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Authors: Patricia Hagan
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past.
His father liked it at BelleClair and had progressed to become one of the overseers. He assured Brett that Elton Sinclair had his eye on him for the same kind of promotion. But all Brett wanted was to get the bills paid and then move on. Meanwhile, he kept his distance from his father because he despised him.
The sound of a distant whistle and the sight of lights offshore caused him to realize he’d traveled farther than he’d realized in his reverie. He was on the levee, overlooking the river, and not too far away was the huge, draping willow where he’d followed Anjele Sinclair that day.
He smiled to think of the encounter, for his first impression of her had been dashed. Though quite beautiful, she wasn’t at all the spoiled rich girl he’d taken her to be. Instead, she seemed possessed of a zest for life, eager to experience everything it offered.
He started to turn back, but a movement caught his eye. A figure emerged from the darkness, skipping merrily across the lawn leading from BelleClair Manse. It was a woman, a girl, he could see now, for her long hair was flowing behind her in the wind, along with the sheer garment she was wearing.
The moon peered out from behind a silver-tinged cloud, and he saw the flaming tresses and knew it could only be Anjele Sinclair.
He watched with interest as she disappeared inside her leafy sanctum.
Something told him to leave, while another part of him reminded he was no longer an innocent boy of sixteen. He was a man. He had been around the world and few things fascinated or frightened him.
So there was no harm, he rationalized, in speaking to Anjele this warm, sweet night.
He headed for the willow tree.
It had been a particularly boring evening for Anjele. Raymond and his parents had been invited for supper, and afterward, his mother had insisted she play the piano. She hadn’t wanted to, but polite protests went unheeded. Claudia had stood by glowering but expertly changed her expression to sweetness and light whenever she could catch Raymond’s eye.
The men had eventually drifted into the smoking parlor for cigars and brandy, anxious to continue the political discussion they’d been forced to abandon at the dinner table, due to the disapproving glances from their wives. Abraham Lincoln had been chosen by the Republican Party of Illinois to challenge the incumbent Stephen Douglas for the senate. Mr. Lincoln, it seemed, had antagonized many staunch proslavery Democrats from the South when he’d said in his acceptance speech at the convention that he believed the government could not permanently endure ifmade up of half free states and half slave-holding states.
Anjele would have much preferred to listen to them criticize Mr. Lincoln than hear her mother and future mother-in-law prattle on about wedding plans.
Finally, the evening had ended, with Ida Duval setting a date for yet another party to celebrate the coming wedding. “Christmas isn’t that far away,” she’d gaily reminded them as they all exchanged good-byes on the porch.
Elton, a twinkle in his eye, had pretended to grumble, “Seems to me you young folks could’ve set a more convenient wedding date than a busy time like grinding season.”
“Oh, listen to him.” Twyla laughed. “You’d think there’s a time at BelleClair that isn’t busy.”
“And that’s exactly why I’m glad I married a doctor instead of a planter,” Ida said. “I much prefer the excitement of New Orleans. But don’t you worry, dear.” She turned to Anjele. “Soon you can leave all this behind you and move into the city.”
Anjele’s smile was forced, because thoughts of leaving BelleClair made her sick. The last thing she wanted to do was live in town, but it seemed she had no say in her life anymore, and dismally realized she’d never had.
Finally, she had gone to her room. And once the house was settled and quiet, she had sneaked out and down the trellis to her special place.
Here, at
His father liked it at BelleClair and had progressed to become one of the overseers. He assured Brett that Elton Sinclair had his eye on him for the same kind of promotion. But all Brett wanted was to get the bills paid and then move on. Meanwhile, he kept his distance from his father because he despised him.
The sound of a distant whistle and the sight of lights offshore caused him to realize he’d traveled farther than he’d realized in his reverie. He was on the levee, overlooking the river, and not too far away was the huge, draping willow where he’d followed Anjele Sinclair that day.
He smiled to think of the encounter, for his first impression of her had been dashed. Though quite beautiful, she wasn’t at all the spoiled rich girl he’d taken her to be. Instead, she seemed possessed of a zest for life, eager to experience everything it offered.
He started to turn back, but a movement caught his eye. A figure emerged from the darkness, skipping merrily across the lawn leading from BelleClair Manse. It was a woman, a girl, he could see now, for her long hair was flowing behind her in the wind, along with the sheer garment she was wearing.
The moon peered out from behind a silver-tinged cloud, and he saw the flaming tresses and knew it could only be Anjele Sinclair.
He watched with interest as she disappeared inside her leafy sanctum.
Something told him to leave, while another part of him reminded he was no longer an innocent boy of sixteen. He was a man. He had been around the world and few things fascinated or frightened him.
So there was no harm, he rationalized, in speaking to Anjele this warm, sweet night.
He headed for the willow tree.
It had been a particularly boring evening for Anjele. Raymond and his parents had been invited for supper, and afterward, his mother had insisted she play the piano. She hadn’t wanted to, but polite protests went unheeded. Claudia had stood by glowering but expertly changed her expression to sweetness and light whenever she could catch Raymond’s eye.
The men had eventually drifted into the smoking parlor for cigars and brandy, anxious to continue the political discussion they’d been forced to abandon at the dinner table, due to the disapproving glances from their wives. Abraham Lincoln had been chosen by the Republican Party of Illinois to challenge the incumbent Stephen Douglas for the senate. Mr. Lincoln, it seemed, had antagonized many staunch proslavery Democrats from the South when he’d said in his acceptance speech at the convention that he believed the government could not permanently endure ifmade up of half free states and half slave-holding states.
Anjele would have much preferred to listen to them criticize Mr. Lincoln than hear her mother and future mother-in-law prattle on about wedding plans.
Finally, the evening had ended, with Ida Duval setting a date for yet another party to celebrate the coming wedding. “Christmas isn’t that far away,” she’d gaily reminded them as they all exchanged good-byes on the porch.
Elton, a twinkle in his eye, had pretended to grumble, “Seems to me you young folks could’ve set a more convenient wedding date than a busy time like grinding season.”
“Oh, listen to him.” Twyla laughed. “You’d think there’s a time at BelleClair that isn’t busy.”
“And that’s exactly why I’m glad I married a doctor instead of a planter,” Ida said. “I much prefer the excitement of New Orleans. But don’t you worry, dear.” She turned to Anjele. “Soon you can leave all this behind you and move into the city.”
Anjele’s smile was forced, because thoughts of leaving BelleClair made her sick. The last thing she wanted to do was live in town, but it seemed she had no say in her life anymore, and dismally realized she’d never had.
Finally, she had gone to her room. And once the house was settled and quiet, she had sneaked out and down the trellis to her special place.
Here, at
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