Chapter
7

Pierre sat back in the kitchen chair, folded his arms across his chest, and let contentment fill his empty belly.

Angelique raised a last forkful of fish cakes to her mouth. With eyes closed she took a long sniff as she had for each bite, and then she closed her lips around the fork. She chewed slowly, savoring every tiny granule of fish and potato that he’d pressed into the patties.

He hadn’t been able to resist watching her eat. It had been like gazing upon a beautiful sunset.

“This is so good, Pierre,” she said again through her mouthful, as she had at least a dozen times since starting the meal.

Maman’s smile was achingly wide, and her eyes brimmed with tears, as if listening to Angelique’s enjoyment of the meal was almost as pleasurable as eating it herself.

He’d insisted both the women eat everything he’d cooked. He knew he could always scrounge up some food from his men and eat later. And if need be, he’d buy more supplies from the British.

For now, it was enough to watch Maman and Angelique—especially Angelique—enjoy each bite.

She opened her eyes. The impact of her pretty lips curling into a satisfied smile crushed into him and squeezed his chest.

“You were wrong,” she said.

“I’m never wrong.”

“You were this time.”

Sunlight streamed through the faded curtains and touched the loose curls of her hair, turning them into a lush reddish brown. He was glad that at some point in the race back to the cabin, her mobcap had fallen to the back of her neck, allowing her hair to tumble down around her face again.

“You’ve almost killed me with your cooking.” She set the fork on her empty plate and sat back in her chair.

“What? I almost killed you? Impossible.”

“Yes. You killed me with the pleasure of it.” Genuine admiration shone from her eyes. “I can’t remember a time when I’ve enjoyed a meal as much as this.”

The warmth of her praise spread over him like the sunshine. It filled him and seeped down to his toes. He picked up his coffee cup and took a sip, letting the rich flavor add to the gratification that had settled over him in a way he hadn’t experienced in a long time.

“I think I especially enjoyed it because for once I didn’t have to gut or fillet the fish.” She held her mug of coffee between both hands and inhaled the freshly brewed aroma.

He didn’t want to think about the bitter acorn-shell tea he’d thrown out onto the grass or the last time Maman and Angelique had tasted real coffee.

“Of course you only won the race because you cheated,” he said.

She smiled at him sweetly. “And here I thought you were learning to accept losing like a big boy.”

“You had a head start and you took a shortcut.”

“Miriam, I think Pierre needs a handkerchief so that he can sop up all his tears.”

Maman gave a soft laugh. “It’s so good to hear you both teasing each other again. I’ve missed it.”

Already Maman looked less hungry and tired than she had yesterday when he’d kneeled before her and begged her forgiveness. Her face had lit up when Angelique arrived, breathless and disheveled, after their race home. She’d wrapped her arms around the girl and let go of the worry that had plagued her since Angelique’s failure to appear at dawn.

Maman hadn’t said anything about being worried, but she’d spent a great deal of time on her knees in prayer that morning. And as he’d worked, he’d lifted his own grateful prayers for a Maman who prayed, for he had no doubt she’d petitioned God on his behalf every day he’d been gone. And he was quite certain those prayers had carried him through many of his rough days and in time brought him back to the Lord.

He reached across the table and captured Maman’s hand and squeezed it. He hated to think of how lonely it had been for her living by herself, with her eyesight failing and leaving her stranded in the cabin.

“I’m glad you’re home, Pierre,” she said, placing her other hand over his and gripping him as if she would never let go.

How could he let go of her now that he was home? How would he ever be able to leave her to fend for herself? But how could he possibly stay?

Angelique was studying his face. Her smile faded, as though she sensed him plotting his departure, and her eyes flashed with accusation—the same that she’d leveled at him last night when she’d first arrived.

Was she angry with him about something? But why would Angelique be upset with him? How could she be, not when she’d always admired him?

She stared at her coffee and forced a smile. “I’ll only be glad Pierre is home if he promises to gut the fish every morning.”

For some reason he didn’t like the thought that she might be disappointed in him, even if just a little. The need to sweep away that disappointment surged through him. “I’ll gut the fish forever if it makes you happy,” he said softly, wanting to see her eyes light up again.

