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HAD IT NOT BEEN FOR a thousand eyes watching from nooks and crannies all over camp, Thomas would have snatched the lass from Mac’s arms.
Ach! He had to get her out of his mind long enough to bargain with Alex. He had little doubt he could convince the man to hire her, ‘twas the getting to it that was going to be so hard.
He turned south onto Calvert Street. Being Sunday, the town lacked the bustle and noise of weekdays. Still, a few men lifted their tricorns in greeting. A few women gifted him with smiles.
Most turned aside.
He passed a dirt alley to his left and was then abreast of the small caretaker’s cottage belonging to Alex’s tavern, The East and West. A large garden rambled beyond the cottage. At the back of the kitchen, smoke puffed from an overly large chimney. The air hung heavy with the smell of doughy pastries and grilling meats. Cutlery and dishes clattered. Voices lifted and fell, some methodical and work-related, others strident and stressed. He passed a large open area with wooden tables, an outdoor fire pit, and a small stage. At times, when the weather was warmer, the space was used for outdoor eating or even rented for parties. Today, being Sunday, ‘twas empty.
He turned left onto Water Street. The fog muffled the sounds of the wharves. To his left, four large windows with glossy black shutters flanked the front of the tavern. Fresh white paint on planked siding gleamed in the afternoon sun. The front door, now a fresh apple red instead of the mottled green of years past, stood open.
Alex West must be doing really well to afford such upkeep.
Thomas stepped inside. A staircase lifted before him. A dish crashed to the floor in the room to his left. Around him, voices rose and fell in arguments and debates.
“Thomas!” Hannah raced toward him from the right dining room. Her cheeks and nose glistened with sweat. Black tendrils, so different from Catharine’s golden hair, twisted from beneath her mobcap.
She shoved a stack of dirty plates at him with more force in her thin arms than he would have thought possible. He very nearly upended them before gaining a hold.
“’Tis good to see you.” Her generous smile burst from ear to ear. She lifted the scarf above her neckline and pressed it to her neck and face. “This infernal fog is maddening. And I do hope you are here to talk to Papa about hiring Elizabeth.” She lowered the scarf. “If he does not do so, I swear I will elope with your brother.”
In that moment Thomas believed she might, despite the fact she had always wished her wedding to be a grand event. She had even chided Catharine for such a small affair.
“Miss West!” A voice hailed her from the room. “My tea?”
“’Tis coming,” she barked over her shoulder. “Papa is in the kitchen.” She turned down the hallway and made her way past the staircase.
Thomas had little choice but to follow, the dishes clattering in his hands.
The woman stepped through the back door and onto the porch, but then danced to the side. “Oh, Papa!” she swore. “’Tis bad enough I am working my fingers to the bone, but to have you nearly break my foot?”
“Girl, I am sorry, but we are all doing the best we can.” Alex West sported a lavender apron around his waist. Age freckled fingers held a dainty, rose decorated tea kettle. A laugh burst from Thomas’ throat. Never, in all his years of coming here, had he seen the man help serve anything, and certainly not tea.
He eyed Thomas. A frown as deep as Little Pipe Creek after a spring freshet flooded the man’s white-bearded jaw. “I suppose you are here to see me.”
Thomas’ laughter died.
“He has a proposal for you.” Hannah grabbed the dishes from Thomas. “And Papa? I strongly suggest you take his offer before I take matters into my own hands.”
The man swerved his gaze from Thomas back to her. “If this is about the wedding being moved up—”
“It is, and I will marry William in two weeks either here or at their camp.” She lifted her chin and looked past the man.
A tall, angular woman with bird like arms that warred with an overripe bosom slithered toward them from the kitchen.
“Madame Swain,” Hannah called.
Snake-like eyes licked Hannah up and down. The girl seemed to nae notice the insolence.
Or perhaps she simply did not care.
“You will take Papa’s kettle,” Hannah said. “Mr. Darby must needs be served tea first. He has been waiting. Papa has business with this gentleman.”
The woman prickled. “Miss. I do not serve customers.”
“Neither do I, but I have been doing so and for far too long, and I have been working in the kitchen which I am also not supposed to do.” She tossed her father a vexed glare.
West turned a charming smile on the older woman. “If you would do this for now, ‘twould help me out.”
Her face softened. She reached for the kettle. “If it pleases Mr. West then, by all means, I will oblige.” Her fingers lingered atop his longer than necessary. She went into the tavern.
