Destiny's Daughter by Ruth Ryan Langan

she feeling such aversion to a woman who was admired by so many? Because Sara Montgomery lived a lie, her mind responded. While she passed herself off as a wealthy widow to the sisters in the convent, she was, in reality, operating a house of pleasure. But why? Annalisa thought back to what Hattie Lee had hinted at. What had her mother been forced to endure? Would her story equal those Annalisa had just heard from these women?
    Annalisa barely noticed the knock on her door. Turning, she let her thoughts drift to the pale woman in the bed who had clung to her hand. A frail woman, Hattie Lee had said. And yet a remarkably strong one. The knock sounded again, louder. Hurrying across the room, Annalisa pulled open the door, feeling irritated at the distraction.
    With the ugly old cat in her arms, Delia, dressed in a pale blue organdy gown with velvet ribbon trim at the throat and waist, stood with her eyes downcast. Annalisa was reminded of her training in the convent. She felt an instant kinship with this shy, sweet girl.
    "Come in, Delia."
    The girl stepped forward, still studying the pattern on the rug. She glanced at the open trunk, then back to the floor, avoiding Annalisa’s eyes.
    "They said you were leaving." Her hands stroked the cat’s fur.
    "They?"
    The girl shrugged. "The others." She played with a section of pale blue skirt, twisting it about her fingers nervously.
    "And you came to say good-bye?"
    "Yes." The fingers moved back to the cat as she lifted her gaze upward. A slight flush colored her throat and cheeks. "And to thank you."
    "Thank me? For what?"
    "For sharing your mother," Delia said softly. "My own family was killed in the war."
    Annalisa touched her hand, but the young girl shrank back from her touch. The cat leaped to her shoulder and curled itself around her neck, purring loudly. "My father and mother and two little brothers were all killed." Her eyes stared vacantly as she recounted her horror. "My mother hid me in a bucket in the well. For nearly an hour I was forced to hear the sounds of their screaming. I heard my mother begging that my little brothers’ lives be spared. I heard their cries as they were killed. And for two days after the soldiers left, I heard the terrible sounds of silence. There was no way out of the well. I had to wait until a neighbor came by and heard my screaming."
    Annalisa reached out, taking the girl’s cold hands in hers. "It must have been terrible," she murmured, feeling completely inadequate. Glancing down, she realized the girl hadn’t pulled away from her touch.
    Terror-filled eyes met hers. "That’s what your mother said when I came here." She swallowed. "You’re like her, you know. The same eyes, the same tone of voice. You even make me feel the same way—safe."
    A long sigh escaped Annalisa’s lips. "Everyone speaks of my mother as if she were a saint. I wish I’d had the chance to know her."
    "You can have that chance," Delia said quietly. Meeting Annalisa’s questioning gaze, she said, "If you were to stay here, we could tell you all the wonderful things Sara did for us. To me she was more than a friend; she was the mother I lost."
    Tears brimmed in Annalisa’s eyes, and she blinked them back. "I can’t stay here. I can’t do ... I can’t be ..."
    "You can do what your mother did. Keep the ledgers. Oversee the smooth operation of this house. Be our friend and confidante."
    "But wasn’t she . . . ?" Annalisa stopped, embarrassed.
    "You don’t know?" Delia’s eyes widened. "Annalisa, your mother never slept with the customers. That was not her job. That was ours. She talked with them, and occasionally shared a glass of sherry. But they knew she was too much of a lady to ever share her bed with them."
    "But I thought ..." Annalisa was too overwhelmed to go on.
    "You thought your mother was a whore?" Delia clasped Annalisa’s hands and stared into her bewildered eyes. "Your mother was a fine lady. She had the respect of everyone who came