He hadn’t minded gutting the fish. It had given him the chance to watch Angelique without her knowing it. The first thing she’d done was fret over a new burn on Maman’s hand. She’d slathered it with salve and then bandaged it using a rag. Afterward she’d emptied and cleaned the chamber pot, swept the floor, and brought in more straw to add to Maman’s hat-making supply.

She’d even helped Maman brush and plait her hair and twist it into a knot.

“Gut the fish forever?” Angelique said.

“Oui, and I’ll fillet them perfectly and make you fish cakes as often as you’d like.”

Some of the light returned to the brown of her eyes, soothing him. “Fish cakes every day would make me very happy.”

“If you come for dinner later,” he offered, “I’ll make you a whitefish stew like nothing you’ve ever tasted before.”

“You’re tempting me, Pierre, but perhaps another day.”

She glanced out the window at the sun and then pushed away from the table, her chair scraping the floor and signaling the end of their time together.

“You still have plenty of time before you have to go, don’t you? I thought for sure you’d like me to regale you with tales of my adventures in the wilderness.”

He was only joking with her again, hoping to gain another of her smiles.

But she shook her head, leaned over, and kissed his maman’s cheek. “Good-bye.”

A shadow passed over Maman’s face. She stared hard at Angelique, as if by doing so she could make her eyes work again. “Is everything all right, Angel?”

“Everything’s just fine.”

But the shadow on Maman’s face didn’t lift. “Pierre says a battle with the Americans is coming very soon. And when the Americans come, they’ll retake the island, and Jean can come home again.”

Pierre shifted uncomfortably. He hadn’t been totally honest with Maman. Oui, the Americans were coming. It was inevitable. But he wasn’t sure that they would be able to take back the island, not with the call the British had just put out for more Indians to join up with their forces on Michilimackinac.

Soon, more Indians decked out in war paint would arrive on the island. Along with the hundred fresh soldiers from the Royal Newfoundland Regiment that Colonel McDouall had brought with him, the British forces would be hard to beat.

Somehow he’d have to smuggle a letter off the island to let the Americans know about the increasing odds stacked against them.

“Jean will be home soon,” Maman said again. “And then you’ll be able to come live here for good.”

A flush stole over Angelique’s cheeks.

Pierre sat forward. “Why does she need to wait for Jean to come home? Why not just live out here now?”

Angelique made a move toward the door, but Maman held her hand fast. “Ebenezer wouldn’t allow Angelique to marry Jean after he refused to sign the Oath—”

“Marry Jean?” Disbelief pushed Pierre to his feet. “Angelique is going to marry Jean?”

The flush in Angelique’s cheeks turned brighter, and she ducked her head.

He gave a short laugh. “Why in the world would Angelique marry Jean?” He couldn’t picture Angelique with his younger brother. Jean was much too soft-spoken and serious for a fun girl like Angelique.

“Yes,” Maman said with a beaming smile. “Jean and Angelique are betrothed. And just as soon as he returns, they’ll be married, even if Ebenezer doesn’t agree to it. Right, Angelique?”

Angelique glanced sideways at Pierre.

He could only stare back, confusion eating at his gut. Was Maman serious?

Angelique took a breath, straightened her shoulders, and faced him squarely. “It’s true. I’m engaged to Jean.”

He forced a grin. “Is this a joke, Angelique?”

“It’s not a joke. I’m marrying Jean.” Her eyes held the same hint of accusation as earlier. “I’m grateful for his offer of marriage. He’s exactly the kind of man I need in my life.”

“I suppose he’s the kind of man you need if you want to be bored all the livelong day.”

Angelique glared at him, then managed to break away from Maman and cross toward the door.

“Now, Pierre.” Maman’s voice held a gentle rebuke. “Jean is a good man.”

“I’m not disagreeing that he’s a good man. I just don’t think he’s the right man for Angelique.”

With a jerk, Angelique swung open the door. “Good-bye, Miriam.” She tossed the words over her shoulder before grabbing her string of fish and darting outside.

Pierre released a pent-up breath. Why should he care that Jean and Angelique were getting married? Shouldn’t he be happy for them—even if they weren’t right for each other?

“She’s doing the best thing for both of them, Pierre,” Maman said. “She makes Jean very happy. And Jean will be able to give her a much better and safer life.”

