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COOK SMITH HAD REQUESTED rosemary for the beef stew. She did not say ‘twould be so hard to find.
A warm breeze passed through the open windows of the herb house. Elizabeth studied the worn, black drawers that crawled up the back wall. She read labels in metal-framed plates. She pulled out drawers.
Finally, she found the rosemary in a drawer on the far left side. She grabbed a small burlap bag from the counter and shook out dust that fogged the sunbeam from the window. She pulled out a handful of the needles, filled the bag, and wound and tied a string at the top.
She turned to the door.
Surely not. She blinked.
Meggie was still there.
Elizabeth grabbed the girl’s arm, yanked her inside, and pushed her against the wall beside the door. She thrust her head outside and looked right and left. No one was in the garden. Nor was anyone on the back porch of the tavern. She could not, however, see inside any of the windows in the back of the tavern or in the kitchen.
She turned to Meggie. Good heavens! The girl wore her triangular scarf, blue skirt, and red vest. ‘Twas doubtful she had come into the yard unnoticed.
“Elizabeth.” Meggie lifted her hand toward Elizabeth’s face. “Ton visage.”
Elizabeth slapped the girl’s hand away. The French words fired from her lips. “Do not touch me.” Not only did she not wish the attention, but her cheek ached deeply. Her headache was only today thinning to manageable.
She had looked upon the hand mirror Silly had brought that morning from her room. The black blotchy bruise, rimmed with yellow edges, slashed her cheek in two parallel lines.
‘Twas obvious a hand hit her, although she insisted to everyone she had run into a door. The lie had set in her heart like bitter gall, but she could not afford to anger Mistress Swain further. If she found Meggie here?
‘Twould be Elizabeth’s undoing.
“Meggie, you cannot come here.”
“I need to see you.” The words garbled with sudden tears.
A strange twinge burned Elizabeth’s gut. ‘Twas she who could not hide her emotions. Meggie, however, had always been superbly good at doing so.
Still, it moved Elizabeth not. “Mistress Swain dislikes me simply because I am a Neutral. If she sees you, there is no telling what she will do.” And she would never get to work in the peace of the herb garden and away from the woman.
“But Philippe’s cough has returned. I have nothing to give him. At night he gasps and cries for air.” She swiped at her eyes. “I was hoping you could help me. You have always cared for him.”
Elizabeth’s heart tightened. Not for Meggie, for she had betrayed her in the worst way. Not even the growing child inside her friend’s belly, nor the way he arrived there, softened Elizabeth.
She did, however, worry for Philippe.
“Oh, Elizabeth. No one has been truly well since you left. You took care of all us.”
“That should have been considered when I was being forced into a marriage that benefited each and every one of you but would have made me miserable.”
Meggie reddened.
“And you still never told the truth.”
“I am sorry.” The words burst from Meggie’s throat. “You know I could not. My brother would have killed me.”
“And instead Josué and I were forced to leave, and he is now dead.” Her own tears welled behind her eyes. She doused them. She had none to waste on Meggie d’Entremont.
“Please, Elizabeth. Last Sunday I wished to throw my arms around you and beg you to come back.”
“You know I cannot do so as things are.”
“I know. I am sorry. Can you ever forgive me?”
She might have felt soft and given to forgiveness if Meggie had told the truth, even after Josué and she had left.
But not now. Not when her heart weighed heavy as a stone in her aching chest. Waiting here for her father would not keep it soft.
Losing Thomas may well turn it to granite.
“Please, I beg of you, Elizabeth.” The girl sniffed. “I know not what to do for Philippe.”
The memory of the child’s struggles to breath tore at Elizabeth’s heart.
She daree not part with what little money she had. She might need it if she had to leave the tavern before her father came. Besides, who would sell herbs to Meggie?
That left her with only one choice.
She hurried to the back wall. She scanned the drawers.
Peppermint.
She pulled the drawer out and grabbed a handful of the curled, mottled green leaves. She rushed back to Meggie. “Use what you would for a regular tea.”
The girl shoved the leaves into her apron. “Merci. Merci.”
“You can also put water in a kettle or pot and set it to steaming with the leaves in the water. Sit Philippe on a stool as close as he can get without burning himself and hold a blanket over him and the pot. ‘Twill clear his lungs.”
Meggie nodded.
Elizabeth’s gaze traveled to the girl’s belly. “And you?”
“The tiredness has eased for now.” Her hand rested on the mound. “It kicks and moves.”
The words spat from Elizabeth. “Do you still wish someone to rip it from you before it is born?”
