Destiny's Daughter (19 page)

*  *  *

"Where you going with that shirt, girl?"

Hattie Lee’s voice caused Eulalie to pause with her hand on the back door. "I’m taking it out to the barn."

"You’ve been spending a lot of time lately in that barn."

"I promised Luther I’d wash and iron his shirt."

"Since when did you start taking in laundry?" Hattie Lee stood with her hands on her hips, staring at the young girl.

"I just thought it would be nice. He has no family but us."

"I don’t recall asking him to join the family. He’s here to keep things in good repair." Her sharp gaze bore into the girl, seeing the slight flush on her cheeks, the light in her eyes. "Don’t be thinking about giving away what you usually sell."

"Hattie Lee. That’s a horrible thing to say."

The girl stomped out, slamming the door behind her. Through the window, Hattie Lee watched as she nearly flew across the yard toward the barn. When she reached it, she slowed her pace, allowing her hips to sway.

"I see Eulalie’s all dressed up to visit the barn," Annalisa said behind her.

The black woman turned. "Yes. And when she comes back to the house, we’ll find little bits of hay sticking to her back."

Annalisa laughed. "You have to admit Luther is handsome. And Eulalie’s never looked happier."

"I don’t like it." Hattie Lee swiped the dust from a corner with more energy than necessary. "That’s the kind of thing gets a girl in trouble."

"A tumble in the hay?" Francine said, turning from the pantry. "I hardly see where a girl like Eulalie can get in trouble with a man like Luther."

"This is different. She likes that boy too much. That’s how a body gets herself hurt."

Annalisa found herself pondering Hattie Lee’s words for long moments. "How can it possibly be all right for these women to go to bed for money, and not all right to do the same thing for love?"

"Because," the older woman said patiently, "once you give your heart to a man, you’ve given him the power to hurt you."

"Is that what happened to you?" Annalisa asked softly.

The black woman whirled from the stove and shot her an angry look. "No such thing. Do you think old Hattie Lee would be foolish enough to let a man have power over her?"

Francine left the room, carrying a glass of lemonade. When they were alone, Annalisa said softly, "Some man must have hurt you badly, Hattie Lee."

There was only silence for several minutes. Then, in a barely audible tone, Hattie Lee said, "I’ll live, child."

*  *  *

"I’ll need the carriage, Luther. When you get the team hitched, would you drive it around to the front porch?" Annalisa asked.

"Yes, ma’am." He straightened from a kneeling position in the parlor, where he was repairing the leg of a chair. Testing it with his weight, he nodded in satisfaction. "Good as new."

"So is everything you touch. You’ve been doing a fine job."

"Thank you." He grinned and picked up his tools. "I’ll have that carriage around front in a few minutes."

When he returned with the team, Annalisa was at the top of the porch waiting. He’d unrolled his sleeves and pulled a wide-brimmed straw hat on his head.

"Why don’t you let me drive you wherever you’re going, Miss Montgomery?" He took her arm and helped her up to the seat.

"I don’t mind, as long as I’m not keeping you from any work."

"Hattie Lee wants me to take a look at a stuck window, but I can take care of it when we get back."

Annalisa nodded and handed him the reins as he climbed up beside her. What had they ever done before Luther arrived on the scene?

"Are we going into town?" he asked, flicking the reins.

"No. I’d like you to drive me to Belle Riviere."

He shot her a sideways glance as they rolled down the curving driveway and out onto the wide avenue.

"A lot of people been showing an interest in Belle Riviere," he said conversationally.

"What people?"

He shrugged. "Bankers, politicians, businessmen."

"How do you know that?"

"I hear things whenever I go to town."

"What kind of things?" She lifted a hand to her bonnet as a breeze tugged at the brim.

"I heard the widow Robichaud is having money problems. And I heard that some people would like her to sell her plantation."

Annalisa’s lips thinned. Not if she had anything to say about it. She had come to a decision about something that had been bothering her for some time now. She knew she had no right to ask the others to join her in her cause. But a small percentage of their profits was hers, to use as she saw fit. She had withdrawn her meager savings.

When their carriage stopped in front of the wide veranda at Belle Riviere, Annalisa was shocked at the shabby condition of the house. The porch steps were sagging. A railing had dropped to the ground, where it was left to rot. Several windows had been broken in the front of the house and the holes had been covered over with pieces of wood.

