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THE DOLL SHOOK IN HER fingers.
“Sil vous plait, Tomas.” The shriek tore from her gut. “Take it!”
Thomas jerked it from her hands and set it to the fence post. He pushed her to the back wall. Before them tumbled a messy array of household items, some in boxes, others in traveling trunks. Still more just lay about.
“Show me where ye found it.”
She pointed at a tattered, blue quilt. “’Twas beneath it. When I pulled it from the stack the doll fell out.” She grabbed at her stomach. “Tomas . . . I . . .”
She whirled around and dropped to her knees. Her hands slammed into the dirt. Her stomach pitched upward.
Thomas knelt beside her. He lay one hand to her heaving back. With his other, he pulled strands of loose hair from her face.
His own gut wrenched tight with each roll of hers.
“Come, Lass.” He reached for her shoulders. “There is nothing left in ye.” He pulled her against him.
She clawed at his chest. She groaned against another wave. “Mac mentioned Iron Gun coming after me, but I did not take him seriously.”
“Please, Elizabeth.”
“The doll. Am I in danger?” The horror towed and sucked at her face. “Is that what you meant when you said no one near you was safe?”
“Ye must understand I lost myself the past two years.”
She pressed herself back. “Lost yourself?”
“I am a different man now.” He hoped? Or was he more himself?
Or was the real Thomas McQueen the man that had warred the past two years? Had he always been so? Was there nae hope for change?
“Tomas!” Her panic was spiraling out of control. “Talk to me. Please.”
“After Catharine and Dougald were killed, I went to the backcountry. I drank hard. I waged war as a way to block out the grief. The next killing was the only thing that drove me onward.”
Her eyes hollowed into black orbs. She searched his face, but for what he knew not.
“And I killed and I killed. And I killed.”
She scooted from him. “But why do they want me?”
They were finally here. ‘Twas the one place he never wished to be with her.
“Last fall I led a raid on a cabin. A Shawanese by the name of Blue Hoof told me there were only warriors inside. I gave them the warning to leave, and then I set fire to the cabin as usual.” He ground his elbow to his bent knee. He clenched his fist. “The information was not correct. Iron Gun’s wife and child were inside.”
“Cher Dieu, Tomas.” The fear avalanched into her. She stumbled to her feet. She grabbed for the nearest post and fell against it.
He lurched upward. “I tried to free them. ‘Twas nae use. It all went up so fast. Ye must believe me. I never warred on women and children, only on braves. I prided myself on that fact.”
The tears flooded her nose and mouth. Her chest heaved with the anguish. “So you planned to leave your family to do more killing? Is that why you are not free to love me?”
“No!” He lunged. He seized her shoulders. “I am done with killing. But Iron Gun has put a price on my head, and the brave that brings me to him gets the hand of his daughter in marriage and a place at Iron Gun’s side.”
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SO HIS PAST WAS AS bad as she had heard. He had not only been at war, he had sought it.
“Ta famille?” The tears rushed into her nose and mouth. Where was the English when she needed it? “Leur danger?”
“Iron Gun wishes them taken and brought to him.”
Her stomach heaved to her throat. She shoved his chest and pulled from his arms. She would steel her legs with iron if necessary, but he would not touch her again. “How can they survive? What will they do?”
“This is not the first time we have had such fears. We all know if we are captured we survive any way we can. We do not let the enemy take our minds, and we wait for a rescue or a ransom or a chance to escape.”
“I cannot imagine . . . to live this way . . .”
“If ye are adopted, ye are treated well, and in Iron Gun’s mind, he has a right to replace his wife and children.”
His wife . . .
Her mind cracked. The earth spun. “Does Iron Gun wish me to replace his wife because you care for me?”
“Elizabeth—”
“Tomas!” she screamed. “My fate?”
“It would seem so.”
Her lungs flattened. She whirled around. She staggered to the fencing and grabbed the doll. The grotesque smile and haunted eyes mocked and beckoned.
She could not stop the fear. It whirled and eddied and sucked, and she faced it alone, for Josué was gone from her forever.
You have Tomas.
