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ELIZABETH WAS HALFWAY down the aisle when movement outside the window caught her eye. Constable Radley stood beneath the tree with Matthew Hardwin.
Her after confession euphoria evaporated.
Thomas, on a bench to her right and halfway down the aisle, twisted. She made haste for him. At the end of the bench where he sat, she knelt to her right knee and signed herself with a cross.
Thomas pulled her onto the bench already full of McQueens and Mackintoshes.
The rest of Holy Mass was a blur. She stood when she needed. She kneeled in unison with the others. She repeated the prayers as best she could. She took Holy Communion.
But the minute Father Bergier left out of the side door, Thomas gripped her elbow, lifted her upward, and pointed to the door.
She understood. They were leaving. She would not see the children happy for even a few minutes.
Thomas tugged her through the crowd. In the hall, he turned right, hastened past the stairs, and pulled her through the back door.
To her left, the separate kitchen blurred. To her right, the dried and underworked garden did the same. They reached the back of the property, an empty lot yawning on the other side of the skinny dirt alley.
They were hailed from behind. Thomas let loose a string of curse words. They stopped and turned.
Hardwin and Radley came from the house. In the front yard, voices rose as people emptied the chapel and the house.
“I told you she was here,” Hardwin said. “And McQueen should probably be in the gaol for harboring a runaway Neutral.”
Radley shook his head. “As I said earlier, Mr. Mackintosh has spoken as her benefactor. I am not certain why I am even here this morning.”
“She is not with Mackintosh but with McQueen.”
“Monsieur Mackintosh is just inside.” The words strained through her teeth.
Thomas tightened his fingers on hers.
“Yes, Mr. Mackintosh is inside,” Hardwin agreed. “So he must now be a Catholic? Which means you cannot stay with him.”
“You are here,” she cried.
“Elizabeth,” Thomas whispered.
“Are you now Catholic, Monsieur Hardwin?” The angst shook her.
Thomas pressed his mouth against her ear. “Let me do the talking.”
She twisted her head. She rose to her toes and pressed her mouth to his ear. “But you are not doing so,” she hissed.
“I have been given no chance.”
The words stung. Water teased the back of her eyes. She blinked it away. She tried to pull her fingers free, but he squeezed his hand around hers.
Wheels, crushing into the dirt road, could be heard coming their way.
“Miss Johns is right, Hardwin,” Radley said. “You are here at a Catholic Mass, and ‘tis not the first time.”
“I have never partaken of these Papist sacraments. I come to Mass occasionally as a sign of my fidelity to their heritage.”
“And your uncle?”
“He is Catholic and their benefactor, but the authorities have allowed that. They have also stated that this is to be their home while they are here.”
“They are not forced to be here,” Radley countered. “There are a few working at Kaminsky’s Tavern and living there, and still others by the wharf. The important thing is that they are accounted for and that they work.”
Hardwin gripped the agitation into the cane leveled at his side. “And she cannot be accounted for if she is with McQueen.” He stuttered. “Or Mr. Mackintosh.”
The watery fear slammed against the back of her eyes.
Thomas stepped in front of her. “Stifle the tears. They will nae help.”
How could she do so when her hand and self may be torn from him any minute? When she might be thrust into the very place she
had run from two months past?
To her left Mac halted the horse and wagon. He lifted his tricorn. “Gentleman,” he smiled. “Why are ye all here? The egg hunt is in the front yard.” Then, his smile flattened. “Or mayhap ye are on
a different sort of hunt?”
Sarah grabbed Mac’s arm. She bowed forward. Was she not feeling well?
“Mr. Mackintosh.” Radley lifted his hand to the wagon’s edge. “I agreed to let you speak for Miss Johns, but here you are at a Papist church this very morning.”
“I escorted my wife. She wished to worship the Lord this fine Easter in church, but as she is very much with child and at times not feeling well, I dinna wish her to come without me.”
Sarah closed her eyes. Her fingers ground into Mac’s arm.