Climbing the steps, she knocked. A few minutes later she heard the sound of footsteps.

A woman, dressed in a faded black dress, tucked a loose strand of dark hair behind her ear as she pulled open the front door. It groaned on its hinges and hung at a precarious angle.

"Mrs. Robichaud?" The woman nodded, eyeing Annalisa with suspicion. From behind her skirts, four little boys peered at the stranger. The oldest couldn’t have been more than twelve.

"My name is Annalisa Montgomery."

The woman said nothing, but the look that came into her eyes told Annalisa that she recognized the name.

Reaching into her pocket, Annalisa withdrew an envelope and held it out. "I heard that your land would have to be sold if you didn’t pay the taxes. There isn’t much here, I’m afraid. Only fifty-three dollars. But I thought if you brought this to the banker as a sign of good faith, he might extend your credit."

The woman’s eyes grew round with surprise, then slowly narrowed again with mistrust.

"Why would you do this for me? We’ve never met."

"I. . ." Annalisa wondered if she could explain what was in her heart. She had never tried to put into words what she felt. "I think you and your children have already paid a terrible price for the war. I think," she said, licking her lips and hoping she wouldn’t say the wrong thing, "that your husband’s soul would rest easy knowing his children will preserve his ancestral land."

The woman stepped out on the porch, and her sons crowded around the doorway. Up close, Annalisa realized she was probably no more than thirty, but her eyes were rimmed with circles, her skin had an unhealthy pallor. Wiping her hand on her apron, she said, "I’m moved by your generous offer, Miss Montgomery. But I can’t accept your money."

"But you must. You can’t let them take this land from you."

"My land is safe. The taxes were paid."

"How? When?"

The woman’s eyes misted over and she wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. "I was given enough money to pay my debts."

"Who did this?"

The woman shrugged. "I can’t tell you. I don’t know. A package was left in my door. The package contained the money and instructions on how it was to be used. There was no name. But to me, he will always be
l’Archange de Miséricorde.
"

The Archangel of Mercy! Annalisa was stunned. Someone cared. Someone in this town was willing to stop the terrible plunder. Someone had stood up to the crooked politicians and the blatant theft of land.

She smiled and touched the woman’s arm. "That’s wonderful. I’m so happy for you." She thrust her envelope at the woman. "Why don’t you use my money to buy more seed for your crops?"

The woman shook her head. "I can’t do that. I thank you for your kind offer. But I have to make it on my own."

"Then take it for your sons, Mrs. Robichaud."

Again the woman shook her head more firmly. "I’m sorry, Miss Montgomery. I can’t do that."

Annalisa wondered if the woman was offended by her offer because of who she was. Again she was reminded of Chase’s comment about her reputation.

There was a wistfulness in her tone. "I understand. Goodbye."

As she turned away, the woman caught her by the shoulder. Surprised, Annalisa turned back. The woman’s eyes had filled with tears. Mrs. Robichaud offered her hand. "Thank you, Miss Montgomery. I won’t forget your kindness."

Accepting her handshake, Annalisa gave her a weak smile and felt relief shudder through her. After plunging the envelope deep into her pocket, she hurried to her waiting carriage.

On the long ride back home, Annalisa was silent, deep in thought. Who was this mysterious good Samaritan? It had to be someone who had access to the latest gossip. Someone with enough money to make such a generous gift, with no thought of it ever being paid back. Someone good and decent and caring. As she considered the men she had met since her arrival, few would fit that description. She mentally examined, then rejected each man she knew, and as she did, her image of this hero grew, until he became larger than life. She was determined to discover his identity and to join him in his noble adventure. Together they would thwart the evil plans of those who would use their power for their own selfish gains.

Beside her, Luther held his silence, refusing to disturb her concentration. He had been witness to something today that surprised him. There was a whole lot more to the lady beside him than just a beautiful face.

"Tell me about Nate Blackwell." Annalisa, standing on a stool, fidgeted as the new gown was being fitted.

Hattie Lee moved the rose peau de soie over one of Annalisa’s shoulders, then stood back as the maid pinned it.

"Lower," she instructed, then nodded when it was positioned perfectly. "Now the hem."

