Captive Angel

By Virginia Aird

Experience the joys and tribulations of beautiful,innocent Catherine Simmons as she weaves her way across the primitive tapestry of 1780s Louisiana.
Embrace her shining victory as she captures a love that every woman only dreams of: pure ecstasy!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Virginia Aird
• Release date: May 30, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476003665

Virginia Aird

Dear Reader, Thank you for sharing in the excitement of my novels! I am a church choir singer, wife and mother of two. To acquire a real "taste" of my literary essence, here is my recipe for a delicious read: - 1 strong,sensitive female - 1 sensitive,strong male -Add in several heaping spoonfuls of full-bodied love -Season throughout with salty characters -Pepper with good and evil -Blend above ingredients together--along with a hefty sprinkling of sensuality and sweetness -Stir in chunks of raw emotion -Keep it juicy -Steam and serve!

Book preview

Captive Angel

By Virginia Aird

Copyright 2012 Virginia Aird

Smashwords Edition

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Prologue

Louisiana- 1780

The tiny caravan of six covered wagons inched its way determinedly across the vast outstretch of land known as the Louisiana District. Overhead, the sweltering sun unmercifully showered its rays profusely upon the already much fatigued and irritable inhabitants.

Their voyage from England had been a long, arduous trek. Once out to sea, they encountered innumerable storms, which they were lucky indeed to overcome with their loved ones and belongings still intact. But aside from the hard life aboard ship, was the journey they now faced.

Docking at the port of New Orleans, they had procured several wagons with which to aid them in their travel. With the rolling terrain here in the far eastern section of the territory, progress was somewhat stilted. Already they had been unfortunate enough as to have nearly half a dozen axles snap apart from their respective wheels. All of these unpleasantries may have been trying enough, but now the travelers had to contend with the grueling effects of the torturing sun.

Jeremiah Stiles, a heavily bearded, rotund man in his late fifties, mopped heavily at his brow and shouted to his wife who sat huddled in the back of their wagon, This heat is enough to drive a man loony! God has surely seen fit to show us hell this day. I be thinking there is no finer place than heaven.

His wife answered him crossly, Mind your tongue, Jeremiah Stiles. Do ye dare to blaspheme? The Lord sure be angered with the likes of ye this day!

Jeremiah bowed his head in repentance and asked the Lord to deliver him from his evil ways.

Mr. Jeremiah Stiles was not the only one who voiced his evil thoughts. Complaints were rampant throughout the wagon train. Had they all left the security of England to become withered and dried up in this partially unsettled wilderness?

When the sun finally died down hours later, they all made camp for the evening. After partaking of a modest, but quite palatable meal of roasted venison, the group gathered together in solemn prayer.

All knelt down in reverence as their leader, Joshua Simmons, led the service.

He prayed, Dear merciful Father, thank ye for delivering us here safely into your hands. We are here to worship ye and to do thy bidding as thy most humble and obedient servants. We shall set up missionaries and convert all in thy sacred name. May we be the instrument of thy perpetual light. Ye called us out of the darkness into thy light; may we be worthy of this station in life. We be but miserable mortals; give us the strength and protection to drive out the evil that exists in all men. All ye heathens shall come to us and be redeemed!

Shouts of agreement prevailed throughout the congregation. All were in awe of their leader, Joshua Simmons. Simmons was an impressive man with fiery red hair, tall stature, and lean build. Though only thirty-five years of age, he was considered the wisest and worthiest of leaders.

The service was short this evening; it lasted a mere three hours instead of the customary six.

It must have been nigh onto nine o’clock when the women and children bedded down for the night.

Martha Simmons, wife of the illustrious leader, took her children by the hand. Oh, how she delighted in them! Nathaniel, the baby, with his red-gold ringlets and cherubic face and sunny disposition, was a constant joy to Joshua and herself. He was so well-behaved and obedient-- a perfect example of a good Christian child. Then there was Catherine: eleven year old Catherine, with her long, silky black hair and willful nature. It was unnatural that she should possess hair the color of a raven, while Martha had hair the color of honey and Joshua that of a flame.

