Destiny's Daughter (8 page)

The older woman took a step toward her and fixed her with a cool look. In very precise words, she said, "This house, this place you think of as home, is the place where many men in the community come often to—relax. Throughout New Orleans and even beyond, it is known as Hannah Elliott’s House of Pleasure."

Deathly silence followed Hattie Lee’s words. Annalisa’s face paled visibly. With a little sob she turned and fled through the rose garden. Thorny bushes snagged the hem of her gown, but she snatched at it fiercely and continued running. With tears spilling down her cheeks, she tore blindly through the quiet house, unmindful of the murmured voices beyond the walls. Upstairs she slammed the door of her mother’s room and fell across the bed, crying as if her heart would break.

A whore. Her beloved mother had been nothing but a whore. And worse, she had requested that her daughter join her in that scandalous occupation. The woman who claimed to love her had actually sent her away because a child would be an impediment to a life of pleasure. The woman she had enshrined in her young heart had in reality been a sensual creature who would sacrifice anything for her shameful career.

Wrenching sobs tore through her. Annalisa cried until there were no tears left. Lifting herself on one elbow, she stared around the elegantly appointed room that spoke of dignity and culture. A fraud. Everything about her mother had been a lie.

Swallowing down the fury that threatened to choke her, Annalisa crossed the room and began packing. There was no reason to wait until tomorrow to leave. She wanted to be away from this terrible place now. Away from the childhood memories that haunted her still. As she folded a prim ivory gown, she paused. The delicate fragrance that filled this house, lingering on the heavy air, was expensive French perfume. The muted sounds of music and tinkle of crystal late into the night were used to seduce local businessmen into lingering in this evil place. And those laughing cousins and aunts of her memory were actually wicked women, plying their trade on this unsuspecting city.

A tear threatened, and Annalisa wiped it away viciously. There would be no more tears for the mother of her youthful memories. She wasn’t deserving of tears.

Reaching for another gown, she folded it into her trunk. A knock at the door caused her to glance up. Squaring her shoulders, she opened the door.

"Chérie."

Annalisa stared at Gabrielle. Her daytime gown of rose muslin revealed a lush, ripe figure. Coal black hair had been brushed into thick waves tied neatly with rose satin ribbons.

"May I come in?"

Reluctantly Annalisa moved aside. When Gabrielle closed the door and turned toward her, Annalisa picked up another gown and busied herself at the trunk, in order to avoid meeting her eyes.

"I know you have been shocked by Hattie Lee’s revelations," Gabrielle began in her heavily accented voice. "A young girl like you, fresh from the convent. You are thinking, maybe, that your mother was a tarnished angel." She smiled at Annalisa’s rigid back, her determined lift of chin. "Those of us who live here, who accepted your mother’s hospitality, have no illusions. We realize we are not welcome in polite society."

Keeping her back to the woman, Annalisa pulled another gown from the wardrobe and began folding it.

Gabrielle’s words stopped her. "Your mother would have been welcome anywhere. It is because of her generosity that I am alive today."

Slowly Annalisa turned to look at her. The beautiful woman held her head high as she said, "I do not speak of my past. It is no one else’s affair. But this one time, for your sake, I will bring myself to speak of it." Her voice trembled. "I was raised to be a rich man’s mistress. All my youth, all my training, went into that one goal. When my lover chose me, I lived in a fine house that he provided, with servants and a carriage and driver at my disposal. I spent my days having tea with other wealthy men’s mistresses, and once even traveled with him to Paris to buy the latest French fashions."

Ignoring the look of contempt on Annalisa’s face, she went on haughtily, "My lover was killed in Richmond. He left no provision for me in his will. I was put out of his fine house, with no future and a sordid past. I had been educated to believe that without a benefactor, I would be better off dead."

At Annalisa’s little gasp, she said quickly, "We will pass over the ugly details of my existence. It is enough for you to know that when your mother found me, I was desperate enough to contemplate taking my life rather than face another day. She gave me a home, and more, she gave me the means of taking care of myself." The voice lowered. "To care for my own needs was something I had never done before. It had never even occurred to me that it was possible."