Non. She did not, for Thomas could not save her from the very thing he had brought to her.
She slammed the doll against his chest. She let go and turned. Whether he caught it, or whether it lay in the dirt, she cared not.
A deep fog hazed her sight.
“Elizabeth, where do ye go?”
She tossed the words over her shoulder. “I go to help pack. I will leave with your family tomorrow as planned, for Sarah needs me and I must now go with Mac.”
“And then?” he asked.
“I wait for Papa. When he comes, I will beg him to take me elsewhere. Perhaps even home.”
“Lass, they are not letting the Acadians go back.”
She spun around. “Then I will go home as an English woman.”
“Now ye choose to be English?”
“I chose to be English earlier today as I stood beside Mac before Constable Radley.”
His mouth dropped open.
“Do you know why?” She rushed him. She shoved him in the chest. “Because I thought I was leaving here for a better place at your home.” And for you. She slammed her fists against him. “Because I thought I could trust you.”
“And ye can.” He grabbed her wrists.
His fingers burned.
“No, I cannot for you brought this to me!” She wrenched her arms free. The tears flooded her face. “And I wish nothing more to do with you! Ever!”
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THOMAS OBLIGED THE lass’ wish and dinna seek her out. Doing so nearly killed him, but he nae wished to hurt her further, nor to terrorize her already spent mind. After all, ‘twas his fault she had been sucked into this madness, and all because he had chosen to love her.
Despite his best intentions, it was apparent by nightfall they would not be able to leave in the morning. There was too much packing with too few hands. William had not yet hired enough extra guns to suit Alex, nor had he purchased the needed supplies. The wet-nurse Mac hired quit after hearing the rumors of the tortured doll in Elizabeth’s likeness.
“The doll was meant for Elizabeth Johns and nae one else,” Thomas had argued.
‘Twas not enough to convince the woman to stay. To make matters worse, Elizabeth had heard every word of the exchange.
“I am sorry, Lass. I hope someday ye can forgive me for all of it.”
“I have already forgiven you.”
She had?
Her mouth hardened. “But ‘tis not my forgiveness that will free you and make you whole again.”
And if I seek that forgiveness, will you come back to me?
But he asked not, and the lass turned and walked away.
The next morning at breakfast ‘twas apparent they could not leave until at least Saturday.
Thomas had had enough. He was well on his way to losing his mind. Every day here put Elizabeth in more danger from Hardwin’s trickery. Every day they waited was another in which Red Bear likely lurked in the trees.
He tossed his napkin to his plate and stood to his feet. “I have an errand to run. I will be back by Friday nightfall.”
The table erupted in a chorus of voices, but he lifted his hands and shook his head. “I am ready to leave. All of you have one problem or another. But if you are not ready to go by Saturday morn, I will take Elizabeth and we will go.”
He cast a quick glance at her.
Her eyes filled with pain and fear, but she argued not. She may hate the likes of him at the moment, but she was more afraid of being in Baltimore Town.
On his way to the stable, his maither caught up to him.
“I am going to Doughoregan Manor,” he said. “I need to speak with Father Bergier.”
“Oh.” Her mouth froze in a circle. “Alright. What of Elizabeth?”
“She has not left the property since Mass on Sunday.” When she went to check on Meggie and Philippe, which for some reason had been several times yesterday, Mac had gone with her. “I expect she has nae wish to run into Hardwin on her own. In the meantime, tell Mac and William to keep an eye on her. Or, more to the point, keep an eye on Hardwin.”
He grabbed the woman in a tight hug, kissed her cheek, then left.
A mother’s prayers count twice. When she is on her knees, there is no telling what the Blessed Jesu will do for her.
How long ago had that been? Only two months?
It seemed like a lifetime.
Early the next morning, he rode up Charles Carroll’s driveway and toward Doughoregan Manor. The one and a half story brick home had a detached kitchen to the south side. On the north side stood the chapel.
Ten minutes later, he entered the confessional. He lowered himself to the kneeler. He made the sign of the cross.
