Destiny's Daughter

  Destiny’s Daughter

  Ruth Ryan Langan

  First published in paperback, 1987.

  Electronic Edition Copyright 2012 Ruth Ryan Langan

  Cover art by Tammy Seidick

  www.TammySeidickDesign.com

  To my mother, Beatrice Ryan, who accompanied me to New Orleans for my research.

  And to Elly and Bruce, who joined us and made it an adventure.

  And, of course, to Tom. Always to Tom with love.

  Author’s Note

  It is still possible to visit restored mansions in the South and glimpse a way of life that has gone forever. The city of New Orleans and the Louisiana bayous fueled my imagination. But when I prowled the French Quarter, and delved into the archives at Tulane University, my characters took on a life of their own.

  I love the sheltered girl who blossomed into a woman, and the riverboat gambler with the outrageous sense of humor, just as I love the women who surround them, who aren't afraid to be both tough and tender, and the men who color their lives. I hope you learn to love them as well.

  Prologue

  Natchez, Mississippi 1861

  Sister Mary Aquinas, mother superior of the Convent of the Holy Trinity, glanced up from her paperwork at the shrill sounds piercing the silence.

  "Sister Marie Therese. What is that commotion?"

  The young nun paused in the doorway, her breath coming in short gasps from the exertion of running along the darkened passageway. Her black veil, so recently earned, fell crookedly about her shoulders.

  "I think you’d better come, Reverend Mother."

  Wearily the older nun pushed away from her desk and followed the younger sister’s lead. The scene that greeted them left the mother superior staring in stunned silence.

  Inside the gates of the convent stood a towering black-skinned woman dressed in an elegant red gown. A matching bonnet with a feather plume dipped low over one dark eyebrow.

  That sight alone would have been enough to raise questions. Since the beginning of the war between the states, most of the wealthy plantation owners showed signs of straining budgets. The slaves, now struggling for survival in a floundering economy, appeared the shabbiest. The elegance of this woman’s clothes was a shocking contrast to the area’s poverty.

  Tall and handsome, the woman showed no emotion as several black-robed sisters strove to quiet the screams of a little child huddled at her feet.

  Sister Mary Aquinas found her gaze riveted on the child. Writhing and twisting like some wild creature, she clutched at the skirt of the black woman, tearfully imploring her not to leave. Two of the sisters knelt on either side of her, prying her little fingers loose. The child’s wailing increased.

  When her skirt was pried free, the black woman strode regally toward the mother superior. Dark, piercing eyes fixed the nun with an almost hypnotic stare. Her voice was a rich, honeyed contralto. "The child’s name is Annalisa Montgomery. She is eight years old. Her widowed mother bids you raise her like a lady. Keep a tally of her expenses. They will be paid once a year."

  As the nun was about to protest, the black woman handed her a heavy sack. Gold coins spilled out, bouncing and rolling on the cobblestones, sounding oddly hollow in the stillness of the afternoon.

  The mother superior’s gaze was fixed on the gold. "Dear God," she muttered, swallowing convulsively. "It is enough to feed our hungry for a year." She glanced up. "I can’t possibly accept all this."

  "It is yours. There will be more." The black woman turned and, without a glance at the hysterical child, walked through the gates and settled herself into an elegant carriage. With her gaze carefully averted, she spoke to the driver. Then, for one long moment, she turned to stare at the child. Dark eyes glistened. She blinked away the mist. With a clatter of horses’ hooves, she was whisked from sight.

  As the heavy gates swung shut, one of the sisters holding the child let out a cry and snatched her hand away. Sister Mary Aquinas watched in horror as the child sank her teeth into the hand of the second nun, then flung herself against the gates with such force she was knocked backward to the ground.

  When one of the sisters rushed forward to help the child, she was horrified to hear a stream of swear words in perfect French, followed by an outburst of language never before uttered within these hallowed walls.

  "Mon dieu, Reverend Mother. Did you hear what this child said?"

