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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.
    “Yougot 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.
    At last her hair was curled in ringlets even though it smelled vaguely of swamp water despite a generous shower of cologne. She had hastily chosen a plain blue dress but suddenly, on impulse, grabbed up a piece of ribbon and pulled her hair back and tied it at the nape of her neck. Surprisingly, it relieved some of her anxiety as she looked at herself in the mirror and laughed at her fisherman’s coif.
    Raymond was in the ladies’ parlor, impatiently pacing about. The coffee and biscuits Calvin had provided sat on a serving cart, untouched.
    When Anjele appeared, he rushed to clasp her hands as he devoured her with eager, anxious eyes. “I’m sorry about the early hour, darling,” he apologized hastily. “But after last night, I just had to see you and make sure everything is all right.”
    Carefully, she withdrew her hands from his tight, almost painful