‘Twas time to ask forgiveness from the one He had wronged the most. He might never find his way back to Elizabeth, but at least ‘twas time to live in a state of grace and with the Lord’s favor.
And maybe, instead of working alone to save his family and her, the Almighty might offer a little divine help?
He firmed up his grip on the rosary beads in his fingers.
“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned . . .”
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ELIZABETH PULLED THE swaddled babe upward. She pressed her lips to the blanket covering its face.
Her heart squeezed tight.
She handed the bundle to Pierre. He set it into a small wooden box. He closed the lid and nodded at Elizabeth. They took the ends of two ropes, shifted them sideways, and lowered the box into the hole. She let go of her ropes and Pierre pulled them upward.
Philippe choked. He threw himself against Elizabeth’s waist and wrapped his spindly arms around her. She motioned to Pierre to fill the hole with dirt.
Surprisingly, no tears came even though she greatly wished for them. Neither had she cried that morning as the baby girl had slipped from Meggie and into Elizabeth’s hands.
She lifted her head upward. The grave was one of several others that now dotted the far southwest corner of a Catholic cemetery on the McQueen property. She had not known, as she had buried others last spring, who had donated the land at the time.
Pierre shoveled the last of the dirt onto the mound, then bade Philippe wait for him at the road. He spoke not until the lad was out of earshot.
“Meggie has told me how she came to be filled with the babe.”
Elizabeth’s heart stirred. She had decided, last week, that the girl had spun such a tight web she was never going to free herself.
“She was a foolish girl,” he whispered.
“Yes, but no more so than others, and she did not deserve what they did to her. None of them did.”
“Even so, she should have told me the truth. And I am sorry to my heart that I blamed Josué,” Pierre choked. “He was my best friend. I should have known he would not take of Meggie what did not belong to him. I should have never angered at him.” He lifted his fists upward. “I do not know what overcame me that night. You had every right to strike me with the kettle, for I should never have tried to hurt him.”
Elizabeth lit her fingers onto the man’s arm. “Do not fret so. We all had great worries, and I am certain Josué forgave you. ‘Tis this bloody war. It has turned all our minds wrong.” And our hearts empty.
“And have you forgiven me for trying to force you to marry Hardwin so that the authorities were not brought to us?”
“Oui. ‘Tis too hard to hang onto the anger.”
“Does my sister have milk for the little one?”
“She will.” “I understand one of the men you go with has a wife that just had a babe, and that she is poor in that regard and a wet-nurse cannot be found.”
“None of them wish to go west toward the war.”
Just that morning, three more women had walked out halfway through Mac’s interview.
He sighed. “Will he take Meggie as a wet-nurse? If she stays here, Hardwin will ruin her, then take her mind. He has targeted her as he had you, but not because he likes her.”
“’Tis me he wishes to get to.”
“Oui. And she is not strong like you. She cannot fight against him.”
“You do understand we go toward the Indians?”
“Hardwin is a bigger threat than the Indians. If she stays here, I am not certain what will become of her. And Philippe.” He eyed the child kicking dirt on the road. “He is a little boy. He does not eat much. He works hard.” His eyes watered. “He adores you.”
“It is not up to me. Monsieur Mackintosh would have to agree.” And despite the man’s desperate need for a wet-nurse and his recent acceptance of Elizabeth, she was not certain he would agree to house more Neutrals. “He will also have to get approval from Constable Radley, and even if he agreed to let Meggie and Philippe leave, he is not likely to let you.”
“All I ask is that you try in their regard. Do not worry about me.”
“And Matthew?”
“I do not believe he will bring me trouble at this point. I am of little use to him.”
“With Meggie and Philippe gone, you will be all alone here.”
He laughed. “And in a houseful of Neutrals.”
She frowned. “You know what I mean.”
“I will be fine. Send word to me as to how they fare. Perhaps someday soon I can save enough money to bring them along with me. Until then, this is what is best. This is what will save them.”
He turned for the road. He picked up his pace toward Philippe.
Elizabeth’s heart broke for all of them. How many times had it done so the past year? How many more ruptures with the past and her people would she be forced to bear?
And who, in the end, would save her?