  The others clapped their hands over their mouths in shocked silence. One of the older sisters fell to her knees to pray for forgiveness for even having heard such words.

  Walking closer, Sister Mary Aquinas stared down at the crumpled form of the little girl. The once beautiful lace dress was now torn and stained from her struggles. A mane of dark gypsy hair fell nearly to the child’s ankles. It had apparently never been cut. Or properly combed and brushed from the looks of it. The child’s skin was tanned and ruddy, as if she had been allowed to romp in the sun without benefit of proper cover. The amber eyes staring out of that tear-streaked face were wide with fear. Beneath a fringe of dark lashes, they darted from one robed figure to the other, then back to the one who was apparently in charge. In the gleaming sunlight they glinted like a cat’s.

  "Annalisa."

  The child’s head lifted; the chin jutted defiantly.

  "Est-ce que vous parlez francais?"

  Though the child’s expression reflected fear, her voice was strong. "Oui."

  The nun lifted an eyebrow. "Habla espanol?"

  "Si. "

  "Can you speak English as well?" the mother superior asked tentatively.

  "Yes." The girl’s response was spontaneous, without any seeming effort.

  Reverend Mother hid her surprise. This little girl was multilingual, and obviously very bright.

  "Sister Marie Therese." The superior’s voice rang with authority.

  The young nun inched forward timidly.

  "Take the child inside and clean her up. Her mother wishes her to be educated. I will make her your special charge."

  The newly professed sister blinked. "What if she bites me, Reverend Mother?"

  "Bite her back," one of the novices intoned.

  The older nun turned toward the cluster of young students and fixed the speaker with a withering look, then cast a speculative glance at the fiery creature who had been deposited at their gates. She turned away with a rustle of stiff skirts, the money sack held firmly in her hands. "With patience and compassion, we will teach this child the Lord’s way."

  "Yes, Reverend Mother." The inexperienced nun tried to keep her gaze lowered as she had been trained. "Reverend Mother?"

  The mother superior turned impatiently. "Yes?"

  Anxious eyes looked up, then away. "But what if she bites me?"

  Casting a warning glance at the cluster of grinning novices, Reverend Mother said, "I’m certain God will give you the necessary strength to deal with it." Swallowing down the smile that threatened, Sister Mary Aquinas swept away, leaving the others to stare at the bewildered, defiant little creature backed against the cold grillwork of the securely locked gate.

  As she made her way along the dark corridor, Reverend Mother’s ears were assaulted by a string of oaths. Dear God, she thought, crossing herself. The child is able to swear in three different languages. And probably several Creole dialects as well.

  Kneeling before the altar, she bowed her head. "I trust, Lord, that You always give us the necessary grace to do Your holy work in order to ascend to our eternal reward in Heaven."

  Her prayers were interrupted by a piercing scream followed by more swearing. The air rang with curses and guttural moans.

  Sister Mary Aquinas lifted her head and fixed her stare on the Cross. "And I know that Your poor have gre
at need of this money." Her voice wavered. "But this time, Lord, You’ve given us a mountain."

  Chapter One

  Natchez, Mississippi 1870

  Sister Marie Therese directed the crewman to set the trunk down beside the bunk and thanked him when he straightened from his task. His arms were heavily muscled, slick with sweat. His torn shirt stretched tautly across the broad expanse of his back. She saw his glance rake her young charge, who stood, seemingly unaware of his scrutiny, in the middle of the cabin. Seeing the nun’s withering look, he averted his gaze and strode away.

  "Annalisa."

  Amber eyes widened as the young woman looked up. "Yes, Sister?"

  "The boat departs shortly. There is yet time to change your mind." A proper young lady should not be made to face such a painful task alone, Sister Marie Therese thought with a frown.

  "I have to go, Sister." The soft, husky voice was like a whisper on the breeze. "This is not something I can tell my mother in a letter."

  "But are you certain you wish to make this trip alone? I could still arrange to accompany you. Even though Sister Mary Aquinas is indisposed, I’m sure I could be spared. That way, if your mother should protest your decision to enter the convent, you will have someone to plead your case."