Pierre stared at the open doorway. “The news just took me by surprise, that’s all.”

“Go after her and tell her you’re sorry.” Maman’s plea wasn’t necessary. He’d already started across the cabin and out the door.

Angelique stomped across the grassy field toward the footpath that would take her back to town.

What right did Pierre have, bursting back into their lives after all this time and poking fun at her choice of a marriage partner? What did he know about her life? Or Jean’s, for that matter, and what was best for them?

With a huff she tossed her morning catch over her shoulder, not caring that the fish had begun to stink or that their slime was rubbing against her bodice.

“Angelique, wait.” Pierre’s call came from behind her.

She didn’t want to talk to him any further about Jean. She was embarrassed to discuss her marriage plans, though she wasn’t sure why. Jean was everything she wanted in a husband. He would be there for her day in and day out. He wouldn’t disappear whenever the wilderness called. And he truly loved her. Pierre had no right to insult her decision to marry Jean. Not after he’d deserted her.

“Please, Angelique.” Pierre caught up with her. “You know I didn’t really mean what I said.”

“You meant every word.” She lengthened her stride, even though every muscle in her body ached to slow down and be with him.

The entire morning—from the swim in the pond to the race back to the cabin to sharing breakfast together—had filled her with an intense passion for Pierre, the same girlish passion she thought she’d long outgrown.

She’d so carefully patched up her broken heart when he’d left the island. But overnight and in one short morning he’d managed to rip out the seams, and now her heart hung wide open.

“Please stop, Angelique.” He easily kept up with her long steps. “Believe it or not, I’m trying to apologize.”

Her feet slowed to a halt. She couldn’t fool herself. She wanted to be with him too much, and she’d take any excuse she could to spend a little more time with him.

His fingers circled her upper arm, spinning her to face him.

He towered above her, his handsome face lined with worried wrinkles and his dark eyes peering down into hers, so sincere, so hard to resist. His thick, wavy hair fell above his eyebrows.

“I didn’t mean to upset you,” he said. “I guess I still think of you as my little sister, and it’s hard for me to imagine you being grown up enough to get married to anyone, especially my kid brother.”

At the earnestness of his words, her resistance melted away. With the lingering taste of his fish cakes on her tongue and the satisfaction of a full stomach—something she hadn’t experienced in many months—she couldn’t stay embarrassed or angry for long. “I’m not too young to get married. I’m eighteen, you know.”

“I know.” He stared at her unbound hair, and to her surprise he touched one of the dangling curls by her cheek, tracing the spiral down to her chin.

She wanted to lean into his hand to feel his touch against her cheek. But she held herself still.

“If you love Jean, and he makes you happy, then who am I to question your plans?”

Did she love Jean?

In the distance, among the damp thicket, came the sweet whistle of a yellow warbler.

She turned toward the edge of the woods and the shadows made by the balsam fir trees. As much as she liked the heat of the May sunshine on her bare head, she was safer within the confines of her bonnet and hidden among the undergrowth of the woods.

Maybe she didn’t love Jean or even feel anything for him beyond simple brotherly affection, but Jean was safe. And that was all that really mattered. He would protect her and provide a good home for her.

After Pierre had left, Jean had sought her out every day. At the time she’d been lonely and needed him. They’d spent countless hours together, working, hiking, talking. Jean had been so kind. He’d been more than willing to help her put her friendship with Pierre into the grave.

“You’re right,” she said through a tight chest. “You’re in no place to question my decision. You haven’t been here in five years, and you’ll be gone again in five days’ time. So please don’t say anything more about Jean and me.”

With that, she pulled away from his grip and resumed her stride across the open field. When he didn’t follow, her footsteps faltered.

“You’re angry with me about something else too, aren’t you?” he called after a moment.

She took several more steps before finally stopping and spinning to face him across the span of long yellowed grass left from the previous summer, with the shoots of fresh green beginning to break through to take their place.

His shoulders had slumped, and he’d stuck his thumbs into the waistband of his trousers.

She didn’t know what to say. Yes, if she was honest with herself, she had to admit that she was angry with him. Angry with him for leaving five years ago. Angry that he’d leave again soon. Angry that he could come home and make her care so much again in such a short time.

