“A good time, eh?” Simona laughed, voice slurred. “You maybe like to dance with my man, no? I loan him to you, but only for a little while.”
Frank, his arm around his wife, had a lopsided grin on his face. “Sure, why not? We make fun…” He held out his hand to Anjele.
Anjele knew and liked Frank but wasn’t about to dance with him, especially when he was well into his cups. “No, but thank you and maybe another time.” To Simona, she said anxiously, “It’s getting late. I think we’d better start back.”
Simona slapped her shoulder good-naturedly and cried, “You don’t got to worry. We have you tucked in bed way before you momma and poppa come home.”
She threw herself into Frank’s arms, and Anjele could only watch helplessly as they danced and drank their way back into the center of the party.
It was late. She could feel it in her apprehensive bones and knew she had to be getting home or risk her mother coming in to check on her and finding her bed empty. There’d be hell to pay then, for sure. Simona was of no help, because Anjele had no intentions of following a drunken guide in the dense, dangerous bayou, much less get into a boat with her.
Frantically Anjele looked around for Emalee and was relieved to spot her dancing with her beau but appearing sober. Pulling her to the side, she told her about Simona and asked hopefully, “You do know the way out, don’t you?”
“Sure.” Emalee tried to sound confident. Actually, Simona was the one who knew her way around at night. She merely followed Simona. “Tell you what. I ask my Anton to come, too—” She turned and was stunned to find he had disappeared, melding into the crowd. “He go to get more wine. I find him.”
She started to move away, but Anjele grasped her arm.
“There’s no time. I’ve got to get back right away. You’ve been down that path a thousand times, Emalee. You can do it.”
But never at night, alone, Emalee cried within, not about to admit out loud. She knew Anjele well enough to know she’d strike out by herself if she didn’t guide her. And that would be dangerous. Sucking in a deep breath of determination, Emalee said, “I try. If I find the way is forgotten, we turn back, okay?”
Anjele had no intention of turning back, and cursed herself for coming in the first place. “Let’s go. Get me to the other side of the water, and I think I can make it from there.”
Emalee was trying not to let her fear show, and as they hurried to where the flatboat had been left on the bank, she continued to dart anxious glances all around, hoping to spot Anton so he could take over.
Anjele helped push off the tiny craft, trying not to think about snakes as the cool, dark water closed about her ankles. There was no time to worry about a wet hem, either. She’d tarried too long and every second counted. “Let’s go.” She jumped in and grabbed up one of the poles and shoved it down into the muddy bottom to give the boat a forward thrust. “You guide up front, and I’ll help all I can. It shouldn’t take long to cross. Just don’t hit any of those cypress knees sticking up out of the water.”
Emalee was too scared to speak. Earlier, it had all been an exciting adventure to be out in the dark, but that was when Simona was along, and Simona was much more adept on the water than she.
They moved slowly and fluidly through the silent water, and Emalee, straining to see any ominous shadows of obstruction, probed ahead with her pole.
Anjele realized the girl was terrified and attempted humor to ease the tension. “Don’t be poking any alligators with that thing and get them riled. We don’t have your gator killer with us to do battle.”
Emalee was concentrating on what she was doing but also wanted to talk to ease the fear in her throat. “Gators not supposed to be here. The menfolk, they try to keep it clear, safe. So many of us go this way to and from work in the fields. As for our gator killer, he stay to himself most of the time. That is why you no see him. The girls, they after him. Even the ones who are married. He don’ want trouble, so he never come to make merry when they drinkin’ the wine.”
“Then he isn’t married?” Anjele was careful to keep her tone light. It didn’t matter, anyway, and she was actually puzzled by her curiosity.
“I don’ think so, but no one really know much about him, except for the story of how he got his name.” She gave a soft chuckle. “He is one handsome man, no?”
Anjele wasn’t about to agree aloud, even though she did secretly, and instead countered, “Why does he wear his hair that way, pulled back like a horse’s tail? It’s almost like some Indians wear theirs.”
