41

The smallpox was always present, filling the churchyards with corpses, tormenting with constant fears all whom it had not yet stricken, leaving on those lives it spared the hideous traces of its power.

T. B. Macaulay

The Dinwiddies’ gowns were almost finished, the Pandoras sumptuously clad and awaiting the daughters’ return. Their absence gave Sylvie ample time to do little but sew. As she stitched, her every thought returned to Will, whom she’d not seen since the courthouse fête a week before. The time stretched long after the excitement and color of that evening. Though she’d managed to forget her uneasy circumstances for a short time, the unknown future was waiting for her afterward, a reality she couldn’t dodge. A reality that made the Rivanna River endeavor seem a sort of refuge.

A knock at the door brought Sylvie’s head up, her needle stilling. Eulalie swept in with a tray, reminding Sylvie it was teatime. From somewhere in the mostly empty palace a case clock tolled the hour. Rain spattered the window glass, dusk not far behind.

“I’m glad of the company,” Sylvie replied with a smile, setting the petticoat aside.

Eulalie’s face was grave as she set the tea tray on a small table. “I bring de mauvaises nouvelles.”

Bad news? Sylvie all but held her breath. Would they all be exiled again?

For once, Eulalie did not just leave the tray but sat down across from her. “There’s sickness in Williamsburg.”

“Sickness?” Not exile. Sylvie’s mind raced to Will before veering to Eve’s recent confidence that Mr. Hunter was ill.

“Apparently the malady is now sweeping like fire through town. All the doctors have their hands full and are talking of quarantine.” Eulalie poured the tea with an unsteady hand. “I fear yellow fever or smallpox. I hope and pray we escape both. You know how it is with us newcomers, privy to all sorts of colonial maladies.”

Sylvie added sugar and milk to her cup, for once the sweetmeats on a pretty dish far from tempting. “I’ve had neither. And I wonder about the Dinwiddies.”

“The governor has decided to remain in Maryland for the time being, though he may return if the sickness abates and leave his family behind. As for me, I’ve decided to go to the Rivanna River settlement with Major Blackburn.”

Sylvie felt a sudden loss. “How soon?”

The relief in Eulalie’s face was unmistakable. “On the morrow.”

“But Governor Dinwiddie—the butler—”

“They’ve given permission due to the circumstances. Shops and businesses are closing their doors while we Acadians who’ve cast our lot with Major Blackburn are already packing.”

All but Sylvie.

The loneliness that was now so familiar deepened. The question Will had asked her the night of the fête seemed to echo with a resounding shout.

Do you want to come with me, Sylvie?

Eulalie’s brow creased. “There’s a place for you too. It’s not too late for you to change your mind. We’re stronger together, not scattered. Major Blackburn knows the wilderness and has the means to sustain us, at least for the time being. It’s a chance for us to make a home, a new life, and escape the sickness besides.”

How welcome it sounded, full of hope and possibilities if not the life of before.

Eulalie continued between sips of tea. “There we won’t be spat upon in the streets or made fun of in the palace.”

Though Sylvie had borne the brunt of curses and comments herself on occasion, the kindness of others had muted it somewhat. If not for Esmée Shaw and Lady Drysdale and their men . . .

“You’re leaving the Dinwiddies at the best possible time.” Eulalie looked at Sylvie’s sewing with a sharp eye. “They’ll return here to beautiful new dresses. What better adieu could you give them?”

Sylvie’s mind veered to Eve and the children. Eve wasn’t free to leave. And Henrietta and Nolan, so small, were especially vulnerable. She recalled one redcoat at Fort Cumberland marveling at how many Acadian children lived past childhood and how free of disease Acadie was. But here in this crowded, reeking town . . .

“I’ve no doubt Major Blackburn wants you to join us.” Eulalie drew her shawl closer about her shoulders, shivering at the room’s chill even as Sylvie got up to add another log to the hearth’s fire. “He cares for you. I see it plainly. You didn’t have a beau in Acadie, did you?”

“No . . . never.” She was cast back to that day when the English ships came and she’d been dreaming of her future husband on her beloved overlook. Might it be Will?

There no longer seemed a taint of their expulsion about him. In hindsight she realized he hadn’t lied to her in seeking Bleu. Perhaps she’d just fallen victim to her own confusion. Alone with him lately, she’d felt an almost unbearable sweetness of being.

“Please consider his offer if not his courtship,” Eulalie urged, eyes pleading. “If you stay here, you are in more danger of deportation and now this unknown illness. Williamsburg has little to offer us.”

Will sat back in his chair as the supper dishes were cleared away by Kersey’s housekeeper and after-dinner drinks were served. Liselotte and Spencer kept up a lively conversation by the hearth, having traded the table for the fire’s warmth.