Hannah’s face puckered. “I am telling you again, Papa, that before I leave here you need to get rid of her.”
“Oh, Hannah,” he swore. “I cannot do so right now. I am short staffed as is. Besides, she is a good cook.”
“She does not do the cooking. How many times have I told you Madame Smith is the genius behind all these new entrees and tastes?”
“Well, then she keeps things running.”
“Madame Smith could do the same.”
“Enough, Hannah.”
Thomas cleared his throat.
West swiveled a hard look his way.
“If this is a bad time, sir, I can come back later.”
“You will not,” Hannah said. “Almost everyone has been served and it is about to slow down. Papa will take you to his office.”
Hannah stepped from the porch and fled for the separate kitchen.
A groan worked loose of West’s gut. He sped past Thomas in the opposite direction of his daughter. “If this is about the wedding, I already told William earlier I could not move it up by several weeks.” He grabbed a porch post and stopped. He turned to Thomas. “And he should have known that sending you would not improve my mood in that regard.” He pushed his neck forward. “As a matter of fact, it might make me less inclined to find a way to make my daughter happy.”
Thomas’ hand came up. “I am not here about the wedding.” Although William had been right. Elizabeth’s need might well be Alex West’s salvation.
“Hmph.” West slapped the post. He resumed his wicked pace. He pounced down the steps and turned. “Stories are being told about you. The general idea is that you are grieving Catharine’s death and seeking revenge.”
Thomas eased his way to the ground. “I was. I am no longer.” The sun oozed through the fog. Wisps lifted and thinned around them. “I will be leaving, Alex. You will nae see me again after the wedding.”
The man’s eyes narrowed. He stepped to the door of a smallish building. A single dormer window rested to the roof, and the white siding, like the tavern, boasted fresh paint.
“I know of the fuddled raid last fall.” West stepped inside.
Thomas followed.
West spun around to him. He lowered his voice. “I know Iron Gun has a price on your head. You are wise to leave, and I will not lie to you. Everyone around here will breathe a sigh of relief when you are gone.”
A cold, weighty feeling sank into Thomas’ belly. How had he gone from being a hero to someone they all feared? ‘Twas not fair that one mixed up raid could taint a man’s whole life.
And at the time he cared not.
Now that he was back, however, he did care. Was it because of Elizabeth?
The thought jarred him. The lass had definitely gotten under his skin. And because of her, his need to leave was more acute than ever. He could do nothing but hurt her in the end as he had Catharine.
“Thomas? You are not listening.”
West stood behind his desk. He had opened a window to Thomas’ right and another on the opposite wall. He lifted his hand outward to the chair, then sank into his own.
Thomas sat. “I am sorry for all of it.” Thomas choked. “I still miss her, Alex. I miss them both.”
But not as much as before. When had that happened? ‘Twas not the raid at Iron Gun’s, which was odd since he had warred for two years hoping the pain would ease.
Was it Elizabeth? Was she causing Thomas to forget enough he could move on? Or, God forbid, to heal?
And now, when it was too late?
West raked his hand down his face and neck. “I am sorry for blaming you.” The man’s face quivered. “Catharine made her choice. I could not have told her to do otherwise.” He rolled his eyes upward. “Just as I have little control over Hannah.” He lowered his gaze back to Thomas. “She loved you, and she would have followed you to the ends of the earth.”
Thomas grabbed onto the chair’s handles and squeezed till his knuckles ached. She had loved him. She had followed him.
And Thomas was as surely responsible for her death as anyone.
Alex eased back into his chair. “You blame yourself, and you should not. You have done nothing more than most men who dream big dreams.”
“Nothing you can say will change the fact that I was a day late getting to her.”
“You cannot control the weather.”
“And if I had stayed closer to Fearnought Farms, she might still be alive. William said you agreed to let Hannah marry him, but only if he dinna move farther west.”
“Circumstances are different today than they were four years ago when you and Catharine married. The border was a lot less troublesome then.” A heavy sigh lifted his chest. “Besides, you do not know that she would still be with us. Life is too uncertain for that.”
But at least she would not have died in such a horrible, terrifying way.
He had to push Catharine aside and focus on Elizabeth. “I have a favor to ask.”
“Is this what Hannah was referring to?”
“Aye.” He explained about arriving at Fearnought Farms and about finding Elizabeth there and alone. He told of her fear of the Fottrell House and Father Bergier’s insistence she would not be welcome among her people.