Meggie’s eyes watered. “No. You were right. ‘Tis not the babe’s fault. But I am not certain what I will do if . . . he was blonde . . . and Josué . . .”
Elizabeth knew not what to say. Meggie’s web of lies was her own. She would somehow have to free herself.
Or not.
“You cannot be seen here.” What the girl would do next time the cough took hold of Philippe, Elizabeth knew not. “I will step outside. You go out after me and around the back of the shed. Go to the far edge of town and double back to the Fottrell House.”
Elizabeth stepped onto the stoop. Her nose planked into a man’s chest. Fingers encased her arms. Her heart drove upward and into her throat.
Meggie rushed out and away.
“Whoa, Lass.”
Monsieur Mackintosh?
She lowered her head. She had no wish for him to see her bruise.
“I came to town to plan the Race for the Bottle and to practice my fiddle playing with the others for William and Hannah’s wedding. I thought while I was here I would check on ye.” His dark eyes shifted in the direction Meggie had fled. “But ye must be doing fairly well if ye are sharing West’s inventory with the French Neutrals. And was she not the girl that was rude to ye on Easter Sunday?”
“Her little brother is sick with the lung cough again.”
“Is it contagious?”
“Nothing like that, but I am no longer there to help. Excuse me.” She stepped to the bricks.
He grabbed her arm. “But Miss Johns, giving her herbs from here—”
“I beg of you to not tell.”
“Why did ye nae send her to Colina? She turns nae one aside.”
Oh! Why had she not thought of doing so?
“I will next time.”
“Lass? Why will ye nae look upon me?”
Her stomach tensed.
His curled his fingers beneath her chin and lifted her head.
His eyes blackened. His lips pressed and thinned. “Who did this to ye?”
She faked a smile. “I just turned around and the doorframe was there.”
“That is not from a doorframe. I would bet ‘twas from a hand. My offer still stands. Ye can be French and go back to your people.”
“And that would better than here?”
“I would think at least yer ain people would no abuse ye.”
“I am not being abused.” Yet. “Besides, you saw how my people treated me this Sunday past.”
“Thomas will want to know if ye are being hurt.” He lowered his voice. “I will want to know.”
The tight laugh pressed from her throat. “You care not for me.”
“I admit, at one time I did not.” His face softened. “But ‘tis hard to live with Sarah and Colina and all the others and dislike ye.”
“And yet you will not hire me and keep me from both the Fottrell House and this place.”
The long dimples tightened. “’Tis not that simple.”
He spoke in greater circles than Thomas. And she had no time.
“Give Sarah my regards. Tell her I miss her.” She turned toward the tavern.
“Ye have no words for Thomas?”
The mere mention of the man’s name sent her stomach into twitters. She grabbed the garden fencing to her right.
“Tell him I await my father’s return.”
She hastened past the pickets. She turned right, rushed down the sidewalk and into the kitchen. ‘Twas empty except for Mistress Swain.
“So you return.” The woman’s face and voice, as usual, showed no emotion.
“I had trouble finding the rosemary for the stew.” She stepped around the woman and to the pot on the preparation table beneath the window. Where was cook anyway?
Mistress Swain grabbed Elizabeth’s arm and flung her around. “Yes, it would appear you were sidetracked.” She lifted her hand outward.
Elizabeth’s stomach weakened.
The peppermint for Philippe.
She slid her gaze up the woman’s arm and to a pair of ice-blue eyes in a calm, tranquil face.
“Please tell me you did not hurt Meggie,” she whispered.
“You have a half hour added to your work today for stealing the herbs.”
And Elizabeth was going to be left to wonder if Meggie had been harmed.
“I did not steal them. One of her brothers is sick and they have nothing with which to help him. Feel free to take the cost from my wages.”
“Perhaps if you had asked I would have done so.”
She would not have. Elizabeth was certain of it.
The woman lifted her arm and turned her hand upside down. She opened her palm. The leaves floated to the floor. She eased toward Elizabeth.
The room blurred. The fear swirled around Elizabeth’s spine. She stepped back. Her rear hit the table.
Behind her, the pot rocked. Elizabeth spun around. One of the three legs teetered toward the edge. Elizabeth gasped. She twirled in a circle. Where was a mitt with which to grab hold?
The crash to the floor filled her ears. Her feet shook. Hissing stew flooded the boards below her like a Bay of Fundy high tide. Her feet scrambled for a sure footing on drier ground. Her body twisted and turned for balance.
Her feet slipped from beneath her. Her right hip crashed to the floor. The jolt jarred her spine. Her hand slammed into the soup. The hot liquid seared into her palm.