Striding to the door, Gabrielle met Annalisa’s troubled eyes. "Sara Montgomery was a lady. She was the finest woman I have ever known. You should be proud of her."

For long moments after she left, Annalisa continued staring at the closed door. Then she returned to her packing with a vengeance.

The knock on the door was timid, hesitant. Annoyed with another interruption, Annalisa threw open the door. "Yes?" The anger drained from her face when she saw Eulalie.

Shyly, the young woman paused on the threshold. Her gold dress and coppery-colored hair cropped close to her head gave her the appearance of a golden girl. The gown displayed her lush, womanly curves to their best advantage.

"Come in," Annalisa said, softening her tone.

With a glance at the trunk, Eulalie said, "I didn’t realize you would be leaving so soon. I don’t want to disturb you."

"You’re not. Please come in." Indicating a chair, Annalisa took the one beside it and studied the young woman who seemed almost to tremble in her presence.

"What is it, Eulalie?" she asked.

"Hattie Lee said you wouldn’t stay," she said in that rich, musical voice. "But I didn’t want to believe her."

"Why?" Annalisa studied the girl’s hands, twisting and untwisting in her lap.

"Because we need you," Eulalie said simply.

"I wouldn’t be of any use here," Annalisa replied. "I have no business sense. And even if I did, I—have no use for the business being conducted here."

"Neither did Mrs. Sara," the girl said softly. "But she knew how important it was for us to work. And this was the only work we knew."

"I’m sure," Annalisa said dryly, "that you could have learned to wield a mop or shovel, or taught yourselves how to milk cows."

"And where would we have plied that trade?" Eulalie asked quickly. "What few plantations there are have hundreds of people waiting for one or two jobs." The spark of anger dissipated, leaving her voice once again barely a whisper. "Until Mrs. Sara took me in, I had no one. I didn’t belong anywhere."

"What of your own parents?"

The girl’s voice became even softer. "My mother was a slave. My father a plantation owner. My own mother wanted me out of her sight because I shamed her. She arranged to have me sold to a family in New Orleans so she wouldn’t have to look at me. During the war I found myself alone and desperate, between two cultures. My skin is whiter than yours, Annalisa. But I can never be white. Here, nobody cares who my papa was, or my mama. The family that turned me out has been replaced by the good people in this house. They’re my family now."

Eulalie stood and clasped her hands behind her back. "I’m sorry you don’t approve of us. But don’t think badly of your mother. Mrs. Sara was the finest lady I ever met."

Blinking rapidly, she crossed the room and let herself out.

Annalisa slumped back in the chair, letting Eulalie’s words sink in. The sun moved slowly toward the western sky. As it streamed through the gauzy curtains at the windows, it touched a crystal vase filled with fragrant roses, shooting a rainbow prism across the white ceiling. Watching it, Annalisa felt her earlier anger dissolve.

Her mother’s goodness had touched the lives of these women. Though Annalisa still felt uneasy about this house and its unsavory business, at least she could feel good about her mother. By all accounts, Sara Montgomery was a kind, generous woman.

At a firm knock on the door, she crossed the room. Standing just beyond the door was Francine, looking especially regal in a gown of rich, navy blue satin with a necklace of gleaming sapphires surrounded by diamonds. Her blond hair had been swept to one side of her head and fastened with jeweled combs. Fat sausage curls fell over one naked shoulder.

"Have you also come to persuade me to stay?" Annalisa asked.

"Not at all." Stepping inside, Francine closed the door, then leaned against it. Realizing that her tall frame dwarfed the girl before her, she used her height to advantage. Glancing down at the girl in contempt, she said, "I only wanted to set the record straight, since your mother is no longer here to defend herself." Her voice was clear and strong, with just the slightest hint of a drawl to soften it. "I was raised on a magnificent plantation. I wore the finest clothes and was educated by the finest tutors."

Annalisa listened to the carefully modulated voice and thought that the tutors had done their jobs well.