Elizabeth lifted to her toes and pressed herself toward Thomas’ ear. “Sarah is not feeling well.”
“In a minute,” he mouthed.
In a minute? The woman was with child. She could be going into her birthing, and Thomas wanted to wait?
And why was Mac so calm? Usually, any sort of discomfort in Sarah brought out the worst in the man.
Elizabeth jerked her hand from his. He frowned.
“And Mr. Mackintosh,” Radley continued, “I thought you said by the end of this week Miss Johns would be back here at the Fottrell House.”
“I did say that, but I found her a job instead.”
Thomas cleared his throat and stared at the man.
“Or rather, Thomas did. She begins work tomorrow at The East and West. She will be staying there as well.”
Radley turned a frown at Hardwin. “Were you aware of this?”
“Yes, but an accounting is to be made of all Acadians, and she will need to stay here in the evenings where it is safe.”
On the other side of the house, children’s voices erupted in squeals of laughter as the egg hunt started.
“And Elizabeth.” Hardwin swept dainty fingers across his chest. Lace cuffs chased his hands. “Have you forgotten that there are things about your past that are best hidden?”
The blood pounded into her throat.
A deep frown wrinkled Thomas’ forehead. His eyes pierced her.
He cannot know what awaits me here if I come back.
The man would never leave, and he obviously had important things to do.
“Elizabeth,” Sarah gasped. “Please?”
Thomas glanced at Sarah, then turned to Radley. “Are we free to go?”
“Aye. I have no reason to keep you.”
Hardwin swore.
Thomas tugged Elizabeth to the back of the wagon. He yanked the back end down and hoisted Elizabeth upward.
She scrambled to Sarah. Thomas came after her, his heavy feet swaying the wagon right and left.
“Please,” Sarah gasped. “I need to lie down.”
Thomas hoisted Sarah upward. Elizabeth helped the woman lay in the wagon bed. She cradled Sarah’s head in her lap. Thomas scrambled over the seat and sat beside Mac.
Sarah gasped and clutched at her belly. The words squeezed through her teeth. “Pains. Like last time.”
Elizabeth lifted her head to tell the men to hurry and go but instead found herself face to face with Hardwin standing at the edge of the wagon and peering in.
“Miss Johns, you should be here. Your own people have no one to tend them in their infirmities, but these people have Madam McQueen or even Midwife Baine.”
A fresh wave of tears breached her eyes. Why would he not leave her be? Was he determined to get her back here so he could continue his pursuit of her? “If they will not accept my eggs, they will not accept my help. And that is entirely your fault.” She hated the shake to her voice.
Monsieur McIntosh hied the horses forward. From the house, Fingal raced toward them and leaped to the wagon bed which Thomas had left down. Mac steered the wagon through town, the wheels kicking up a cloud of dust, Sarah wincing at every jolt and judder.
Finally, outside the town fencing, the wagon slowed. Mac’s laugh split the air. “Sarah, ye did a fine job, but nae one is watching now.”
“Elizabeth,” Sarah gasped. “You best tell him.”
“Tell me what?”
Elizabeth locked eyes with Thomas. He reached for Mac’s shoulder and squeezed. “I am afraid she is not faking this, Mac.”
Mac’s face filled with fear. He spun to the front, slapped the reins, and tore off in the direction of camp.
––––––––
THOMAS’ PLANS FOR A perfect last day with Elizabeth were unraveling at an alarming rate.
He readjusted the coals below the roasted pig to disperse the heat, enough to keep the pig warm but to no longer cook the beast.
“Now remember,” Issy said in his ear. “Be sure to keep Elizabeth from the large tent when she comes back from tending Sarah.”
“I know.” He took the wicker basket from her hand. He repeated his orders. “Keep her in the lupine field until Hannah appears on the rise. Then we come back, and when we step into camp everyone will yell surprise.”
