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THOMAS WAS DETERMINED Constable Radley would nae give the lass trouble this last day. ‘Twas why he now waited outside her tent with a basket of dyed Easter eggs dangling at his side.
‘Twas why he was going to Holy Mass.
She stepped outside.
His tongue twisted in on itself.
Her hair was not plaited as usual but had been wound atop her head. The English dress swelled green over her chest, then flowed down around her hips. He had not understood why the lass had changed her mind about wearing the English clothes. He had certainly not expected her to wear them this morning.
Where had his voice gone?
“Would you prefer that I wait until tomorrow to wear this?” She half turned.
“No!” He lunged forward and grabbed her hand. “I am just surprised.” He smiled.
She did the same.
His fingers ached to release her hair from the prison atop her head. He would lose his hands in the curling madness. He would pull her close. He would slide his fingers to the scarf hovering over her breast.
It would not stay on.
His heart ramped to a dangerous pace.
“Are you alright?” She touched his arm.
He nearly fell apart. “Aye, Lass.”
“I thought if I wore this, ‘twould draw less attention.”
Not likely.
He coughed to clear the gravel from his throat.
She frowned. “Are you getting sick again?”
“No. I am fine. And I must say I am rather pleased with myself for coming so close to your size.”
He offered his left elbow. She curled her fingers into his arm. They started for the rise. Fingal jounced ahead of them.
“The pig smells good,” she smiled. “Has it roasted all night?”
“Aye. And ye womenfolk were surely busy yesterday with the baking.”
On the table in the tent were vegetable dishes with rich sauces, sliced and diced fruits of various sorts, and mounds of baked sweet treats.”
She shrugged. “I had no idea Easter here was celebrated with such extravagance.”
‘Twas not so, but Sarah and Colina had planned a surprise party for Elizabeth. Even Issy had kept quiet about their plans.
They reached the rise and turned left toward town.
“Have Monsieur Mackintosh and Sarah left?” she asked.
“They have taken the wagon. He dinna wish her to walk.”
“He is devoted to her,” Elizabeth whispered.
“Mac does not make friends easily. ‘Tis hard for him to open his heart, but when he does ye are there for life.”
“He is devoted to you as well.”
“Aye, and ‘tis annoying at times.”
“Do not say such things, Tomas. Many people would take an annoying friend over none at all.”
Properly chastised, he changed the subject. “Are ye sure ye wish to go this morning? Ye will have to see the others.”
“Father Bergier encourages anyone in town to attend Holy Mass, so there will be a crowd there. I will likely be gone before anyone notices me, and ‘twill give me a chance to go to confession. I also wish to see the children hunt the eggs. They have no pleasures these days, only sadness and fear.”
They passed through the foot gate on the northwestern edge of town. They eased around the eastern side of the hill which lofted St. Paul’s Episcopal Church upward to the sky. They traveled south on Calvert Street against the grain of traffic. Most churchgoers were headed to the established church.
The dilapidated and battered Fottrell House rose before them. They walked among a thin grouping of families. All of them were quiet, and none of them were Neutrals. They stepped into the yard. They had gone only a few paces when Elizabeth froze, her eyes on a young man standing against the trunk of a tree to their left. A cinnamon-colored pants, vest, and waistcoat fought with tawny-colored waves of hair that flipped about his forehead. He twirled a shepherd’s crook cane this way and that, back and forth.
He looked familiar. Thomas searched his mind for something to help him with a name, but he came up short.
The boy’s pouty mouth eased into a smile. Fine porcelain skin, better suited to a girl, stretched high cheekbones. “If it is not Elizabeth Marie Johns.”
“Monsieur Hardwin.” Her fingers dug into Thomas’ elbow with such force he was sure her knuckles would crack from the strain.
Hardwin stepped forward.
Fingal stepped in front of Elizabeth. A low snarl reared from the dog’s throat.
“Cu. Sguir dheth!” Thomas ordered.
The dog sat to his haunches and stifled the growl, but he refused to look away from the lad. Hardwin swept the tricorn from his head. He bent at the waist and brushed the hat’s brim across his feet. He stood, lifted the lass’ hand, and planted a kiss to her knuckles.
She reddened like fresh beets in spring. Thomas wanted to strangle the boy.
“We were all quite worried about you,” Hardwin said.
Elizabeth jerked her hand free.
Hardwin pointed his cane at the house. “Will you be coming back here to live?”
“No,” she said. “I have a job at The East and West. I start on the morrow.”
His mouth rounded. “And how did you come by that, my lady?”
Thomas had nae time for questioning by a man it was obvious Elizabeth disliked. He twisted his hand from her fingers and grabbed her elbow. “’Tis time to go if ye are to make a confession before Mass as ye wish.”
