Chapter
12
Pierre swung the ax down again. His muscles burned in agony, and his hands stung from the blisters that had formed there hours ago.
The wood split with a crack that jarred him. He bent, picked up the pieces, and tossed them onto the mountainous pile he’d already chopped.
“Take a break, my dear son,” Maman called from the cabin. “Please.”
Pierre wiped at the sweat that had run into his eyes. His shirt was wet and clung to his skin and did little to keep him dry anymore. And the humidity in the air coated him in a sticky film that was suffocating.
The sky was the color of stormy lake water. If only it would rain and put them out of their misery. He peered toward the west, in the direction of his swimming hole. He wished he could drop everything and sneak away to it. If he’d been with his brigade, he could have jumped into the river to cool off. At the very least he could have splashed himself. The clear river water would have been at his hand, the refreshing wilderness breezes at his back.
“You’ve worked too hard, Pierre,” Maman said. “I think it’s time to call it a day.”
“I’m almost done,” he called. At nine o’clock at night in June, he could probably get in another hour of work before it grew too dark to see. He eyed the pile of logs still waiting for his blade. He wouldn’t be done until he split the rest of the wood he’d chopped yesterday. After that he’d need to stack it against the cabin and inside the barn. Even then, he didn’t know if Maman would have enough to last her through the winter.
The problem with farm work was that it was never ending. When he finished one job, there were ten others that needed his attention—unlike fur trading, where he could mark his accomplishments by the strokes of the voyageurs. They paddled thirty miles a day, fifty-five strokes per minute, fourteen hours a day.
Even at the portages, he could measure their progress. With two ninety-pound packs strapped to their backs and heads, they could still make the haul overland in ten-minute intervals per half mile.
But farming . . . He shook his head in frustration at all he had left to do.
The three weeks he’d planned on staying had passed, and he was still on the island—without the hired help he’d tried to find for Maman. He’d had several leads, but they’d all fallen through. No one wanted to commit, not with the uncertainty of the war and the inevitable battle that loomed ahead.
And try as he might, he couldn’t make himself walk away. He knew he’d feel guilty if he did. He wouldn’t be able to paddle to Montreal and find the usual contentment with his brigade knowing he’d left Maman as helpless as he’d found her.
Why was he growing a conscience now after all these years of living the way he wanted?
He glanced to the swirling gray clouds overhead. He knew what was happening. Ever since he’d repented and let God grip him, the fingers of the Holy Spirit had been wrapped around his heart and he could no longer ignore the pressure there, the urging to do what was right.
He had to take care of his maman.
Even though he couldn’t audibly hear God, the nudging of the Spirit inside told him the same thing Red Fox had—that Maman needed him more this summer than his brigade did.
Besides, two nights ago under cover of darkness, when he’d paddled to Bois Blanc Island to send another missive to the American forces, he’d picked up a message from Red Fox that the brigade hadn’t had any confrontations yet with the North West Company. They were doing fine without him.
Would it really be so terrible to stay on the island for the summer?
He mopped his sweat-drenched eyes again in time to see Angelique step out of the woods and start across the meadow toward the farm. He couldn’t stop himself from staring at her, from watching her lovely swaying and the gentle contours of her figure.
His mind flashed to the kiss he’d shared with her in the tree several days ago, the way she’d said his name and the way her lips had melded with his. He couldn’t remember wanting to kiss another woman quite as much as he’d wanted to kiss her. Even after she’d pulled away from him, he’d ached with the need to hold her again and keep on kissing her.
What was he thinking? He wasn’t supposed to get involved with any woman, much less a sweet, innocent girl like Angelique. He’d never had any trouble in the past. He’d always been content to consider her just a friend. What had changed?
Even as the question ricocheted around in his mind, the answer hit the target head-on. She had changed. She’d grown up. Not only had she developed into an attractive woman, but she’d become even kinder and sweeter and more fun to be around. He loved the way she wasn’t afraid to follow him without any questions wherever he took her, that she wasn’t too grown up to climb a tree, and that she still understood him in a way no one else ever had. He had to admit, he was drawn to her the same as when he’d been a boy. Only now he was drawn so much more forcefully.
He shoved another length of wood onto the chopping block, steadied it, and then swung his ax into it. This was supposed to take his mind off Angelique. The pinging of the ax and the splitting of the wood were intended to distract him from her approach. But with each step she drew closer, his muscles hardened with awareness, until he felt like the slightest pressure would split him into pieces.
Why did she have to grow up? Why couldn’t things have remained the same as always? Out of the corner of his eye he watched her embrace Maman.
Was that why he hadn’t left the island yet? Was it because he wasn’t ready to leave Angelique?
He lowered the ax and rested the blade against the wood chips scattered around the base of the block. That couldn’t be the reason. He wasn’t looking for a relationship with a woman right now. He didn’t want a woman in his life, did he?
Non. Of course not. He was only concerned about Angelique and Maman because they were alone on the island, having to fend for themselves. And with the danger of the upcoming battle, he wanted to make sure they were safe before he left.
Maybe he would stay through the summer, do as much as he could to prepare for winter, and be there to keep them safe during the battle with the Americans. And then after Red Fox and his brigade returned with fresh trade goods and supplies, he’d take his leave.
He heaved a sigh as he turned to look upon Angelique. He’d seen her earlier in the day when he’d taken her to and from the fort for her lesson with Lavinia. He never tired of being near her.
She glanced at him with a shy smile that made him want to drop everything, grab her hand, and run off together.
“I see you’re shirking your duties at the inn again.” He greeted her with a smile.
“And I see you’re being lazy around here as usual.” She nodded at the enormous pile of split wood.
He was relieved to see she wasn’t embarrassed being around him since their kiss and was doing her best to pretend nothing had transpired between them.
