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ELIZABETH STOPPED AT the edge of Little Pipe Creek. Water bubbles burst between the reeds and grasses. A family of turtles sunned on a log in the creek’s center. She wiped the perspiration from her forehead.
Nova Scotia was never this warm.
And she had been told that morning by Sarah that it would get worse before it got better.
Beside her, Eaton shifted. “I need to tell you something. I have waited because I wished Thomas to be better, and I did not wish to cause you more pain. You have been through enough.”
My father.
She had asked Eaton about him several times since coming home, and each time the man had come up with an excuse for speaking later. Running Feather had only acknowledged the man had received her letter and sent his love.
She, busy with Thomas, had not pressured either man for more.
“Let me guess. He is not coming for me. He is needed at work.” The words, for the first time, were bitter. “Or, he has signed on for another tour of duty with the army?”
“He is not coming for you, but he was. Running Feather brought your letter. Benjamin set out despite the advice of others.”
A cold fist squeezed her heart.
“His carriage was attacked by Indians not five miles from Fort Oswego. It tumbled down an embankment. Your father was thrown. He died a week later of his injuries.”
The pain sliced her open. Eaton grabbed her shoulders and pulled her against him. The tears came fast and furiously. She could not stop them.
“I wanted him to come,” she wept. “But I did not wish him to lose his life in doing so.”
Oh, Papa.
Why had she uttered such bitter words not moments ago?
“He regretted not keeping you in Nova Scotia or sending for you later.”
She pulled away. She lifted the apron and wiped at her eyes.
Eaton held a letter toward her. “He had me write this as he lay dying.”
She did not want it. She did not want to read the last words of her father. She simply wanted him there. “Thomas had agreed that if Father would come he could live here with us.”
“So you were not going to him?”
“At first getting to him was all I could think of. And then.” She shrugged. “I loved Papa, but—”
“You came to love Thomas more.”
“That sounds harsh.”
“’Tis not, and he would have understood. And I think he would have come and stayed with you. He was bitter the past year. He was upset at how the Acadians were treated. They discharged him early at his insistence. He was devastated to learn of your grandparents’ death. Josué’s nearly killed him.”
He grabbed her hand, opened her fingers, and slid the letter into them. “I will be leaving in a few days.”
“No,” she cried.
“I go to Baltimore Town to give Pierre word of Meggie and Philippe. Then I go to Annapolis and back to Nova Scotia.” His gaze slid to the garden. Elizabeth turned.
Meggie grabbed the hoe and stood, then smiled.
Eaton’s mouth relaxed.
He turned back to Elizabeth. “I am the executor of your father’s will. He left a sizeable estate which I will settle. I am assuming you want the property sold otherwise.”
Did she?
She turned toward the house. Thomas sat on the porch steps.
“Yes. This is my home now.”
“I thought so.” His fingers grazed her cheek. “Grieve your father, then marry Thomas. He loves you more than he loves himself.”
She grabbed the man’s hand. “And you? You will love again?”
“I will, Elizabeth. We would have made a comfortable life for ourselves. We would have been happy?”
She nodded.
“But we both deserve more.” He kissed her cheek. He smelled of sunshine and meadows, and for a moment her heart longed for home.
He made his way to the house. She lifted the letter upward.
The sickness for home faded. Still, she could not read the letter while the rawness of the past few months still raked her insides and threatened to take her mind.
She heard voices. She turned to see Thomas and Eaton standing halfway to the house and speaking in low tones. Eaton then made his way to the garden and Meggie.
Elizabeth pressed the letter into her pocket. She gave her feet wings for she could not get to Thomas fast enough.
His face tightened with concern. He opened his arms.
She fell against him. Her tears soaked his shirt and neck. “Please,” she gasped. “Promise you will never let me go.”
“I promise, Lass.” He pressed his lips against hers. The fire lit to her toes.
And then, he pulled back.
“You are always stopping, Tomas.”
“Elizabeth,” he groaned. “Ye know not what ye drive me to.”
“And I do not care. I just wish you would not stop.”
He laughed. “Lass, I am a religious man now. The only way I will nae stop is if ye marry me.”
Her eyes widened.
He pressed her hands between his. “I know ye need to grieve your father. But mayhap when ye are past it—”
“What of two weekends from now?”
His mouth opened. He worked to find words.
“If we do not marry then, we will have to wait another month after that for Father Bergier’s return.”
“But your father—”
“I have not seen in over a year. When I am ready, I will read his letter. But I can grieve him and marry you. One has nothing to do with the other.”
“Still.” He frowned. “A few more weeks will nae matter, Lass. Ye have been through so much.”
She lifted to her toes and threw her arms around his neck. She slipped her head sideways. Her lips floated beside his. “Tomas,” she whispered. “Do you really wish to wait another month and a half?”
She kissed him. ‘Twas some minutes before they came up for air.
“Alright, Elizabeth,” he chuckled. “Ye win, but I have nae the stomach for another journey nae matter how short. We will have Father Bergier wed us here in our chapel.”
She pulled back. “You have a chapel?”
“We will in due time.”
She laughed. Her lips moved toward his again.
“Oh, dear.” She pulled back.
“What is it?”
“We forgot that first you must ask someone else for my hand?”
He frowned. “Eaton?”
“Non,” she laughed. “Mac. The last time I checked, he was still responsible for me.”