“Oh!” the child squealed. She stomped her feet. She wiggled with delight. “This will be so much fun. She will be so surprised.” She hugged Thomas’ neck, but he knew it was not because she was full of love. ‘Twas because she could hardly keep the secret to herself.
He set the basket to the side. Fingal pawed it, then lay his snout to the ground.
Thomas stood and turned to Mac. The man had taken Sarah to their tent upon their arrival from the Fottrell House and had then set to pacing. He had gone around the pig. Behind the pig. To either side of the pig.
And still, his legs had not tired.
Thomas’ agitation had not either. He was grateful the man had agreed to rescue Elizabeth from the clutches of Radley and Hardwin. In fact, his enthusiasm had surprised Thomas. So why did he continue to refuse to help her?
And what had happened between Hardwin and Elizabeth? Elizabeth did not just dislike the boy. She was afraid of him. And worse, the boy could easily find her at the tavern and Thomas would nae be around to discourage him, especially as she was so prone to think with her heart and not her head.
Mac froze.
Thomas turned to see Elizabeth had stopped just shy of both men. “She is better. The pains have eased.”
“Is the baby coming?” Mac asked.
“In a few weeks, oui. Right this minute? Non.”
Mac’s eyes churned with relief and dread.
“This is not an uncommon occurrence in some women.” Elizabeth adopted the same, soothing voice Thomas had heard his maither use to calm fears. “In fact, Sarah told me she had these
same pangs with her first.”
The man’s eyes flooded with fear.
“That does not mean this birth will be like her other.”
“If ye had been there, would ye know if it would be the same?”
“No.”
“’Tis what Colina said.”
“What did Midwife Baine say?”
“Nothing.” Mac’s lips flattened with the disgust. “She insisted, as Sarah was no longer her patient, she had no reason to remember anything that happened in her birthing. Can I see her?”
“Just keep her on her side a while longer, and then let her sit up and move gradually. ‘Twill be less likely to bring the pains again. She can be brought to the table for dinner if she feels up to it.”
Mac scattered a quick glance at Thomas. “I am sure she will nae miss that.” He turned and made his way through the trees.
Thomas’ gut cricked tight. “I dinna know what he will do if he loses her. He may well go mad.” He turned to her. “And if ye are keeping anything from him, ‘twill be harder in the end.”
“I am not, and why would you think so?”
“Because ye think with your heart, Elizabeth. Sometimes that is fine, other times ‘tis not. Back there with Hardwin and Radley ye needed to be in control. Hardwin was on the offensive, and the only way to get that advantage back from him was to remain calm and speak as little as possible.”
“And you were not speaking at all.”
“I was choosing my words carefully.”
Before the tent, Issy was dancing and pointing at Elizabeth’s back.
Thomas would never get the lass to go with him if he kept baiting her like this. Neither would he get his point across, and ‘twas of the utmost importance that he did, especially since she would shortly be on her own.
“Did we not promise my maither we would get some flowers for the table?” he asked.
She sighed. “We did. Although why she set me to the task I know not.”
“None of them wished ye to work your last day here.”
Now Hannah stood alongside Issy, her arms crossed, her chin dipped in that you better get busy tone. Thomas was glad the woman was marrying his brother and had not set her sights on him. He grabbed the basket and then, for some reason he knew not, he dared to weave his fingers through hers. Even more surprising, she did not resist.
He led her across camp. Fingal darted ahead, ran back, and then did so again and again. They entered into thicker trees. Oaks and maples arched overhead. The chilly shade cooled Thomas’ brow but not the heat simmering along his arm as it rubbed hers. He still could not understand why simply touching her set him on fire. He had loved Catharine, but even with her, his body had not reacted of its own accord.
They stopped at the top of the small rise. A breeze brushed them, then cantered right to swing along the tree line and toward the creek. In the middling meadow before them, sundial lupines, their blue pea size petals spearing the sky, swayed like a colorful choir before the ruins of his grandparents’ home.
Elizabeth’s eyes feasted left and right. “’Tis like the meadows back home,” she whispered. She closed her eyes. A deep breath threaded into her nose. “I can almost smell the salt water.”