He pulled her against his side, turned, and stopped. The Acadian lass who was with child stood before them.
“Meggie,” Elizabeth whispered.
A little boy, younger than Issy and half her size, rushed Elizabeth. He threw his arms around her waist, pressed a smudged cheek against her green skirt, and cried in French “I have missed you!”
“Oh! Philippe!” Elizabeth bent down and wrapped the child in a tight hug. “And how has your cough been?”
He reared his head backward. “Better. But would be better still if you were here.”
Meggie yanked the boy backward.
The boy’s soiled fingers raked the air. “Are you coming back, Elizabeth?”
“You know she cannot.” Meggie tossed him into a crowd of children, flipped her fingers at the lot of them, and rattled such quick French that Thomas could not catch it all. He did, however, hear Elizabeth and no you cannot see her and she refuses to help us.
The children fought against tears. Not a few of the parents joined the scolding and whisked their children away.
The irritation fricked up Thomas’ spine. ‘Twas one thing for adults to turn against their own, but the children clearly adored Elizabeth.
Meggie turned back to her. “My brother is better.”
Elizabeth swept a glance at the house and the man with the red rag around his head.
“The kettle was your choice, Elizabeth. And he will wear the bandage forever.”
The kettle? Elizabeth’s choice?
She turned back to Meggie. “And have you told him the truth?”
“’Tis no matter now.”
“Elizabeth,” Hardwin laughed. “If those eggs are for the children, they will not accept them.”
Fingal again growled.
“And why would they nae accept a gift?” Thomas asked.
The boy’s face soured. “Elizabeth Johns is dead to these people.” He flipped the cane outward. “I offered to help, but she would not agree.”
A throat cleared to Thomas’ left. He turned to see his maither studying them all. “Is there a problem here?”
Hardwin swept his hat off his head and followed through with the same routine he had earlier, albeit with a bit less enthusiasm. He then explained, in what Thomas could only describe as a reedy voice, that the Acadians would not accept Elizabeth’s eggs.
“But the eggs are my gift.” Colina smiled.
“’Twill no matter, Madam. These people can be stubborn at times.”
His mother’s eyes narrowed.
She might flatten the boy before Thomas had the pleasure.
She turned to Elizabeth. “Tell her the eggs are my gift. Not yours.”
Elizabeth did so. Meggie’s face relaxed. She looked over her shoulder at her brother.
He may as well have been a stone statue.
“Elizabeth, tell her you do not have the means to have so many eggs.” His mother smiled. Honey may as well have been dripping from her mouth. “And that I am honored to help the children celebrate Easter in the hope it will ease their homesickness.”
Elizabeth again did so. Meggie turned and hurried to the man. By now, a number of children had gathered in the yard, their large hopeful eyes volleying between the eggs in the baskets, his mother and Elizabeth, and the Acadian gentleman. Under such pressure, he had little choice but to nod his assent, but he was not happy.
Meggie rushed back. “Merci, Madam.” She called to two other girls about her age. They whisked the baskets away and into the house, pressing children to the sides and scolding them. The only words Thomas caught were hunt and after Holy Mass.
Hardwin stepped around Thomas. He beamed at Elizabeth. “Remember, Miss Johns, if you find the work at The East and West too hard or not to your liking, my offer still stands.”
“My answer will not change, Monsieur Hardwin.”
The heat snarled into Thomas’ hands. He pushed her toward the line for confession. The yard was emptying, so it appeared Elizabeth would be the last penitent. Thomas looked over his shoulder. Hardwin stood where they had left him, his gaze riveted on Elizabeth.
“Thomas?” she whispered. “Are you going to confession?”
He turned back to her. “Nae. But I will nae leave ye out here with the likes of Hardwin either.”
A memory of a young lad surfaced. The boy had come to live with his uncle, Campbell Davis, several years ago after the death of his parents. Davis was schooling the boy and teaching him how to manage a plantation since he was to come into money of his own someday.
Try as he might, nothing more came to Thomas’ mind.
He leaned forward and pressed his lips to her ear. “What kind of help did he offer?”
“’Tis over and done with.”
Not likely.
“What was that about the kettle being your choice?”
“Survival, Thomas.” Acid leached into her dark eyes. “I told you before, I have been doing it for a long while now, and I am actually getting quite good at it.”
She turned back to the front. Thomas glanced over his shoulder
Hardwin was gone.
The heat fired up his spine. He had not wanted the boy bothering Elizabeth, but at the same time, he wanted to know where he was.
He scanned the yard to the right and left. He looked up and down the road. He turned in a circle. His gut spun into a thousand knots. Where had he gone?
Constable Radley.
His gut churned hard as an overwrought batch of butter. He hoped he was wrong, but he had fought enough battles to know the enemy’s next move.
That would certainly be it.