––––––––
MAC GRUMBLED. “I SUPPOSE ye wish me to give ye away as well?”
“The thought did cross my mind,” she said. “After all, I do—”
“— live with me.” He turned to Thomas. “Fine. Although why ye wish to marry her I know not. She is as stubborn as the day is long.”
But the words were mild and his eyes gentle.
After that, a flurry of activity beset the dinner table.
The women determined to make Elizabeth a new dress.
Thomas set the mug on the table. “As long as it is green.”
“Green?” Issy cried. “Who likes green?”
“I do,” Thomas barked.
He had then pressed his lips to Elizabeth’s ear. “Highland faeries wear green, and ye are mine.”
The men jabbed elbows and pointed. The women smiled.
Thomas pressed his lips against her cheek. Her face warmed. Her stomach went all squishy.
“Green it will be,” she murmured.
Hannah offered Cook Smith to cook for the reception to be held at Fearnought Farms.
“Surely, ye are no serious,” Thomas gasped. “These will be the same people that wished to run me out of town not three months past.”
“Aye,” William laughed. “But free food and good rum make forgotten memories.”
“And tongues loosen and pry and ask questions.”
“It matters not, Thomas,” Colina said. “Ye can abide a few well-wishers.”
“A few?”
“My son has now come back twice from the dead. This time he has brought me a daughter. If Alex will loan me Cook Smith and people wish to come, then we wish to celebrate.” She held her mug of apple cider upward, cast her dimply smile at all those around the table, and drank her fill.
The others followed suit.
Elizabeth thought Thomas was going to crawl under his chair.
When talk turned to the Run for the Bottle, he slammed his palms on the table. “I dinna care what is expected, I will nae ride it and risk injury before my wedding night.”
More smiles. More clearing throats.
Elizabeth’s face burned.
“I have waited far too long already.” He threw his napkin on the table and reared to his feet. His finger swung around the crowd. “And if any of ye plan on bundling or trucking us into bed that night, I have a rifle and I am not afraid to use it.”
Elizabeth lost her words.
“Now, if ye will excuse us.” He leaned to his right and grabbed her hand. “We need to pick out a spot for the chapel, and I need to see what repairs the cabin requires, so I have little time to worry over such folderol.” He pulled her to her feet. “Just be certain the lass is happy.”
Every day filled with activity. Colina and Sarah measured, cut, and sewed. Elizabeth slipped her arms through sleeves. She stepped into skirts. Hannah spent hours working and reworking the menu and writing list after list. She and William made a trip into town for supplies and to make arrangements on Thomas and Elizabeth’s behalf. William sent a message to Father Bergier at Doughoregan Manor. Meggie and Philippe cleaned the cabin. Items old and worn were hauled to the burn pile at Thomas’s direction.
When the cabin was finally cleared, Colina directed Meggie and Philippe in scouring the inside from top to bottom. The men cut logs and erected the chapel walls. They then divided their time between the inside of the chapel, last minute repairs to the cabin, and babysitting Thomas, who seemed determined to do more than he should. All the while, he refused to let Elizabeth see the chapel.
He did, however, allow her inside the cleaned cabin. A fireplace flanked the left wall. A backdoor sliced the back wall in half. Two windows, either side of the doors, let in light. A small posted double bed lay to her right. In the far right corner, a ladder lifted to a loft above.
“’Twill be a good place for us, Lass. ‘Tis private, but we are still near Mama. Mac and Sarah are across the creek.” As were Meggie and Philippe. “William and Hannah are with Mama until their house is finished across the road.” He spun her around and pressed his waist against hers. His nose brushed her cheek. His lips teased hers.
She wound her arms around his neck.
“And the night of the wedding, while the others dance and party, we will be safely tucked away here.” His thumb caressed the base of her throat. His fingers slid down the rood’s chain and toyed dangerously with the neckline of her chemise.
“And you will not stop kissing me?” she asked.
“Ye can count on it.”
He winked, and she searched her head for a quick comeback.
None came. Nor did her lips search for his.
“Are ye alright, Lass? Ye look like ye have just seen a ghostie?”
“I am fine.” But the familiar turning of her stomach at the mere sight of the man did not beset her, and a deep unease slipped around her heart.
This time, ‘twas her that put a stop to his wandering fingers, left him to the last of his cleaning, and made her way outside.
His kisses will not erase my sadness.
She had so hoped they would expunge all of it. The past few months. Her time in the wilderness.
Her father’s death.
Now, she seemed to feel nothing even as she wished to be in his arms.
She slowed before the cemetery. She needed to tell Josué of their father. But how could she when she herself could not even read the letter?
She had tried last night to do so, but she had only gotten the wax peeled off. Her face had flooded with tears, and she had shoved it back inside her skirt.
The pain she willed far from her.
She made her way back to the house. She would avoid the cabin until they were married. She may have taken her leave from Thomas today, but she could just as easily have thrown caution to the wind.
A few days later, however, she was back. On the roof, Mac and Running Feather hammered at shingles. Thomas sat on the porch and worked at repairing a table.
Elizabeth looked at the two men beside her. She was not certain which to tell Thomas of first.
And then, he saw them and stood. “Father?” He smiled. He lifted his hand.
The priest did the same.
Then, Thomas’ eyes cased sideways. He offered Matthew Hardwin nothing but a cold stare. He threw the hammer to the floor and stomped down the steps.