“I hear some fishermen wear hair like that, and somebody say Gator’s poppa say his boy been away for a long time whaling.”
“Whaling? Then…”
She had been about to ask how someone off at sea wound up living in the bayou and working cane fields, when suddenly the boat struck a jutting cypress root Emalee had failed to see. They both screamed as they lost their balance, frantically struggling to right themselves, but Emalee pitched forward into the black water, and the sudden lurch of the boat subsequently tossed Anjele off the side.
The water was not terribly deep but came nearly to their chins. Anjele coughed and spit and clawed at the slime that was clinging to her face. Groping frantically, she tried to find the boat but it had slipped away into the umbra. “Emalee, are you all right?” she called into the night. “Where are you?”
“Here.” She was right beside her, voice trembling with hysteria. “The boat…can you find the boat?”
Miserably, Anjele said it was gone.
Emalee wailed, “Hurry. We got to get to dry land, and then we try to make our way back to the others. Got to get out of here—fast.”
She started to move away, but Anjele reached out to grab her arm and hold her back. “We’re turned around. We don’t know which way to go. We could head in the opposite direction and hit a deep spot and be in over our heads. Not to mention all the snakes and other creatures in these waters.”
Just then, they both heard it—the sound of something moving ominously close through the marsh.
Emalee squealed. “Oh, God, what we gon’ do?”
Swallowing against the rising terror, Anjele cried, “Find a cypress knee, quick, and start climbing—”
“Why not just climb in here?”
They both froze at the sound of the slightly mocking voice that came from out of the darkness.
He had glided his boat right up alongside them.
Feeling the strong hand brush against her shoulder, Anjele quickly grabbed it to accept the lift up to safety. Emalee was right behind her.
Anjele was about to thank her rescuer, but before she could speak, he coldly admonished Emalee, “You should have known better. Both times.”
“
Both
times?” Emalee echoed, sinking down to huddle in the bottom of the boat.
“Yes. Both times. You knew it was dangerous to go out by yourself into the bayou at night, but you never should have brought her here to start with.”
Nervously, Emalee attempted to defend herself. “But she our cousin, from Bayou Teche, and—”
“Don’t lie to me. I know who she is.” His tone was thick with contempt. “Let her risk her own life if she gets bored with her little rich girls’ tea parties. Don’t bring her here and jeopardize the jobs of our people.”
He stabbed the pole down into the murky waters with almost a vengeance to set his craft in motion.
Though grateful for being rescued, Anjele felt indignation rising and protested, “Wait a minute. I don’t know who you are, but you’ve no right to accuse me of purposely endangering my friend’s life. And not that it’s any of your business, but I happen to have been invited here tonight.” She wished she could see his face, but besides the darkness, he stood at the bow with back turned. She could tell only that he was a large man but was puzzled by the absence of Cajun accent.
Suddenly, Emalee surprised her by saying sharply, “He is right. You don’ belong. It is Simona’s fault. It was her idea.”
Anjele was further astonished at the realization that Emalee sounded as though she were about to cry.
“It doesn’t matter whose idea it was,” he said brusquely. “Learn your lesson or next time you can both feed the gators. I don’t have time to rescue stupid little girls.”
“Stupid little girls?” Anjele screeched. “You’ve no right—”
“No. Say nothing.” Emalee clutched her arm. “He tell about this, and I be in big trouble. Please. Forget it all.”
Anjele bit down on her lip and clenched her fists and told herself to hold her temper. They went the rest of the way in silence, and the instant the craft touched the bank, she bolted to her feet. Bad enough to have to explain why she was soaking wet if her parents were waiting, without having to endure insults from a stranger. She was trembling with rage and wanted only to get away from both of them as fast as possible.
A firm hand clamped down on her arm.