  "My mother won’t protest, Sister. In the nine years I’ve been at the Convent of the Holy Trinity, I’ve never once seen her. If it weren’t for the money she sends, I wouldn’t even believe she exists. I feel certain she will have no interest in how I choose to spend the rest of my life."

  The nun nodded her understanding. She had never forgotten the spectacular arrival of the child she had come to love, or the unceremonious way in which she had been left with strangers.

  Sister Marie Therese studied the lush dark hair, pulled and twisted into a perfect knot. How they had despaired of ever taming that mane, which seemed all tangles and curls, just as they had feared they might never teach the undisciplined child who fought them every step of the way.

  Sister Marie Therese had delighted in the fact that she had been a brilliant child. When she arrived at the convent, Annalisa could already read. The sisters were amazed, and often shocked, at the range of her worldly vocabulary. She was a wizard at figures and had managed to memorize the multiplication tables years earlier than her classmates.

  She had a wicked sense of humor and had often gone to great lengths to play a trick when the drab winter rains kept them all confined to their rooms. Sister Marie Therese often thought that Annalisa’s ribald humor masked a deep pain. Every Sunday she had watched the child dress carefully in her black uniform with starched white collar and cuffs and march into the parlor with the other girls, where they would dutifully sit awaiting their families. While the others held joyful reunions and walked outside in the formal gardens for private, loving visits, or left in carriages for an afternoon at home on magnificent plantations, Annalisa counted the tiles on the floor and memorized the Latin words inscribed on the scrolled wall hangings. In the nine years she had been in the convent school, she had never had a single visitor.

  Over the years, the sisters had managed to soften some of the rough edges. The wild little waif had grown into a rare beauty. Her figure was slender, yet provocatively feminine. Her rough speech had been smoothed to a pleasing drawl. The hair, though still often a tangle of unmanageable curls, was an unusual mingling of colors, from rich, dark sable to fiery auburn. She was an altogether unusual young woman, compelling to look at, delightful to be with. Beneath the prim gown and carefully combed hair, beneath the strange topaz eyes and lowered lashes, Sister Marie Therese suspected there still lurked the shadow of the primitive creature they had first encountered. But recently Annalisa had announced her intention of becoming a nun. It was the duty of Mother Superior to enlist more women into God’s holy army. If this young woman could sublimate her worldly instincts, and Sister Marie Therese had private doubts of that, she had the makings of a fine soldier. But maybe, just maybe, the nun pleaded in a silent prayer, the girl’s mother could be persuaded to keep her in New Orleans. Though Annalisa’s intentions were noble, Sister Marie Therese thought the headstrong girl much more suited to the world outside the convent walls.

  "Will you walk with me to the rail?"

  The younger woman nodded and held the door. The slight breeze was a welcome relief after the stifling heat of the cabin.

  At the rail, the nun turned and looked down into the face of the young woman, resisting an impulse to hug her. Years of training had taught her to display no open sign of affection.

  "Remember to lock your cabin door," Sister Marie Therese said softly. "And you would be wise to carry a parasol. I understand the sun off the water is quite harsh."

  The girl swallowed her smile. "Yes, Sister."

  She glanced at the high coloring, rare in young ladies of breeding. "You should be in New Orleans by Saturday. Give your mother a chance to show you her world before you make your decision. I will expect a letter within the month, notifying us of the date of your return, if it is what you still wish."

  Annalisa nodded.

  "Take care, Annalisa. May God hold you in His hands."

  The girl smiled at the familiar convent blessing. "And you. Thank you, Sister."

  The City of Memphis was a three-decker packet heading south from Natchez to New Orleans. Considered an elegant, genteel mode of travel, the steamboat’s decks were crowded with wealthy passengers.