Ever since Martha could recall, Catherine had caused them great anxiety. One of her greatest faults was her overwhelming love of nature. Many times she or Joshua would find their daughter miles away and would go in frantic search of her. Never once would she inform them of her whereabouts. Joshua said that Catherine had evil spirits within her, and they must somehow be driven out. Unfortunately though, he was unable to curb her waywardness. Time and time again their child would be beaten with the switch, but to no avail. Even prayer proved futile, and Joshua proclaimed that all hope for her soul was lost. He could not bear the shame of procreating such a helpless sinner, and he wept bitterly over the irony of the situation.

As Martha looked down at her young daughter, she felt a great surge of love and pity twinge at her heart. This was her beautiful child, her little girl, and nothing could alter the fact that she loved her deeply and could forgive her anything. She knew that it was just something in Catherine’s makeup that made her do the things she did, and nothing or no one could convince her that her own flesh and blood was evil.

Catherine smiled up at her mother as she bent beside her, tucking her into the wagon. She did so love Mama! Mama was so good and kind and understanding. It was Papa and Grandpa that she hated. Papa, with that eternal scowl upon his face, and Grandpa, who was forever tattling on her, frightened Catherine with their hell-fire and brimstone sermons.

Catherine whispered conspiratorially in her mother’s ear so as not to disturb Nathaniel, who was well on his way to dreamland, Tis such a lovely place, this Louisiana. I love wide open spaces; I want to explore the whole region-- from hill to stream!

Martha nodded. Tis a nice enough place, sweetheart; I only hope we condition ourselves to this intense heat.

Catherine sprang up excitedly. If it becomes too unbearable, we can go swimming in the streams. How I should love that, Mama! The cool, fresh water trickling over me. I have oftentimes wished that I had been born a fish, with nothing to do but wriggle and swim in the water all day long!

Catherine! Martha exclaimed with shocked concern.

Please, Mama, may we go swimming sometime soon? Catherine pleaded.

Maybe in a few weeks, dear. I can’t promise ye anything for certain, ye understand?

Understand? Of course she understood. Mama would have to ask Papa, and of course he would never allow it. Poor Mama, she always had to obey Papa in everything. Well, Catherine sure didn’t have to obey.

Catherine smiled mischievously. I understand; now don’t ye worry about anything. I think I’ll go right to sleep now.

Martha bent and kissed her cheek. Goodnight honey, pleasant dreams.

As Martha made to leave, Catherine called out, Mama?

Yes, Catherine?

Are ye and Papa going to sleep in the wagon or under the stars?

Under the stars, darling, she whispered as she tiptoed out into the night.

All was quiet and peaceful at the campsite now. The men had all gone to bed over an hour ago, having discussed plans for the site of the missionary. The group would travel quite a distance closer to civilization before beginning construction on a clay and moss building. They decided that clay would be much more practical for heating purposes. There wasn’t much more to their plans, except that they were determined to save every soul in Louisiana. Tomorrow they would make an early start.

Everyone at the campsite lay peacefully asleep, everyone that is, except Catherine. She had lain awake for hours, tossing and turning fitfully upon the hard wagon floor. Finally, she could bear it no longer, so she made her way stealthily out of the campsite and crept into the woods.

‘Free at last!’ she thought. In her mind she knew all along that she would be going for that swim. Catherine walked on and on-- the moon glowing bright red in the sky above, lighting her path. Just for the fraction of a second did she contemplate the consequences of her flight, but she was soon lost in the ecstasy of the sight she beheld up ahead. The reflection of the moon against the water sent a myriad of colors dancing across the stream. The complete picture was set against the backdrop of a luminous star-filled sky.

Catherine’s breath caught in her throat, and she stood transfixed for several moments in which time and space stood still. Throwing her clothes roughly aside in her urgency to remove them, she plunged skillfully into the water. She swam back and forth doing the breaststroke, backstroke, and several fancy dives. The water was so refreshingly cool against her sun-parched skin. She swam and swam until her sides ached, and she laughed aloud at the wonderful heady feeling she was experiencing. Catherine decided to make one final dive, and so doing, she lunged forward. Rough hands seized and yanked her by the hair up out of the water.