“So, you’re leaving with certainty on the morrow?” Kersey looked less than pleased. His eye trailed to his niece before returning to Will. “I’ve pledged my support to your endeavor, Major, but I have another proposition in mind as well. I’m wondering if you wouldn’t benefit from having Liselotte at the settlement for a time.”

Will swallowed his brandy, schooling his reaction. Could Kersey sense his surprise—and reluctance? “Does she speak French?”

“Nay. But that shouldn’t get in the way of the work. She’s been brought up on a small plantation, as you know, reared to manage the dependencies you have waiting—weaving house, kitchen, laundry, dairy, and so forth. Matters best left to the women with the men in the fields. And I understand you have few women going to the Rivanna, at least this early.”

“Seven women,” Will said. “And eighteen men.”

“My niece would make the eighth, then. And I can assure you that she is able to do the work of two women and manage all the rest.”

“Is this her idea or yours?” Will asked. A burst of laughter from the hearth assured him Liselotte and Spencer weren’t listening as the law student recounted a joke.

“She approached me to approach you.”

A bold move. Still, it didn’t endear Will to the plan. “The Acadians are industrious people and likely need little management. In fact, after all they’ve endured, they might resent it.”

“I’ve heard of their dike lands and their crop yields. They are renowned master farmers and cattlemen. Still, Liselotte might be a steadying influence on the women. She’s at loose ends here, grieving the loss of both parents and plantation. I’m little help, being away so much at the college. Perhaps, given time, she won’t care for the Rivanna and will return to town, but I hope you’ll be willing to let her attempt it.”

“On a trial basis, then.” As much a trial for Will and the Acadians as it was for Liselotte.

“This will always be her true home, of course. But sometimes in the midst of grief, a diversion is needed. A change of scene.”

Will couldn’t argue with that. Had he not felt the same? “Would she be willing to leave tomorrow?”

Kersey chuckled and cast a fond glance at his niece. “She’s already packed and ready, waiting for your consent.”

Sylvie stood with Will in the palace’s small antechamber adjoining the butler’s pantry. Her heart caught at the sight of him and his half smile as if he was unsure of her. His silver eyes seemed steely. He was clad in a wool greatcoat with a turned-up collar and attached cape, silver buttons marching up the deep-blue front. He was not only well dressed for travel, he looked more a menace than the wintry weather.

“Sylvie, consider what you’re saying.” He spoke with remarkable calm, though his eyes retained their quicksilver ferocity. “Smallpox is spreading and you’ve not had it. Even if you shun my personal attentions, consider your safety. Your very life.”

She hesitated, knowing Eulalie and Sebastien and other Acadians were even now filling wagons and saddling packhorses to begin the journey west. Will was doing a merciful thing, taking them early to try to evade more calamity.

She studied his handsome face but found no pockmarks, only a faint scar or two. “Are you immune?”

“I survived it at Fort Saint-Frédéric that long winter.” He looked down at the cocked hat in his hand. “I was at ebb water, weakened by winter and a long, bitter march through the wilderness. I nearly died but for the efforts of a French surgeon.”

She felt one burden lighter, at least, though she continued to worry about Henrietta and Nolan. “Please don’t worry about me. I should be safe here. The butler forbids us to leave palace walls, at least those of us staying on.”

Even as she said it, she realized how foolish it sounded. Someone delivering food to the kitchen or hazarding an outside meeting might be their downfall. Was he thinking it too?

“I’m more worried about you, Will.” She let slip the intimacy of his name, struck by the possibility she might never be allowed the privilege again. “Aside from the smallpox, it feels like the weather is about to worsen.”

He looked toward the window, his features tight with concern. “Though it takes time to reach the Rivanna and the weather isn’t in our favor, every step forward is a safeguard from disease.”

Unless one of your party has it but doesn’t know it yet.

Feeling the terrible tick of time, she reached for him and took one of his hands between both of hers. His face did not register surprise, but she sensed it as his gaze softened. Rough as river rock, his tanned, callused skin reminded her of Bleu’s. As she thought it, he brought her hand to his lips and kissed the backs of her fingers, wiping his gallant gesture at the well from her mind. She was one step shy of throwing herself into his arms and leaving all behind to go with him into an unknown future.

With effort she resisted the wild impulse and said, “When will you be back?”

“I don’t know, Sylvie.”

Hard, cold facts stared them in the face. He could leave and die himself, if not by pox then by some other malady or accident. She could stay on and succumb. The dire possibilities were endless.

Long-banked emotion rose inside her like the tide, choking her and making a proper goodbye impossible. With one last look at him, she pulled free and fled upstairs.