She tried to yank free, but he held fast, and she furiously cried, “What do you think you’re doing? Let me go.”
“I’m going to see you as far as the fields to make sure you get out of the woods safely.”
She ground out the protest between clenched teeth, “I don’t need you.”
He ignored her and ordered Emalee, “You stay here. I’ll be right back.” He stepped onto the bank, jerking Anjele along with him.
He walked with swift, sure steps, and she realized he knew the way well. She was too mad to speak and figured it was just as well because he was obviously also angry over having been so inconvenienced.
They reached the edge of the cotton field. “Go now,” he thundered, releasing her and giving her a gentle shove forward. “You can make it the rest of the way.”
She whirled about to inform him frostily, “I could’ve made it all the way, with no help from you…” Her voice trailed off.
The slivered moon suddenly peered out from behind a cloud to illumine the world around her, but he was already on his way back.
An involuntary shudder rippled down her spine.
In the silvery glow, she could see that his hair, so dark, was pulled back and tied at the nape of his neck.
With shocking clarity, she realized just who had delivered her this night.
Chapter Three
All seemed quiet, so Anjele climbed quickly back up the trellis to the veranda and into her room. She had just enough time to peel out of her wet clothes before hearing the sounds of a carriage. Fuming to think how she’d been rudely sent on her way without time to retrieve her own clothing, she shoved her Cajun costume behind a chair. She would have to get her things as soon as possible, lest someone find them and eventually trace them to her.
With quick, jerky, movements, she undid her braids and was able to dive beneath the covers just as her mother opened the door to peer inside.
Satisfied all was well, Twyla retreated, and Anjele was left alone in the silent darkness to breathe a momentary sigh of relief.
Sleep eluded her, however, as she reflected on the evening’s excitement—and subsequent anger. No doubt the man called Gator had been confident she wouldn’t say a word about the rude way he’d spoken to her, but just who did he think he was, anyway, to pass judgment? And she was still baffled over the way Emalee had sided against her. After all, they had been friends for years.
Finally, sleep won out, but it was troubled, as even her subconscious dwelled on the unpleasantness.
“You
got company, missy.”
Blinking against the assault of midmorning sun when the heavy drapes were drawn open, Anjele sat up to rub her eyes and groggily ask who on earth was calling at such an ungodly hour.
Jobie held out a pink satin robe. “Master Raymond. Calvin told him nobody was up yet, ‘ceptin’ Master Sinclair, and he was off to the fields since first light, but Master Raymond, he said he needed to see you, and not to even tell your momma he was here.
“And…” She giggled. “He said ‘specially not to tell Miss Claudia, ‘cause—” She fell silent to stare with bulging eyes at Anjele’s tangled, matted hair. Stepping closer for a better look, she cried, “Lordy, missy, what did you do to your hair? Did you go to bed with it wet? How come?”
Anjele hurried to the dressing alcove, Jobie right on her heels. One look in the mirror evoked a horrified screech. “Oh, no! I can’t let anybody see me like this, Jobie. Take the curling iron to the stove out in the kitchen and heat it up quick, and don’t tell anybody why you’re doing it.”
Jobie rushed to obey, and Anjele picked up a brush and went to work on the tangles. Raymond would have to wait, and she didn’t care, because he had no business calling without notice or invitation, anyway. She had to admit being curious, though, as to what brought him so far so early in the day. It was at least an hour’s ride into New Orleans, and he and his family lived almost in the heart of the city.
Frustrated, she worked as quickly as her nervous fingers allowed. She had planned, the second she awoke, to run and get her clothes. Now that would have to wait till she got rid of Raymond, which meant chances were increased that a field worker might stumble across them when he went in the bushes to relieve himself. She hadn’t hidden them very well, anyway, just crammed them behind a small rock she’d groped for and found in the darkness. After all, she recalled with a frown, she had planned to put them back on before returning to the house. Thanks to the arrogant newcomer, that idea had been dashed.