Grandpa! she uttered through trembling lips.

Jerome Simmons, with his soak-drenched hair and beard, stared ferociously at his granddaughter.

Ye are an evil creature indeed! The sight of ye sickens and fills me with bile. ‘Twas the Lord’s voice that called and alerted me to follow. Clothe thy naked wantonness sinner, and repent before the gates of hell open up and devour ye!

Catherine hastily donned her clothes, biting down hard on her lips to fight back the tears and to steady her quivering limbs. She was terrified of her grandfather’s wrath and knew that severe punishment would be meted out ere long they reached the camp.

Jerome bade Catherine to walk ahead of him with downcast eyes. Whenever she slackened her pace, he would slap her none too lightly with a stick across the small curve of her back.

They were perhaps one thousand feet from their destination, when they heard the terrified screams and agonizing shouts that tore from the throats of the congregation.

Jerome and Catherine swiftly fled to the scene, the elder keeping a stronghold on his granddaughter, making sure to keep cover.

The vomit rose high in their throats as they watched their people being virtually slaughtered. Indians! Red savages-- with their faces painted so vividly that one could easily distinguish them, even in the moonlight. They were butchering and murdering everyone: men, women, and children alike!

Catherine began to cry out, but Jerome clasped his hand tightly across her mouth, stifling any sound whatsoever.

People were falling down dead upon each other. There was absolutely no hope for survival, as they had been taken so completely unawares. The blood-curdling screams and shouts that emitted from their throats were enough to make one’s heart miss a beat.

One woman attempted to flee with her small child in her arms, but was struck down with an arrow before making good her escape. The child in her arms wailed and was cruelly clubbed to death.

It lasted no longer than fifteen minutes at the most, and not one man out of thirty was left alive!

Two hours after the Indians had departed with the horses and confiscated anything else they considered of value, Catherine and Jerome came out of their hiding place.

Catherine broke loose from her grandfather and went in search of the only two people in this world she had ever loved: Mama and Nathaniel.

She sighted the two still forms wrapped in each other’s arms. Martha was lying face up with a grotesquely frightened look in her haunted, unseeing eyes. She had been brutally stabbed with a spear, which pierced her right through the heart. Lying almost atop of Martha was what remained of her son. Nathaniel was nothing more than a bloodied mess of disemboweled flesh: prime meat for the scavengers.

Putting her hand out and touching her mother, Catherine let out a terrified shriek as the warm, sticky fluid ran down her hands and splattered onto her dress. The feel of her own mother’s blood upon her sent waves of hysteria over her. She ran to and fro, screaming and crying in her torment.

Jerome Simmons was at this moment bending over the man who had been his beloved son. Joshua’s lifeless body lay sprawled in a grossly contorted position upon the ground. His fate had been far worse than the others, for he had been maliciously and unmercifully scalped. A single teardrop fell from Jerome’s eyes as he turned his back on this horrific sight.

He came upon his granddaughter, who was now retching pitifully beside the two inert figures. At the touch of another human being, Catherine’s hysteria started anew. Jerome shook her until her teeth rattled in her head, but still she continued with her incessant sobbing.

He finally proceeded to give her a resounding slap across the face. Cease with that infernal crying, Catherine. The Lord has seen fit to vent his wrath against our people; ‘tis God’s will.

For the first time in her young life, Catherine dared to question this man whom she so feared. Tis God’s will to strike down and kill good, innocent people? If this be true, then he must be a cruel and evil man!

Jerome’s face turned purple and the prominent vein in his temple bulged, as his hand shot out and slapped her across the mouth, causing her lip to bleed."

Nay, ‘tis ye that is the evil one. Ye have brought this destruction upon our people. The Lord has punished ye by killing those ye love. I be sure that ‘tis his desire to see ye suffer from this knowledge for the rest of your days.

With this last rebuke, he strode disgustedly away from her presence.

Catherine sat down on the hard earth and wept bitterly. Was it true? Had she in fact been the cause of all this tragedy?

Hours later, as the sun began to rise in the sky-- Catherine was pulled roughly onto her feet to stand erect before her tormentor.