But underneath their bantering, he could sense something from her, something more than the usual adoration. Every once in a while he caught her looking at him with an intensity that set his blood on fire. He saw the flush on her cheeks, the intake of her breath, and the desire flitting across her face.
She might have claimed she wanted Jean and that she was waiting to marry him, but a strange need crept into Pierre—the need to prove that she wanted him more than Jean. He could win her affection if he really wanted to. If he worked hard enough to woo her, she wouldn’t be able to resist him.
But what about Jean? Pierre had come back to the island to apologize to his family, including Jean. He wanted to repair the broken relationship and gain his brother’s forgiveness, not make him angrier.
And yet Angelique had the right to choose anyone she wanted. She wasn’t stuck with Jean. She didn’t have to marry him out of obligation. If she found someone she loved more, surely she wouldn’t feel bound to Jean.
“And how did you manage to sneak here this time?” he asked.
“Ebenezer went out, and Betty is already sleeping. She’s heavy with child and tires easily these days.”
“So in your rare moment of freedom you decided to come here and see me since I’m so irresistible?” he teased.
“Don’t flatter yourself. I came to see Miriam.” She tossed him a smile before turning toward Maman. They started to enter the cabin, and he wished he could prevent her from disappearing inside. He wanted to talk with her longer without the time constraints they always faced.
“I’m staying for the rest of the summer.” The words came out before he could stop them.
Both women froze, then slowly turned to face him with startled expressions.
“I might as well,” he said hesitantly, wondering if he should take back the words, if he really could last all summer. “I can help with the crops and do some hunting so that you’re well stocked before winter.”
“God be praised,” Maman said with a beaming smile. “That would be heavenly, Pierre.”
Angelique blinked and then studied his face, her beautiful brown eyes filled with wonder.
“Do you want me to stay for the summer, Angelique?” He needed to know that she wanted him to stay, that she welcomed him in her life.
“Is it what you really want?” she asked.
He searched for a truthful answer. She would expect nothing less. “You know I love my brigade and I’ll miss being with them. But I think the right thing—the thing God wants me to do—is to stay here and help.”
She nodded. “That’s very noble of you. I’m sure the decision wasn’t easy to make.”
“Knowing you’d be here made it a little easier.” He tried to make his words light, but a spark seemed to jump between them.
“I guess now we know who’s the irresistible one.” Her tone was playful too but had a breathy quality that gave away her reaction to his news.
She was glad he was staying for the summer.
A tiny crease formed between Maman’s eyebrows. She lifted her face toward him. Did she sense that his feelings toward Angelique had turned into something more than friendly affection?
He wanted to tell her that she had no reason to worry, that he wouldn’t do anything to hurt Angelique while he was on the island, that he valued Angelique too much to trifle with her like he had other women in the past. But how could he make such a promise? Not when one minute he was telling himself that he couldn’t get involved with any woman, but then the next minute thinking about how he could woo Angelique.
“Jean will be grateful for all Pierre’s help.” Maman grasped at Angelique’s hand. “Now he can return to find things just the way he left them.”
There was a gentle warning in Maman’s words, a reminder that Jean would want to return to find Angelique the way he left her—waiting and ready for marriage.
“Jean will be very happy, won’t he, Angel?”
Angelique lowered her head, but not before he caught a flash of guilt. She murmured her agreement and guided Miriam through the door to the dark interior of the cabin.
“Come in and join us, Pierre,” Maman called before disappearing inside.
He was surprised at the strength of his desire to follow Angelique and Maman inside. He’d love to make Angelique a meal—roasted duck from the bird he’d shot that afternoon. He’d baste it with a glaze made from fresh parsley and green onions. Then he’d add some of the carrots and turnips that had just started to take root.
She would swoon over the meal. He could guarantee it. And he’d find delight in watching her eat every bite.
The ax handle in his hand seemed to weigh as much as a load of stones. He wanted to let it drop and give in to his impulsiveness. Maybe he didn’t have enough time to roast her a duck, but he could make something for her. The light of pleasure would dance to life in her eyes, pleasure with his meal and pleasure with him.
An oil lantern flared inside the cabin, lighting up the interior. From where he stood, Pierre caught a glimpse of Papa’s paddle on the wall. The brightly painted red and blue pattern rose up to mock him, to remind him of the day Papa had hung it on the wall and made the declaration that he’d never use it again, that his days of fur trading were over.
It had been the spring after Papa’s last voyage. He’d paddled back to the island, walked away from his brigade on the beach, and the first thing he’d done when he walked in the house was nail the paddle to the wall. Then he’d taken Maman in his arms, kissed her long and hard, and told her he’d never leave her again.
Pierre swallowed a lump that arose at the memory.
Papa had declared he was a changed man, that he’d turned his life over to the Lord, and that he wanted to put his house in order—namely loving his wife and children the way God wanted him to. He claimed that once a man had a wife and family, he couldn’t abandon them for nine months of the year for his work.
And Pierre agreed. He’d vowed he would never do that to a wife. He wouldn’t marry a woman and leave her behind. And he certainly wouldn’t bring her along with him into the wilderness. Living out of a canoe was no kind of life for a wife and children.
Pierre stared hard at the paddle on the wall. The truth was, if he wanted to be with a woman he loved, he’d have to give up his fur-trading ways, like his father had.
Could he ever do that? Could he ever give up the wilderness and his traveling in order to have such a love?
Through the open door he saw Angelique assist Maman into a kitchen chair. She began unraveling the plait Maman wore at the back of her neck until her long hair hung free.
His chest expanded at the thought that Angelique had risked leaving the inn to help Maman with a bath and washing her hair.
Angelique MacKenzie was the sweetest, kindest woman he’d ever met.
If there was a woman who could make him want to give up everything he loved to settle down, she just might be the one.