Destiny's Daughter Read online

  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 w
hat?"

  "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.

  Terror-filled eyes met hers. "That’s what your mother said when I came here." She swallowed. "You’re like her, you know. The same eyes, the same tone of voice. You even make me feel the same way—safe."

  A long sigh escaped Annalisa’s lips. "Everyone speaks of my mother as if she were a saint. I wish I’d had the chance to know her."

  "You can have that chance," Delia said quietly. Meeting Annalisa’s questioning gaze, she said, "If you were to stay here, we could tell you all the wonderful things Sara did for us. To me she was more than a friend; she was the mother I lost."

  Tears brimmed in Annalisa’s eyes, and she blinked them back. "I can’t stay here. I can’t do ... I can’t be ..."

  "You can do what your mother did. Keep the ledgers. Oversee the smooth operation of this house. Be our friend and confidante."

  "But wasn’t she . . . ?" Annalisa stopped, embarrassed.

  "You don’t know?" Delia’s eyes widened. "Annalisa, your mother never slept with the customers. That was not her job. That was ours. She talked with them, and occasionally shared a glass of sherry. But they knew she was too much of a lady to ever share her bed with them."

  "But I thought ..." Annalisa was too overwhelmed to go on.

  "You thought your mother was a whore?" Delia clasped Annalisa’s hands and stared into her bewildered eyes. "Your mother was a fine lady. She had the respect of everyone who came here."

  "Thank you." Tears swam, clouding her vision. Wiping them furiously, Annalisa turned away. With a lump clogging her throat, she murmured, "Thank you, Delia. For giving me back my mother."

  The girl left quietly, while Annalisa searched her bureau for a handkerchief.

  It was not unexpected when Hattie Lee knocked a few minutes later and entered her bedroom. Seeing the opened trunk, the black woman nodded.

  "I am not surprised, Annalisa. The others told me you were packing. When do you wish to leave?"

  "I’m not certain," Annalisa said softly. "I’m not certain of anything anymore."

  One black eyebrow lifted. Seeing the young woman’s bowed head, Hattie Lee studied her carefully.

  "The women here seem to have loved my mother," Annalisa said, sniffing into her handkerchief.

  "We did."

  "They even trusted her with their futures." Annalisa lifted her face.

  "We all admired Sara for the way she salvaged her life. And she earned the trust of everyone here," Hattie Lee added.

  "I feel so ashamed for what I was thinking about her. I have no right to this house or the people in it, Hattie Lee. My own life has been so sheltered. I’ve never had to face what the others have. I don’t know what my own mother went through, but I could never take her place."

  Hattie Lee thought a moment. "Corinna was here when your mama came to us. Would you like her to tell you about it?"

  Annalisa nodded.

  Opening the door, Hattie Lee signaled for the orange-haired woman to enter. Leading her to a chair, she said, "Annalisa would like to know about her mother. Why don’t you tell her?"

  The folds of the old woman’s chins wobbled as she chewed on her lips. Her voice when she spoke was clear and strong.

  "Your mama was on her way to New Orleans to search for a brother. Alone, and expecting a baby very soon, her carriage encountered a vicious highwayman. For years afterward, your mama had nightmares about that man. He stole her jewelry and money, then cut away her clothes with a knife. Even when he realized that she was heavy with child, he—abused her."

  Annalisa felt the shock, swift, strong, as she imagined her mother’s suffering.

  "The monster left her for dead. She dragged herself to town and collapsed on this very porch."

  Hattie Lee chimed in, "Corinna found her and summoned me. The two of us carried her to bed while one of the servant girls ran for the doctor."

  "Dr. Lynch," Annalisa interrupted.

  "Yes, child. Dr. Lynch. By the time he arrived, Sara was in hard labor. We all figured her baby wouldn’t survive the ordeal."

  Corinna nodded, tears filling her eyes. "We stood around the bed, breathing with her, straining with her, feeling a kinship with what is uniquely a woman’s suffering." She wiped her eyes. "We all knew we would never have children."

  Annalisa began to ask why, then stopped herself.