“She needs a job and a place to stay. I have been all over town and beyond, but no one will hire her.”
“I am not surprised. Sympathy is in short supply. People do not wish to help the Neutrals. And they fear you.” He steadied a gaze into Thomas’ face. “They fear what you could bring.”
“But I am leaving. Will ye help her?”
And help me.
“I need more help for Hannah will soon be gone.” He shook his head. “But to hire a French Neutral? And provide a room?”
“Her situation is funnier than the others. She is only half Acadian. Her father is a surgeon with the British army.”
West’s graying brows lifted.
“He is stationed at Fort Oswego. Running Feather is on his way there now with a letter to him from her. He will be coming for her shortly.”
“So it would only be temporary?”
Thomas stood. He paced to the front window. “Aye. She has an accent, but her English is quite good, and at first glance, she does not look all that French.” Outside, the fog had thinned. “She can read and write, and she knows some doctoring and healing. She is even good with herbs.” He turned to the man. “If ye dinna hire her, then the authorities will force ye to offer some sort of aid when the bill goes through the legislature the next week or two. This way, ye can at least choose whom ye help.”
“Her help with the herb garden and doctoring would be quite useful while she is here. Widow Baine continues to raise her prices, and your mother is never here enough to offer me help with my workers on a regular basis.”
“And think of Hannah.” Thomas smiled. “That wedding could be had here and not at camp.”
A dangerous look cut from the man’s eyes. “That is not a selling point, Thomas.” He rolled his gaze upward. “Although, I am kidding myself. The girl is likely to just run off and marry the man as she has threatened. I have put her off far too long already. Your brother must really love her to have waited this long.”
“He does.” Thomas lifted a finger and smiled. “And you would not have to wear any more lavender aprons.”
West frowned. He jerked to his feet and yanked the apron free. He tossed it to the desk and made his way to Thomas. He leaned forward as if telling a dirty secret. “Do you know, yesterday ‘twas pink with ruffles.” He laughed. “At least ‘twas good for business.” Then, his smile flattened. “Alright. She will have to work in the kitchen at first, but if she has healing powers as you say, and if she knows how to refresh my herb garden, then once I hire more help after Hannah’s wedding, I will move her there.”
They worked out her pay, then both men looked in at the caretaker’s cottage. A small white building with a fireplace and cross windows for ventilation, it would be perfect for the short time Elizabeth was here.
“Normally my gardener stays here, but he has a house of his own in town. Oh, and one other thing,” West said. “You said she was half English?”
“Aye.”
“I want no trouble with anyone thinking she is a French Neutral, so see she wears English clothes.”
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THOMAS TOOK HIS TIME going back to camp.
He twirled and worked his head for new arguments in favor of her wearing the English clothes.
Nothing came to mind.
He arrived back at camp to find the lass’ tent empty.
“She is in the large tent dying eggs with Sarah.” Colina came toward him. “’Twill please the children and the parents, for they have little money to buy extra eggs for such frivolity.”
No doubt.
He nodded and stepped around her. Fingers lit on his arm. He stopped.
“Did Alex agree?”
“I will speak with Elizabeth first.”
Her hand squeezed his arm. “I wish I could keep her with me, Thomas. She would be an enormous help. She knows quite a bit about herbs and healing, and she is sweet natured and good with people. More and more families move toward the farm all the time, and if the war eases ‘twill be that many more. The workload could get quite unbearable.”
“Ye know they will never allow her to stay with ye.”
“I know. And neither Sarah nor I can get Mac to budge.”
Thomas had nothing to say, as he still understood not why the man would nae help.
Outside the large tent, Fingal lifted his head, stood, and came toward Thomas. He scratched the dog’s head, then stepped inside.
Elizabeth and Sarah stood the other side of the long table. Their hands gripped spoons with wobbling eggs. They leaned their heads toward each other. Soft Giggles passed between them.
Thomas cleared his throat.
Sarah’s smile vanished. Elizabeth’s face drained of blood. Her egg wobbled off the spoon and fell to the table with a crack.
“Oh, pitié de moi,” she cried. Oh, mercy me.
“’Tis alright,” Sarah crooned. “We have plenty.” She rolled her egg to the cloth and set her spoon to the table. She unpinned her apron and set it to the table.
Thomas’ eyes fell on the woman’s belly. She had grown yet larger this past week.
