Read Online Destiny's Daughter by Ruth Ryan Langan - Free Book Online
Authors: Ruth Ryan Langan
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Creole dialects. Annalisa found herself smiling as she caught snatches of the conversations. Though it seemed like a lifetime since she’d heard them, the words were familiar to her.
Leaving the teeming city behind, the carriage turned onto a wide avenue lined with towering oak festooned with Spanish moss. The houses here were well kept, with spacious rolling lawns and whitewashed fences. Annalisa sat straighter, studying each structure for something, anything recognizable. Would her old house be familiar? Had it been spared during the war? Would she know her own mother? And what of the aunts and cousins, the music and laughter of her memories? Did they really exist, or was this all a child’s dream, born of loneliness and fear?
The driver slowed, then flicked the reins, turning the horse and carriage into a wide drive that circled an imposing white house. Majestic, moss-laden oaks offered shade. Magnolia trees were heavy with blooms. Pink and scarlet azaleas made a splash of color along the front of the house. As they approached the front veranda, Annalisa felt her throat go dry. Vague, half-forgotten memories stirred, then came into sharp focus. She could recall a wide porch that wrapped around all four sides of this rambling house. Glancing up to the top floor, she had a sudden impression of a large room, with exposed rafters and a big feather bed. The fragrance of hundreds of flowers wafted on the breeze on still summer nights. As a small child she’d been showered with love and attention. This house had offered her security. All through the night there were the comforting sounds of murmured voices and muffled laughter, and far below, on the main floor, soft music and the tinkling of fine crystal.
Blinking, Annalisa realized the driver had halted the carriage and was holding out his hand. Accepting his help, she stepped down, all the while staring at the closed door at the top of the porch. Taking a deep breath, she lifted her skirts and climbed the steps of the veranda. She knocked and heard the sound reverberate inside. Hurried footsteps grew louder. And then the door was thrown open. A young girl dressed in a crisp white apron and cap opened the front door and stared silently. Before Annalisa could speak, a figure appeared behind the maid, motioning her away. Annalisa found herself staring at the strangest-looking woman she’d ever seen.
Of medium height, the woman wore a gaudy silk wrapper which showed off age-splotched arms. Her skin was no longer taut, falling in leathery wrinkles from her upper arms. Her breasts sagged, nearly meeting her bulging stomach. Every pudgy finger had a ring, all winking in the sunlight. Rubies, amethysts, emeralds, sapphires. Like her robe, they were a rainbow of colors. Her feet were bare, and her toenails were long and jagged. Her neck had little jowls that jiggled when she moved her head. A network of spidery lines etched the corners of her eyes and forehead. Her eyes seemed to contradict her body. Brilliant blue, they were alive, vital. But it was her hair that held Annalisa’s fascinated stare. Pulled into a scraggly topknot, it had been dyed nearly orange. Here and there, little tendrils of faded gray escaped, clinging damply to her neck and rouged cheeks.
"Are you Sara Montgomery?" Annalisa swallowed. Please, God, don’t let this creature be my mother.
"Me? Sara?" The old woman threw back her head and cackled. The wrinkles of her face lifted at the sound, and the folds of flesh at her neck bounced. "Nobody ever mistook me for Sara before."
At the sound of her laughter, a shadow appeared behind her and her smile faded. Touching a hand to her mouth, she said, "I forgot. I shouldn’t be making noise. I’ll disturb her."
The shadow lengthened, then became the taller figure of a handsome black woman. Annalisa found herself staring at a figure from her long-forgotten past.
The rainbow-woman pointed a finger. "She asked if I was Sara."
The black woman’s gaze trailed
Leaving the teeming city behind, the carriage turned onto a wide avenue lined with towering oak festooned with Spanish moss. The houses here were well kept, with spacious rolling lawns and whitewashed fences. Annalisa sat straighter, studying each structure for something, anything recognizable. Would her old house be familiar? Had it been spared during the war? Would she know her own mother? And what of the aunts and cousins, the music and laughter of her memories? Did they really exist, or was this all a child’s dream, born of loneliness and fear?
The driver slowed, then flicked the reins, turning the horse and carriage into a wide drive that circled an imposing white house. Majestic, moss-laden oaks offered shade. Magnolia trees were heavy with blooms. Pink and scarlet azaleas made a splash of color along the front of the house. As they approached the front veranda, Annalisa felt her throat go dry. Vague, half-forgotten memories stirred, then came into sharp focus. She could recall a wide porch that wrapped around all four sides of this rambling house. Glancing up to the top floor, she had a sudden impression of a large room, with exposed rafters and a big feather bed. The fragrance of hundreds of flowers wafted on the breeze on still summer nights. As a small child she’d been showered with love and attention. This house had offered her security. All through the night there were the comforting sounds of murmured voices and muffled laughter, and far below, on the main floor, soft music and the tinkling of fine crystal.
Blinking, Annalisa realized the driver had halted the carriage and was holding out his hand. Accepting his help, she stepped down, all the while staring at the closed door at the top of the porch. Taking a deep breath, she lifted her skirts and climbed the steps of the veranda. She knocked and heard the sound reverberate inside. Hurried footsteps grew louder. And then the door was thrown open. A young girl dressed in a crisp white apron and cap opened the front door and stared silently. Before Annalisa could speak, a figure appeared behind the maid, motioning her away. Annalisa found herself staring at the strangest-looking woman she’d ever seen.
Of medium height, the woman wore a gaudy silk wrapper which showed off age-splotched arms. Her skin was no longer taut, falling in leathery wrinkles from her upper arms. Her breasts sagged, nearly meeting her bulging stomach. Every pudgy finger had a ring, all winking in the sunlight. Rubies, amethysts, emeralds, sapphires. Like her robe, they were a rainbow of colors. Her feet were bare, and her toenails were long and jagged. Her neck had little jowls that jiggled when she moved her head. A network of spidery lines etched the corners of her eyes and forehead. Her eyes seemed to contradict her body. Brilliant blue, they were alive, vital. But it was her hair that held Annalisa’s fascinated stare. Pulled into a scraggly topknot, it had been dyed nearly orange. Here and there, little tendrils of faded gray escaped, clinging damply to her neck and rouged cheeks.
"Are you Sara Montgomery?" Annalisa swallowed. Please, God, don’t let this creature be my mother.
"Me? Sara?" The old woman threw back her head and cackled. The wrinkles of her face lifted at the sound, and the folds of flesh at her neck bounced. "Nobody ever mistook me for Sara before."
At the sound of her laughter, a shadow appeared behind her and her smile faded. Touching a hand to her mouth, she said, "I forgot. I shouldn’t be making noise. I’ll disturb her."
The shadow lengthened, then became the taller figure of a handsome black woman. Annalisa found herself staring at a figure from her long-forgotten past.
The rainbow-woman pointed a finger. "She asked if I was Sara."
The black woman’s gaze trailed
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