Louisa Rawlings (61 page)

Bryan could do nothing but grit his teeth and keep following, urging Luath on and straining to keep those hideous yellow eyes in sight. Leary had been right when he’d said that Bryan could never turn down a challenge—he hated to lose at anything, and was even more determined to win this particular race as his brother’s terrified cries floated back to him on the night wind.

Suddenly the animal swung off the road and headed straight for the river. The water was dark and glistening by the faint light of the cloud-veiled stars. Bryan heard Leary cry out again as his wild mount took him for a gallop right along the riverbank, right down the treacherous path where the water met the earth and where high grass hid the holes and mud and rocks that might well cripple any racing horse and send its rider flying headlong into the shallow, rock-strewn riverbed.

Leary’s terrified screams filled the night.

At last the treacherous pony swerved away from the riverbank and raced down the road again with Bryan and Luath still giving chase. It tore down the path for a time—for what seemed to Bryan to be forever—until it turned toward the river again, dashed between the trees separating the water from the road, and ran straight toward a campsite—a campsite where a small fire burned and where a family and their wagons and cattle had settled for the night.

As it galloped in a wide circle around the small encampment, the black pony threw up its head and neighed—though it sounded like deep raucous laughter instead of the natural call of a horse. Leary added his own terrified cries to the awful sound.

The little group of people around the fire instantly leaped to their feet and stood huddled together near the flames. A glance showed Bryan that they were an older man, an older woman, a couple of younger men and a younger girl—and then, there, walking out toward the monstrous black pony that had invaded their camp, was a tall young woman with flowing hair and a simple gown and the glint of a bright gold comb just above her forehead.

The beast went on tearing around the clearing in a wide circle, the light from its yellow eyes blending with the glare of the fire. Bryan pulled Luath to a stop near the big wooden wagon. “Stay away from it!” he cried to the young woman. “It is no natural horse! It is a monster! Stay away!”

But she continued to walk, looking the beast straight in its terrible yellow eyes and moving as though she intended to step directly into its path.

Amongst the fires of war, Anjele discovers that love is truly blind.

Heaven in a Wildflower

© 2013 Patricia Hagan

Brett Cody was Anjele Sinclair’s first love. Under the hot Louisiana sun, they discovered each other, body and soul. Torn from his arms and sent to a boarding school in England, it is four long years before she returns to her beloved home. But when she discovers that Brett is fighting for the hated Yankees, Anjele believes their love can never be.
 

Then the unthinkable happens. Her father is murdered, and an injury from his attackers leaves Anjele blind. Struggling to save her beloved home and heritage, Anjele relies on the help and support of a stranger—a man she grows to love. But when she discovers that man is none other than Brett, Anjele must decide if she can accept the love of an enemy.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Heaven in a Wildflower:

New Orleans, Louisiana

Summer, 1858

A warm breeze wafted through the open French doors leading to the porch. Wearing a thin chemise and pantalets, Anjele stood just inside her room. She was supposed to be taking a nap, or at least lying down, because it was the season of the ague, or yellow fever. People believed resting in the hottest part of the day helped prevent the disease, but going to bed was the last thing she felt like doing in such miserable heat.

The shade of the spreading oaks, dripping with shadowy moss, looked cool and inviting along the avenue leading to the sleepy river beyond. She longed for a swim, but not in the thick, brown waters of the serpentine Mississippi. It was her secret place she yearned for, the hidden freshwater pool she and Simona and Emalee had discovered a few years ago. Hidden in the fringes of Bayou Perot, it was fed by an underground spring that kept the water from becoming stagnant. Best of all, they had never seen a snake or an alligator there.

Sadly, as she stood there enjoying the view, she was struck once more with awareness of how time was running out to enjoy the things she loved on the plantation. Since her sixteenth birthday the month before, when the formal announcement of her engagement to Raymond Duval was made, a feeling of desperation had descended. All her life, she’d been well aware of the pact between their parents, but it wasn’t till it became official and a wedding date set for Christmas that the actuality had soaked in. Now, thinking about moving into New Orleans, leaving this beloved place to return only for visits, made her stomach knot with dread.

She had grown up loving to spend as much time as possible traipsing after her father, whom she adored. He had taught her to ride a horse and shoot a gun as well as any man—unknown to her mother, of course, who didn’t approve of her learning masculine skills. So it had become a cherished secret between her father and her, only now she had to fit in those times around her music.

Ida Duval, Raymond’s mother, insisted Anjele start learning to play the piano, something Anjele had resisted in the past. Miss Ida felt it was a nice touch for a hostess to be able to entertain her guests after dinner and, since Anjele’s mother was much too busy to give Anjele lessons, Mrs. Melora Rabine was sent twice a week to teach.

Anjele smiled to think how surprised everyone was to discover she had a natural talent. In no time at all, she was able to play anything by ear, after hearing the melody only once or twice. But Claudia, her adopted sister, had been studying for years and accused her of having been practicing secretly, declaring it was not possible to master the piano so fast. Anjele neither denied nor confirmed.

Long ago, she’d learned there was no getting along with Claudia.

Ida also sent someone to instruct in needlework, and Twyla turned a deaf ear to Anjele’s protests. Anjele suspected the real reason her mother was going along with everything Ida wanted was to keep her busy so she wouldn’t have time to slip away and be with Simona and Emalee. Acadian girls. Her mother didn’t approve of them but wasn’t as vocal as Claudia, who warned that Ida Duval would have a fit if she knew Anjele socialized with the lower classes.