  "When we heard that little baby’s cry, we all wept openly. We shared her relief that the ordeal was over." In hushed tones, Corinna added, "I washed you, and wrapped you in one of my fancy lace shawls. And we all took turns holding you, cuddling you, lending you our warmth, our love. Your mother was in her bed for weeks, while Dr. Lynch nursed her back to health. We all thought that the only reason she even tried to regain her strength was for your sake."

  "Did they ever find the highwayman who savaged my mother?"

  The women shook their heads, hearing the thread of anger in the young woman’s voice.

  "What of my father?"

  Hattie Lee regarded her kindly. "Your mama told me that he had died. There was no one left except her brother here in New Orleans. When I inquired about him in town, I discovered that he’d died, and his widow had sold his land and gone north. Your mama was left in delicate health with a tiny baby and no family. Her future looked bleak, until we discovered that she was educated and good with figures. Miss Hannah Elliott, who owned this house, offered her a job keeping the books, figuring she added an air of propriety to the place."

  Folding her arms across her chest, the black woman studied her. "Your mama knew that there was no one in this house who could read and write well enough to keep the ledgers and run this house the way she did. When she knew she was dying, she thought of you."

  "But I can’t be like her. Look how quickly I judged her when I heard what her business was. Look how quickly I thought of turning my back on all of you."

  "You’re young, child, and on your own for the first time in your life. All of us were frightened in the beginning. That’s why we’ve banded together here. We take our courage from each other."

  Survival. Annalisa absorbed the sudden shock of knowledge. That was the mysterious bond between her mother and these women. They were all survivors.

  Annalisa shook her head. "You don’t understand, Hattie Lee. I could do the ledgers easily. And I suppose I could learn to order the special things my mother selected to make this house so fine. But the rest of it . . ." She spread her hands. "To earn your respect and trust. To share a common bond with you and the other women of this house. Not to mention learning how to carry on intelligent conversations with the men who frequent this house. To sip wine, to wear fine clothes and pretend to be a woman of the world ..."

  Hattie Lee’s eyes danced with new light. There was a chance the girl was wavering in her decision to leave. Tossing open the door to her bedroom, she beckoned the others, who were waiting just beyond the doorway. As they filed into the room, she said, "You leave that to us, child. As long as you’re willing to give us a chance, we’ll teach you everything you need to know." Her smile grew, and her rich, honeyed voice fairly sang. "Do you know who
it was who taught your mother how to take the latest Paris fashions and wear them with a flair?" Chuckling, she added, "Old Hattie Lee can turn you into the finest lady in the South, child. All you have to do is say you’ll stay."

  Annalisa hesitated. "I promised Sister Marie Therese that I would return to the convent within the month."

  Delia’s sweet voice chirped, "You won’t find running this house any different from living in a convent, Annalisa. Take off their prim habits and our pretty gowns, and we’re all women underneath, are we not, amie?"

  Everyone broke into peals of laughter at her innocent remark. Grinning, Annalisa caught her hand. "Now I know why my mother loved you so, Delia."

  "But what is so amusing?" the girl asked, puzzled. "Is it not so?"

  Annalisa sobered and glanced at the faces of the women who crowded into her room. While she had innocently labored over grammar and mathematics, these women had suffered the loss of home and family. While she had been sheltered in the convent, they had faced the terrible realities of a hellish war that left their land shattered. It was their labor, as well as her mother’s, that had provided her with a way of life that none of them would ever enjoy. And suddenly, Annalisa realized she would spend a lifetime repaying that debt.

  What was it that Sister Marie Therese had said as they were parting? "Give your mother a chance to show you her world before making your decision."

  She cleared her throat, surprised at how difficult it was to say what was in her heart. "If my staying here can help in any way, I would be honored to stay with you."

  Hattie Lee’s face split into a wreathe of smiles. "Sweet Lord Almighty, child. We need you. And don’t you worry about anything. We’ll teach you everything you need to know."

  "I hope I won’t embarrass you."

  The women came forward to hug her or squeeze her hand.

  "I am happy, chérie," Gabrielle whispered. "You won’t be sorry."