“I am feeling tired, Elizabeth. I think I will take that nap now.”
The lass gave a quick nod. Had she lost her voice?
Sarah waddled around the table. She pressed her fingers into Thomas’ arm, then left.
The thick warm air sucked his lungs dry.
Elizabeth pulled another egg from the pot. ‘Twas red as blood. Weak steam fogged upward. She rolled the egg off the spoon and to the rag. “Did you find me anything?”
“Aye. A job and a place to stay.”
She let go of the spoon and flattened her fingers to the table. A raspy breath escaped her lungs. “I thought for sure you were going to say you had not.”
He swallowed. She may well wish so before he was done. “Ye may not like the terms.”
Her right brow lifted.
“Alex West at the tavern has agreed to take ye on. At first, ‘twill be in the kitchen, but after Hannah is married and he hires more help, he may move you to the herb garden and to doctoring his people.”
“My lodgings?”
“A caretaker’s cottage behind the kitchen that is not being used.” He reached for the spoon left by Sarah.
“Is he a nice man?”
“Aye. He runs a fine establishment. He allows no drunkenness. He is Hannah’s father and . . .” He swallowed hard, then shoved the spoon into the pot and beneath an egg. “He was Catharine’s father as well.”
She gasped. “So he is your father-in-law?”
“Was. Ye will be safe there.” He lifted the egg upward and set it to the rag.
She lifted another as well. “’Tis almost too good to be true.” She rolled it alongside the other red ones. “So what will I not like?”
He winced. He set the spoon aside. “The thing is, well, you see . . .”
“Does he wish an indenture to be signed?”
“Nae.”
“Then what else could possibly be a problem?”
It took all his willpower to lift his gaze to her. “Ye got the job because ye were half-English. I assured him that ye could pass as such. He has nae wish to hire Acadians even though the authorities will know ye are there.”
“Alright.”
“Lass, ye are quite beautiful in those clothes.” And she was. Dark curls waved to him beneath the lacy triangular cap. The flaps lifted atop her ears. Her bright red vest was surely the envy of every cardinal in the forest, and the green striped skirt desired by every Highland faerie lost in the woods of North America.
“Alex insists ye wear English clothes.”
There. He said it.
She bit her lip. Her lashes fluttered quick and hard.
Ach! He had nae desire to go over every argument again. He was tired of searching. He was tired of trying to talk sense into her.
He was tired of trying to see she was taken care of so he could leave in peace.
“I canna find ye anything else, Elizabeth.” He winced. He groused his hand into the back of his neck. “Ye work for Alex, or ye go back to the Fottrell House, or ye—”
“I will wear them.”
His heart stopped. “All this time ye have said no.”
She rolled her lips inward.
He had a feeling this was about more than the clothes. “Does this mean ye nae longer hate the British in your blood?”
“Non, Tomas. I still hate the British in me.” The pain wracked her face. “’Tis just that now, I hate the French as well.”
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DESPITE THE WAR RAGING in Elizabeth’s blood, she longed for home. As Holy Week wore on memories of past Easters bombarded and tortured her.
The Palm Sunday processions. The mournful chanting of the Stabat Mater, the Sorrowful Mother, amid the prayers of the Stations of the Cross.
The stripping of the altars on Holy Thursdays and the reminder of the time in the world before Jesus had been.
The long prayers of Good Fridays, so annoying before, now she would have listened to the rising and falling of the priest’s voice over and over again.
Nothing eased her suffering. Not dying the eggs for the children. Not working in the kitchen alongside Colina and Sarah and Issy. Not praying in the tented chapel.
Each night at dinner she ate little. She pushed the food around her plate much. While they were fasting during this last week of Lent, one large meal a day with no meat and a small snack in the evening if needed, Thomas accused her of taking mortification to a new level. He insisted she, after being sick and having not regained her weight, could eat more. Colina had agreed.
But, Elizabeth could not. What she did eat felt like rocks in her stomach.
And more than once Mac winked and mouthed the words my offer still stands.
He did not understand. Her reticence had nothing to do with wearing the English clothes and going to Alex West’s on Monday morning and everything to do with who she was or was not. Nor could she find the passion needed to argue with him. Instead, she had turned and walked away.
That was when she knew it had finally happened. She had, indeed, lost Elizabeth Marie Johns.
And if her father did not come soon, as he had after her mother died, she would not be able to make her way back to herself.
Indeed, it might already be too late.