She pulled her hand from his and raced out of the trees and down the rise. Fingal joined her, his barks weaving between and around the lass’ laughter.
Then, she lurched into the lupine patch.
The fear spun up his legs. “Elizabeth!”
She stretched her arms out and twirled like a twister.
He hurled himself down the hill.
Lupines tips brushed her chest.
He lunged into the patch. He had left his rifle in camp. A knife was not likely to work well if needed.
He shoved his left arm beneath her knees. He threw his other arm around her back and hoisted her against his chest. He waited for anything to slither past his feet. He would rather take the bite than her.
The only thing he felt was Fingal’s tail beating his knees.
“What are you doing?” Her eyes widened. “And you are frightened. Your arms are shaking.”
He turned back in the direction he had come. He had nae wish to stay in the middle of such deadly beauty any longer than necessary.
“Ye scared me clear to my bones, Lass.” He hated the shake to his voice. “Did ye run into lupine patches at home? Or any patches such as this?”
“All the time.”
She had?
Fingal barked at something before them. Thomas froze. He scanned the bent and harassed lupines she and he had torn past.
“Lass, here we have snakes. Look.”
Something slithered to their right.
“Do ye not have snakes at home?”
“Oui, but they do not hurt us.” Her head fell to his shoulder. “I just so wished for a small moment to feel as if I were home. Now, even that has been taken from me.”
Thomas would have done anything in that moment to grant her wish. But he could not, and word was the Acadians were never to return.
He did not, however, tell her that. He was not sure since she was part English, and her father was a surgeon, what such a ruling would mean to her.
He called Fingal back. The last thing he needed to do that day was save the dog from a bite. He started back to the edge of the field, being sure to track the path he had just come. The snakes were less likely to be there as all the rustle would have sent them scurrying.
He reached the spot where he had thrown the basket aside. He set her to her feet, plucked the basket upward, and handed it to her. He pointed at the bend in the creek. “Just that way is a den of rattlers. The first week we were here, when the weather warmed so, the men drove the snakes out and killed as many as they could. Even then, too many get away. They hide in logs and fields. Anywhere they can.”
“So how am I to clip the flowers and avoid them?”
“By staying on the edge and near me. Fingal is not likely to let one near ye either.”
Her face relaxed. She turned to the lupines. She pulled a pair of shears from her apron. She passed over several flowers, then chose one. She clipped the base and set the whole of it into the basket. She did the same with another. And another. They worked their way along the line. Some she chose. Others she passed over.
Then, she gasped.
“What?” He gripped the knife handle at his waist and crouched.
“It has eggs. See?” She lifted a leaf upward. “If we take this one, they will not become the butterflies they are meant to be.” She stepped to the next flower. “I will have to be more careful.”
Her sweet nature, combined with her lack of knowledge about life here, mined a cavern in his stomach. What would happen to her when he was gone? Who could she trust until her father came? What if she trusted the wrong person?
Or, dear God in heaven, the wrong man?
“Lass, ye are too tender-hearted for yer ain good.”
“How can a person be too tender-hearted?”
“’Tis what I tried to tell ye back in camp about Hardwin. The boy was twisting ye this way and that, and ye were going from mad to upset. I have fought too many battles—”
“Tomas, I am sorry for not knowing about the snakes.” She lay a flower into the basket atop the others. “But this morning at the Fottrell House we were in no battle. There were no swords drawn. No rifles at the ready.”
“Were there not? That bit about the Fottrell House being your home, and later about the Neutrals needing your help. Those were weapons. The man laid a gauntlet before ye as clear as any I have seen, and ye teared up and lost control of yourself and gave Hardwin the upper hand. ‘Tis a wonder Radley dinna toss ye onto Matthew’s lap to be rid of ye.”
“Is that how you have seen me all this time? Something to be rid of?”