“What are you mad about?” he asked.

Should she tell him the truth? What good would come of letting him know that when he’d left he’d broken her heart? And that when he left again, he’d break her heart all over again.

“Please tell me what I did, Angelique. I can’t stand the thought of you being angry with me.” His eyes pleaded with her.

“Why didn’t you stop to see Miriam that morning you were on the island?”

“Oh, so that’s all?” The wrinkles smoothed from his forehead. “You’re mad because I didn’t visit Maman?”

If only that were all. She gave a soft sigh. “Don’t you think you could have made an effort to see her? If it were me, I wouldn’t have been able to wait a single minute longer.”

“Believe me, I wanted to see her more than anything. I stopped and watched her through the window, even though I was running late getting off the island.” He gave her a pointed look. “Which as it turns out was a good thing.”

“Why were you on the island in the first place?”

He hesitated, glancing around to the cabin behind them, then to the scraggly weed-filled garden, to the deserted barn and overgrown fields, and finally to the woods beyond her. He shook his head and lowered his voice. “It would be safer for both our sakes if we pretended I was never here that morning.”

She wanted to probe further, to find out his troubles. But she was running out of time. If she didn’t leave enough time to clean up before her tea with Miss McDouall, Ebenezer would discipline her. “Just promise me one thing, Pierre.”

“Anything.”

“Promise me you won’t stay away from home for so long next time and hurt Miriam again.”

His lips curved into a gentle smile, one that reminded her of Miriam’s. “I promise.”

The anger swirling through her chest disappeared like a mist chased away by sunshine.

“I was a fool to stay away from my family. I can see that now. But I’ve changed, Angelique. I’m a different man, and I’m trying to please God with how I live. I’ll prove to you that I’m not the same foolish boy anymore.”

She wanted to believe him, wanted to believe that maybe he really had grown up in the time he’d been gone. “And just how are you going to prove that you’re not a foolish boy anymore?” she teased. “Are you going to stop splashing unsuspecting swimmers and scaring them half to death?”

He grinned. “Of course not. That would require way too much change, and you can’t expect miracles.”

“Then how are you going to prove you’ve given up your wild ways?” She’d never tire of bantering with him. She could only pray that the little of him she’d seen and the fun they’d had that morning would be enough to carry her through until he came back to the island again.

His face grew serious, and he peered back at the cabin. His dark eyes filled with something that made her shiver in spite of the sunshine pouring over her.

“I’ve decided . . .” he started, but then stopped.

Her body tensed, and she wasn’t sure that she wanted him to say anything more.

He turned to face her, steeled his shoulders, and seemed to dig deep within himself. “I’ve decided I’m going to stay for a few more weeks, fix things up around here, and get the fields and garden planted.”

For a long moment her heart stopped beating. His words were too good to be true. And she didn’t dare move, not even to breathe, for fear that he’d follow up with a jest and she’d discover he was only teasing her again.

“I’ll buy some chickens, a milk cow, maybe a hog.”

Her pulse started pattering again, this time with a crashing wave of wonder and delight—and a keen longing to run to him and throw her arms around him.

“Why aren’t you saying anything?” A shadow of worry flitted across his face. “Am I making a mistake to stay?”

She shook her head. “No.” Her words were breathless. “It’s a wonderful decision.”

His grin returned. “Do you think you can put up with me for a few weeks?”

“Maybe.” Her body trembled at the thought that she’d get to be with him longer than she’d hoped possible. “You’re a bear to be around, but I think I can handle it for a few weeks.”

He laughed, a deep laugh that made her cheeks ache from her uncontainable smile.

“You’re a dear girl, ma cherie. I’m glad you haven’t changed.”

“I have changed,” she started to protest. She didn’t want him to think of her as a little girl anymore.

But he’d already turned to head back to the cabin.

“Remember,” she blurted, “I’ve become a master fisherman.”

He winked at her over his shoulder. “And you remember. Tomorrow. At dawn. Down at the west shore. We’ll see who’s best then.”

She watched him swagger away, and she wanted to yell out that she wasn’t a girl or his sister, that she was a grown woman now. But what good would such a declaration bring? Pierre would only laugh at her and tease her again.

What did it matter anyway what he thought of her?

It didn’t matter, did it?