I have to get my hand out.
But the dizziness trapped her. Violent reds heaved across her vision.
She rolled to her knees, pulled the hand free, and crawled to drier ground. She frantically swiped her apron across her fingers to free it of the soup. ‘Twas already blistering. A sickening wave of nausea catapulted against her throat.
“Be sure to clean up this mess. It is nearly time for dinner to be served.”
Elizabeth closed her eyes. Mistress Swain’s heels clicked from the kitchen. Soft footsteps entered.
Her shoulders were grabbed. She was lifted to her feet.
Cook Smith.
The woman set her to a bench. She reached for Elizabeth’s arm and tugged, but Elizabeth cranked it back against her chest and rolled her frame inward. Like the seasoning fever, the pain willed her someplace far away.
“Please, Elizabeth.” ‘Twas now Silly. “It needs tending.”
She knew that. She also knew she could not do so right then.
She was pushed around to face the table. Silly put the hand in a bowl of cool water. The fire eased. Somehow, when pressed with questions, she told what had happened.
Silly sighed. “You do think with your heart, Elizabeth Johns.”
The words sliced her.
Had she given the matter more thought, she would have done as Monsieur Mackintosh suggested and sent Meggie to the McQueen camp. Now, Philippe warred for every breath, and Meggie would be reduced to begging for what she would probably not receive.
Her hand was pulled from the water. Cook Smith applied a poultice of hemlock bark and wet bread. She wound a strip of cloth around the hand and plied Elizabeth with white willow tea.
Somehow, Elizabeth found her feet for the afternoon meal. She was asked about the hand. She managed to paste a smile on her face and to offer sparse words about clumsy accidents in the kitchen. The men clucked over her and offered their sympathies, and she accepted their kind words while trying to think of some way to get Philippe the help he needed.
And then, Matthew Hardwin arrived. “Elizabeth, let me see it.”
She focused on the table. “No. I do not wish to undo the bandage.”
“Let me take you to Midwife Baine.”
“No. I know as much, if not more, than her. And I have what I need.”
“Then let me speak with Mistress Swain about giving you a few days off.”
Her head shot upward. “If you do, I will never speak to you again.”
He dropped the matter, but then launched into a lecture about how Elizabeth was not cut out for this kind of work, and how Thomas was remiss to get her such a position, and how he himself could have found her something more suitable. “I do not know why you will not let me help.”
The anxiety loosened.
The boy was besotted with her. Philippe needed help.
But was she thinking again with her heart? Was there another way to get Philippe the help he needed?
Non. Thomas was nowhere around. She could not very well ask Madam McQueen for help from here. Perhaps, once Hannah returned, she might.
That did not help Philippe for this night.
“I have a favor to ask, but I need you to ask no questions.”
He set the cup to the saucer. “Ask me first, then I will see if I can help my fair maiden out.”
Should she? Would he extract a payment she was unwilling to give? And how could he do so whilst she was here and not at the house with the others?
“One of the Acadian boys named Philippe who is staying at the Fottrell House is ill with a cough.”
“Is that not Meggie’s little brother?”
“So you know them?”
“I make it my business to know all of them.”
Why did she not think it because he wished to help?
“But how have you heard this?” he asked.
“I will not say.”
“Ah. One of the questions I may not ask?”
She nodded.
He pursed his lips into a bow. “Alright. I will play this game. What would you have me do?”
“Would you see that he gets some peppermint? His sister will know how to steep it into a tea for him. ‘Twill ease his suffering considerably.”
He pushed the plate and saucer to the end of the table.
“And please check in on Meggie to see she fares well? She may have had a fright earlier today.”
His hands slid across the wood and covered hers. “And I am not at liberty to ask of that either.”
“Non.”
His fingers stroked her knuckles, both the bare ones and those covered by the bandage.
She nearly came unhinged.
For Philippe, you must stay in the chair.
“Fair maiden, I shall do as you ask.”
That evening, as she sat with him yet again, he informed her he had done as she wished.
“Philippe will have that and more if he needs it. And Meggie is fine.”
“Merci. I cannot thank you enough.”
“I am sure we can think of something.”
Her lungs flattened.
“And I have changed, Elizabeth. You will see.”
Had he? “You tried to bribe the others into turning my brother into the authorities.”
“I did.”
“You tried to force me into a marriage to avoid the same.”
He nodded. “And I deeply regret what I did. ‘Twas the actions of a foolish and smitten young boy. It will not happen again.”
Was he speaking true? People did change.
But still, she could not shake the feeling she had made a deal with the devil, and it would not be easily undone.