Come, sinner, ‘tis time we be burying our dead.

Chapter I

The massive collection of underbrush spread itself conveniently over the outside of the cave, concealing it from the ordinary eye. The foliage had proven very helpful in securing this-- their haven against intruders.

Inside the small, dark dreary hole, two ragged figures sat hunched over their evening meal. Almost five long years had been spent within this dwelling-- years of loneliness and deprivation, and of course not to mention, unceasing prayer.

Catherine Simmons, hardly recognizable now because of her filthy, careworn appearance, couldn’t remember a time when she had enough food in her belly and decent clothes upon her back. The food she was about to consume was hardly fit for the rats, which scurried across the floor in regular intervals. Her clothes were naught but shreds of material, which she had managed to salvage from the wreckage and patch together.

Her thoughts were interrupted by her grandfather’s droning voice, Lord, we have so much to thank ye for. Ye have provided us with food and shelter to sustain us these past five years. We pray every day for the souls of our dear, departed brothers. Look after us, Lord, your humble servants.

After concluding his prayer, Jerome attacked his meager fare with animal relish. The sight of her grandfather, with long, lice-infested beard, shoving gross handfuls of meat into his mouth and then licking the greasy remnants from his fingers, sickened Catherine beyond control.

Jerome looked up and saw the look of revulsion upon her face.

Ye best eat your meal before the rats get it. ‘Tis no use turning your nose up at good food!

Seeing the stern set of his eyes, she complied. Jerome Simmons, as old and as ill of health as he had been of late, could still instill great fear and power over his granddaughter.

Jerome sat contentedly in thought. He was well pleased with the effects that this secluded life had upon Catherine. He had broken that willful spirit of hers as no one before him had been able. They both led a good, Christian life of constant prayer, and were protected from the evils which prevailed in the outside world.

Catherine managed to force the last mouthful of fetid meat down her throat. She then cleared a space in the far corner of the cave, the farthest away from her grandfather, and curled herself into a comfortable sitting position.

She was also thinking, but her thoughts were quite different from those of Jerome. What a wretched life she led-- better if she had been killed in that massacre of so long ago instead of living the virtual life of a recluse as was now her wont. At least if she had to be secluded, it should have been with someone that loved and understood her, not a nasty old man who delighted in his torment of her.

If it was humanly possible, she hated the man she called her grandfather even more than she had in the years past. Jerome sought to take away all the dignity and pride she possessed. He had reduced her to a sniveling coward, who bowed to his every command. She lived the life of a hermit in a hovel that was no better than a pigsty, with rats for her constant companions. She went to bed hungry every night, with her belly gnawing with pain. Her clothes hung in tatters from her lean body. But the worst degradation of all was that she was forbidden to bathe herself. Her once shining black hair, her crowning glory, now hung limp and knotted and was filled to capacity with lice, as was her body. Catherine hadn’t bathed in over four months, and the stench that emitted from her was so offensive that she herself felt nauseous and faint. When the smell became too unbearable, Jerome would permit her to bathe, but only for five minutes-- scarcely enough time to attend to any serious ablutions. What further added to her degradation was the fact that her grandfather stood over and watched as she bathed. Catherine as a child felt no shyness when it came to her own nudity, but Catherine the young woman was very much aware of her changing body.

So deep in thought was she that she hadn’t heard Jerome call out to her. He walked over and nudged her none too lightly on the shoulder.

I said ‘tis time for our nightly service, but ‘twill be shorter tonight as I not be feeling too well.

Jerome looked very ill indeed; in fact he had not been well since he contracted pneumonia this winter past. His face had an unearthly color about it-- pasty white like a corpse, and he had a terrible hacking cough, which shook his body in spasms. Catherine most of all disliked the fact that he was constantly spitting up blood in his phlegm.

Catherine obediently joined in the ceremony, which lasted two hours, and then she went to bed down for the night.

Her bed consisted of moss and leaves with a cloth thrown over it. She tiredly began to shrug out of her clothes and had just divested herself to the point where she was bare from the waist up, when she saw Jerome’s eyes upon her. His eyes shone brightly and his tongue passed over his upper lip. Catherine noticed that