Anjele was well aware that lots of other people looked down their noses at the Acadians due to the mixed heritage of some, but it didn’t matter one bit to her. She felt sorry for the way their ancestors, French Canadians, had been driven from their colony of Acadia by the British, forcing them to find new homes in unfamiliar territories. Many, like the families of Emalee and Simona, had chosen to settle in the fertile bayou lands of southern Louisiana. They lived in small, compact, self-contained communities deep in the swamps. When they sought work, it was in the cane or cotton fields. But, unlike the Negro slaves, the Cajuns were paid wages and free to leave at quitting time to return to their bayou homes.

Anjele envied them their happy, carefree lives as she listened to Emalee and Simona and the other girls describe the merriment that went on in their compounds as they cooked their supper. Cauldrons of turtle soup or crawfish gumbo bubbled deliciously while fiddlers played rousing Cajun tunes in an effort to ease their weary spirits after a hard day. They would sing, and sometimes, on the banks of the shadow-silent waters of the mysterious bayou, and even though she wasn’t allowed, Anjele longed to be a part of it all.

Two years ago, Simona had married, when she was only fourteen. But that hadn’t stopped her from spending time with Anjele whenever possible. Anjele would slip down to the edge of the cane fields and wait till the overseer wasn’t looking, so both Simona and Emalee could dart away. The trio would then disappear into the moss-shrouded forest for a few stolen hours at their secret pool, treasured memories that now filled Anjele with longing on the hot and humid afternoon.

Suddenly she was torn from reverie by the sound of the door from the outside hall opening. She watched as Claudia crept stealthily into the room. Seeing Anjele’s empty bed, she glanced about wildly, spotting her at the open French doors. “You’re supposed to rest until two o’clock, and it’s only half past one,” she said sharply.

“So are you,” Anjele reminded her. Dear Lord, she couldn’t remember a time in her life when they weren’t sparring. She honestly felt she had tried through the years to get along, but it was a hopeless situation. Claudia despised her and always would.

Claudia’s ice blue eyes flashed with defiance as she lifted her chin and smiled gloatingly. “Mother said I could go with her to take tea at Miss Ida’s. We’re going to be leaving soon.” She was also wearing a chemise but several ruffled petticoats covered her pantalets. She crossed the room to a large mahogany armoire and jerked open the mirrored doors.

Anjele, stunned by her nerve, demanded, “What do you think you’re doing?”

Claudia ignored her as she pawed impatiently through the gowns hanging inside till she found what she was looking for and yanked it out in triumph.

“I’m wearing this. It’s cooler than anything I have, and it will look better on me than you, anyway.”

Anjele shook her head in firm denial. “I’m wearing that to Rebecca Saunders’s birthday ball tonight.”

“So? Wear it. We’ll be home around five.” Draping the garment over her arm, she started out.

Anjele ran to block her path. She hated to have an argument, but every time Claudia borrowed her clothes, they were brought back mussed. And the dress was a favorite for the sweltering weather—a cool, pale green color, fashioned of light lace and chiffon and draped off the shoulder with a scooped bodice.

She knew Claudia was only using the heat as an excuse. The real reason was her larger bosom, which would be more revealing in Anjele’s smaller bodice—and all for Raymond’s benefit. Claudia had never made a secret of the way she felt about him. Not that Anjele was jealous. Actually, it concerned her that she wasn’t.

Anjele repeated her objection, adding, in an effort to pacify, “I’ll be glad to let you wear it another time.”

Claudia’s eyes narrowed. “You’ll be sorry.”

“You have other dresses.” She bit back the impulse to point out that Claudia actually had a much nicer wardrobe than she did. It was merely another way her mother made sure she could not be accused of favoring her natural daughter over the adopted one.

“It’s because of Raymond, isn’t it?” Claudia challenged. “You’re afraid he’ll think I’m prettier than you, so you don’t want me to look nice.”

Quietly, Anjele yielded, “You are prettier than me, Claudia.” And she believed that to be so. Anjele envied her cousin’s naturally curly golden-blond hair and limpid blue eyes, while thinking her own appearance to be a bit on the plain side.

Her mother said it was because she didn’t try to be glamorous, which was true. Anjele much preferred her long hair blowing in the breeze when she went riding, and it was too much trouble to sponge her skin with rosewater and lemon juice. She saw nothing wrong with tanned flesh and sunburned cheeks.

Claudia was getting angrier by the minute. “If I’m so pretty, then how come it’s you Raymond is going to marry?”

Anjele sighed and shook her head, wondering once more why it had to be this way between them. Claudia knew as well as she how it all came to be but pushed back impatience as she reminded, “Ida and Vinson have been friends with Momma and Poppa forever. It was always understood.”

“But you don’t love him…” Her words trailed off as Jobie, the little servant girl, appeared in the doorway.

Looking fearfully from one to the other, Jobie finally held out the tray she was carrying and said to Anjele, “I got yo’ lemonade, missy.”

Anjele stepped back long enough to allow her to place it on the table by the window but made sure Claudia did not rush by with the dress.

When they were once more alone, Anjele saw no need to continue the subject of Raymond and tried to end the conversation. She held out her hands to take the garment. “I’m sorry, but I can’t let you borrow it, Claudia. Not this time.”

Claudia was silent for a moment, then whirled around as she cried, “Very well. But if I can’t wear it, neither will you. Not tonight, anyway.”

Before Anjele could make a move to stop her, she ran to where Jobie had left the pitcher of lemonade and quickly snatched it up to pour the liquid on the dress.

Forever Wild

Louisa Rawlings

From the corruption of Boss Tweed’s New York to the Paris of the Impressionists, two couples fight to fulfill their greatest dreams and desires.

Willough, a well-bred child of wealth, yearns to take her place at the head of her father’s iron empire in the wilderness of the Adirondacks. Accustomed to polished city men, she finds herself drawn to the raw masculinity of Nat, her father’s foreman. Can she leave behind the trappings of city life and learn to embrace the rough country and rough man she is destined to love?