our soldiers. We know you’re Acadian, and we’ve heard you used to live in that area, so you’ll be familiar with the dangers associated with swamps and bayous. You’re being sent down there to help out,” he finished.