  Annalisa stood by the rail and watched as Sister Marie Therese made her way to the pier. Amid the bustling crewmen and the crowd assembling at the rail, she was jostled and shoved as she tried to keep the robed figure in her sight. A horn sounded, then three shrill whistles. The riverboat moved slowly from the dock. Annalisa lifted her hand in a salute as her familiar world seemed to break away. Happy couples began drifting back to their cabins, or to the salon, where ladies sipped lemonade and the gentlemen gathered in clusters to talk about the state of the battered and bowed Confederacy, and the emergence of carpetbaggers and interlopers who despoiled the land.

  Feeling alone and strangely exhilarated, Annalisa continued to stand at the rail watching the shore gradually dissolve into a blur of pale watercolors. Along the banks that disappeared slowly from view, willows grew right to the water’s edge, dipping their lacy branches in gently lapping waves. Cyprus festooned with Spanish moss cast dappled shadows along the sunlit shore.

  Annalisa walked the length of the deck, then turned and retraced her steps. The breeze pried strands of dark hair loose, to drift lazily about her cheeks. The sun warmed her skin. Leaning her arms on the rail, she lifted her face to the sunlight and smiled. For the first time that she could ever remember, she was completely on her own.

  Framed in the doorway of a cabin, a tall, slightly hunched figure watched the young woman through narrowed eyes. His clothes were obviously European, perfectly tailored. Checking the time on a gold watch, he placed it in the pocket of his waistcoat, then continued to study her. Unlike the women who paraded the decks wearing the latest bonnets and gowns, hoping to be observed by any interested gentlemen aboard, this one was prim and buttoned clear to her throat. He’d caught a glimpse of her face as she’d bid good-bye to the nun. Exquisite. Perfection. And whispering of innocence. That was the only kind of girl that interested him. Fresh-faced, innocent ones.

  As she turned, he drew back into the shadows. For now, he would watch and wait. And bide his time.

  Everywhere Annalisa looked, people were smiling, carrying on animated conversations. They stared directly into each other’s eyes, not down at their feet as she had been trained to do. Hearing a burst of raucous laughter, she turned to see several men and women seated in a cluster. From her vantage point at the rail she studied the ladies’ fashions. Their necklines were shockingly low, revealing a long column of throat and a daring display of rounded flesh. All carried parasols, and most wore hats with plumes that dipped flirtatiously over one eye. Their skirts fell to the tips of their shoes, barely s
kimming the rough wooden deck. Even from this distance, the scent of their French perfume was evident.

  No one whispered, she realized. Their voices were loud, distinct, and a few of them coarse.

  As this group of friends walked away, a new cluster of people drifted closer. No one seemed to take any notice of the prim young woman at the rail, who was free to watch in fascination as the couples walked the deck.

  As the riverboat passed a smaller vessel, a horn sounded, shattering the peaceful hum of voices. Annalisa lifted her head to watch the plume of smoke. For the last nine years she had been governed by bells. Early mass, vespers, meals, study, prayer, bedtime. All had been announced by the ringing of bells. For the next few days, she was rid of them. Free. A small smile curled her lips with the secret knowledge. There was no one to tell her when she had to get up, or go to bed. If she wanted, she could walk the deck, drinking in all these strange new sights and sounds, without ever having to go to her cabin. The smile grew. Suddenly she wanted to run, to laugh, to clap her hands and shout. Wonderful freedom. Complete freedom. She was free to do anything she wanted.

  She turned away, not wanting anyone to see the laughter that danced in her eyes. A breeze caught little strands of her hair, lifting them, flaying them against her cheek. She didn’t worry. There was no one here to remind her that ladies always bound their hair or covered it with a hat. It felt good to have the breeze touch it. Tossing her head in defiance, several pins dropped, freeing even more hair. She did not want a parasol, she realized. Right now she wanted to feel the sun kiss her skin and the breeze take her hair. Mesmerized by the churning foam far below her, and the scenes along the shore, ever new, yet ever familiar, she stayed at the rail until the sun had completed its arc to the western sky.

  * * *

  A uniformed porter showed Annalisa to the dining room in the grand salon. Through intricately carved rosewood doors, she entered a world of unexpected elegance. Gas lights hissed softly. Couples spoke in hushed whispers.