The cultured voice lowered with remembered pain. "Then the war ended, and the roving bands of thugs moved across the land, looting, pillaging. Our plantation was burned, my parents shot." Her voice became a monotone to hide the pain. "There were seven of them. They took turns raping and beating me. I knew then that I would never be able to love a man the way my mother loved my father." She took in a deep, painful breath and added, "But I knew how to take my revenge on those men, and any man who looked at me with lust in his heart."

"Revenge?" Annalisa felt a growing dread.

"I wear the finest clothes, and when men look at me, I can see in their eyes what they are thinking. I hate them for it, but I encourage them. Because I now force them to pay, and pay dearly, for what they want. All of the money we earned here was turned over to Sara," Francine said, watching Annalisa’s face. "Your mother kept meticulous accounts of what we earned, and how much was spent to keep this house and its occupants in the finest of everything. We have maids, dressmakers, even a doctor to look out for our health. All the profits are shared equally by all the members of this household. If one of us is ill, she still receives a share of the profits. Those women, like Corinna, who are growing too old to be of interest to the men of the town, can live out their lives here, helping with the sewing and cleaning. No one has ever been turned away. And any time someone here wanted to leave, to make a life elsewhere, Sara saw to it that that person’s share was withdrawn from the bank and given to her. She was completely honest, immensely fair. We trusted Sara." She paused. "Sara never betrayed that trust."

Francine continued to watch Annalisa’s eyes as she finished. "I don’t believe I’ll ever meet a woman as decent as Sara Montgomery. But I’m glad I had the chance to know her. You see, she’s one of the few people I was able to care about." Turning, Francine added, "I’m sorry you never had the chance to know her." Pulling open the door, she strode out and closed it firmly behind her.

Agitated, Annalisa walked to the window, peering out at the lawn below, dappled with late afternoon sunshine. Why was she feeling such aversion to a woman who was admired by so many? Because Sara Montgomery lived a lie, her mind responded. While she passed herself off as a wealthy widow to the sisters in the convent, she was, in reality, operating a house of pleasure. But why? Annalisa thought back to what Hattie Lee had hinted at. What had her mother been forced to endure? Would her story equal those Annalisa had just heard from these women?

Annalisa barely noticed the knock on her door. Turning, she let her thoughts drift to the pale woman in the bed who had clung to her hand. A frail woman, Hattie Lee had said. And yet a remarkably strong one. The knock sounded again, louder. Hurrying across the room, Annalisa pulled open the door, feeling irritated at the distraction.

With the ugly old cat in her arms, Delia, dressed in a pale blue organdy gown with velvet ribbon trim at the throat and waist, stood with her eyes downcast. Annalisa was reminded of her training in the convent. She felt an instant kinship with this shy, sweet girl.

"Come in, Delia."

The girl stepped forward, still studying the pattern on the rug. She glanced at the open trunk, then back to the floor, avoiding Annalisa’s eyes.

"They said you were leaving." Her hands stroked the cat’s fur.

"They?"

The girl shrugged. "The others." She played with a section of pale blue skirt, twisting it about her fingers nervously.

"And you came to say good-bye?"

"Yes." The fingers moved back to the cat as she lifted her gaze upward. A slight flush colored her throat and cheeks. "And to thank you."

"Thank me? For what?"

"For sharing your mother," Delia said softly. "My own family was killed in the war."

Annalisa touched her hand, but the young girl shrank back from her touch. The cat leaped to her shoulder and curled itself around her neck, purring loudly. "My father and mother and two little brothers were all killed." Her eyes stared vacantly as she recounted her horror. "My mother hid me in a bucket in the well. For nearly an hour I was forced to hear the sounds of their screaming. I heard my mother begging that my little brothers’ lives be spared. I heard their cries as they were killed. And for two days after the soldiers left, I heard the terrible sounds of silence. There was no way out of the well. I had to wait until a neighbor came by and heard my screaming."

Annalisa reached out, taking the girl’s cold hands in hers. "It must have been terrible," she murmured, feeling completely inadequate. Glancing down, she realized the girl hadn’t pulled away from her touch.