“You know that I do not see you that way. And for the record, your tears dinna bother me.” He grabbed a lupine and pulled the leaves upward. ‘Twas best to get the flowers and head back up. Surely, Hannah would shortly be on the rise. “I have an older sister that lives in Calvert County, and goodness, we know how emotional Issy is.” He smiled.
She did not return one.
He pulled the shears from her hand and clipped the stem. “Having the heart of a warrior is not enough, Lass.” He added the lupine to the basket with the others. “Ye need to strategize. Your reactions must count for something.”
She drilled a steady gaze into his face.
“What offer did Matthew make?”
She turned back to the lupines. “A marriage.”
“A what?”
She opened her mouth.
Thomas cut her off with a wave of his hand. “I heard it the first time. And if that is the case, he will not give up easily. What did he mean by trying to make it right with such an offer?” She pulled the lupine by the stem. He clipped it.
“’Tis not important, Thomas.”
“And what drove ye from the Fottrell House? What does a kettle have to do with it?”
She put the lupine in the basket, then took the shears back. “Is this your strategy?” She poked the shear’s end at his chest. “Get me upset so the information will rush from my mouth?” The speculation hardened her face. “And if I do tell you, will you tell me what it is that you go to the Indian towns to do? Do you go to your death as Monsieur Mackintosh believes?”
He searched her eyes for the usual drop of moisture.
Nothing.
By God’s teeth! She was a quick learner. “’Tis not a fair trade, for I go to a very different future from the life I have had.” Really, to no life at all.
“And my life has not been changed?”
He grabbed her forearm. “Do not forget, Lass, ye are not the only one whose life was taken by this war.”
She eyed his taut fingers. Her right brow stole upward. “More strategy?”
“I need to know if Hardwin is a threat to ye after I am gone.”
“What if he is? You will not be here to help.”
“I have reasons for that.”
“Then tell me what they are.”
“I canna.”
She tilted her chin upward. “And I will find a way to handle Matthew on my own. I did before.”
His gut turned to ice. “Ye canna run.”
Her eyes flashed. “Do not tell me what I can or cannot do.” She jerked her arm free.
“If Radley does nae get ye, the Indians will.”
“I have enough flowers.” She tossed the shears into the basket, whirled around, and scrambled up the rise.
He lifted his gaze upward. No sign of Hannah. That meant they were not yet ready for Elizabeth to come back to camp.
Ach! He could not let her go. The others would have his head.
He lunged upward and grabbed at her sides. His hands slipped to her hips. He grabbed handfuls of green fabric. Fingal barked, then lifted his front paws to her chest and drove her backward.
Her feet slipped. The basket flew from her fingers. Her back crashed against Thomas’ chest.
His feet scrambled for traction. They tangled with hers. He yanked her against him to break her fall. Lupines rained down and around them.
His back slammed into the ground. Air pressed from his lungs. His head, lower than his feet, dizzied. Atop him, the lass’ fingers clutched at his hands. Her back rose and fell against his gut.
He opened his eyes. A lupine tip dangled over his forehead. Somewhere nearby, Fingal whined.
Elizabeth twisted atop him. A laugh burst from her throat.
“Oh, ye laugh?” he cried playfully. “I brace your fall and risk breaking every bone in my body, but all ye can do is laugh?”
She crooked her right arm atop his chest. Her left hand she lifted. She pulled the teetering lupine from his head. “’Tis not that pretty on you.”
Thomas grabbed it from her. “Maybe not, but it is awful good for tickling.” He brushed her chin. He wiggled it atop her forehead. He stabbed it against her neck.
Her rising laughter was infectious.
He tossed the lupine aside. He plowed his fingers into her waist, this way and that, in and out, like ten wiggly caterpillars. The lass gasped for air and begged him to stop, each giggle bubbling louder than the last.
When she could nary find a breath, Thomas wrapped his arms around her waist and rolled her onto her back. She sank into the soft grasses. He eased his body atop hers.
A rustle of wind carried the giddiness, his and hers, into the lupines and beyond.