While the maid began pinning the hem, Hattie Lee sat down in a chair facing her young friend. She frowned. "What do you want to know about him?"

"Everything. What happened to his family? What sort of life does he lead? Why is he so lonely and sad?"

"Everyone in New Orleans has a story, child. Why the sudden interest in this man?"

"Hattie Lee." Annalisa wrung her hands and the maid gave her a quick look. "Please," she said softly. She nearly tapped her foot in frustration as Hattie Lee made herself more comfortable, extending her long legs, then crossing her arms before letting out a long sigh.

"The Blackwells were one of the wealthiest families in Louisiana," the black woman said, keeping her eye on the length of the gown. "Nate Blackwell was quite a catch. But he never seemed to notice all the young women who vied for his attention. From the time they were children, he’d had eyes only for Eugenia. She was a sweet girl, gentle like Nate, wealthy, cultured. It was rumored that while he was away at a French university, he wrote her a letter every single day proclaiming his love. As soon as he returned they were married. She was no older than you are now."

Eyeing her speculatively, Hattie Lee stood and tugged on the hem. "Hold still, child, or it’ll be crooked."

She returned to her chair and folded her arms over her chest. Annalisa forced herself to stand perfectly still, even though she was agitated at the slowness with which Hattie Lee was telling her story.

"They had a child, Marie. A beautiful little thing, with her father’s fair hair, and her mother’s perfect features. I’ve never seen a father so proud."

"How old was she when Nate went off to war?"

"Three. I can still see her, in a little pink dress, waving from her mother’s arms."

In her mind, Annalisa could picture the poignant scene. "Where are all his family now?"

Hattie Lee handed the maid a thimble, then glanced up at Annalisa’s little frown of annoyance. "They were killed just after the war."

"All of them? Oh, Hattie Lee. Not the baby?"

Hattie Lee nodded, her lips tight. "After the war was declared over, there were bands of deserters and drifters who went about the countryside pillaging, looting. Many of them probably had no homes to return to and they became desperate. They were bitter, angry, disillusioned. The Blackwell plantation was still prosperous, with fat cattle and sleek horses. I suppose it was only natural that desperate men would seek out a place like that. The only one left to protect the women and property was Nate’s elderly father. Nate returned to find his grandmother, parents, and sister murdered, his wife and baby daughter gone."

"Gone." Annalisa clasped her hands tightly together, as if in prayer. "Oh, Hattie Lee, did he ever find them?"

The black woman nodded somberly. "He found them. In a little springhouse, not far from the main house. Dead. Murdered like the others." At Annalisa’s gasp of shock, she went on. "There were rumors that the bodies had been brutalized. No one knows for certain. Nate himself never spoke of it. He buried everyone in his family plot, and then wasn’t seen for weeks. When he finally emerged from the main house, he’d become a different man. He was so thin he looked starved." She shook her head, remembering. "He was a shadow of the Nate Blackwell we knew. Gaunt. Haunted. Driven. His sunny smile was gone. His dashing manners hidden behind a silent wall of pain." She looked up at Annalisa and said softly, "The light has been gone from his eyes for years. The other night, when he was sitting with you, it was the first time I’ve heard him laugh since that terrible day."

Annalisa remembered the sound of his laughter. It had transformed him into a handsome man. "I’m glad I was able to make him forget for a little while." She hesitated. "Hattie Lee, is Nate still a wealthy man?"

The black woman studied her for long moments. "What are you thinking about, girl?"

Annalisa avoided her eyes. She wasn’t ready to tell anyone just what she suspected. "Is he?"

"Yes. Very wealthy." Dark eyes bored into her, as if trying to read her mind.

"He’s a very good man, isn’t he?"

Hattie Lee lifted one eyebrow. "He seems to be."

Annalisa gave a satisfied smile. When the fitting was over at last, she fled to the privacy of her room.

She had to be right. It all seemed to fit. Pacing, Annalisa put the facts together. Someone had decided to interfere in the plans of the crooked politicians and bankers who were bilking innocent landowners out of what was rightfully theirs. Someone who understood the pain of loss. Someone wealthy enough to be willing to give away large amounts of money that would never be repaid. Someone noble enough to wish to remain anonymous.

That someone had to be—Nate Blackwell.