Despite the freezing temperature, Philippe removed his jacket and tossed it on top of the split wood he had stacked in the bin next to the house. He pushed his hat back on his head and wiped the perspiration off his forehead with a handkerchief. He looked at the piece of cloth and stuck it in his jacket pocket and remembered the handkerchief he had handed to Bridget to wipe her tears away the last time he saw her. He remembered those blue eyes filled with tears— tears he had caused.
Pierre, Jean, and Karl trudged through the snow from the barn, interrupting his daydreams. Pierre stopped and patted him on the shoulder as the other two men went inside. “Time for dinner.” He looked at the stack of wood. “I honestly don’t know what we did before you came back home. You handle an axe rather well.”
Philippe grinned. “Just wait until Charles gets home. This will be the most productive farm in the whole colony of Pennsylvania.”
“Can’t argue with you there. We are blessed, are we not?”
“Blessed beyond measure.” Philippe laid the wedge and splitting maul down and stuck the axe in a big log.
Pierre looked at the large stack. “Keep working on the wood this afternoon. It seems we always underestimate the amount of wood we will go through each winter.”
Philippe nodded. “I’ll work on it until I have to quit for milking.” He picked up his jacket and chuckled. “Didn’t need this for long.” They stomped the snow off their boots on the porch as they walked toward the door.
Pierre had started into the house when he paused and nodded toward the road. “Looks like we have company.” He shaded his eyes with his hat. “Doesn’t look like any of our neighbors.”
Philippe’s heart started to pound. “Those are Zwicken’s men,” he said. “I recognize them from the foundry. What are they doing out here?”
Something’s happened to Charles! No! Not that.
He walked out to meet the men, the older one riding a large dapple gray gelding that matched the man’s own salt-and-pepper hair. The younger man sat atop a chestnut with a white face and white socks. He looked to be about Philippe’s age.
The older man cleared his voice and coughed several times before he spoke. “We are looking for the Clavell family.”
“You have found them. I am Philippe Clavell. I recognize you from Zwicken’s, do I not? Has something happened to my brother?” Philippe grabbed hold of one of the horse’s bridles.
Jean appeared in the doorway, followed by Madeleine, wiping her hands on her apron.
“Whoa there, Clavell. You tell me. That’s what I came here to find out.” The older man got off his horse. “Your brother has turned up missing, and Zwicken is convinced that he is here.”
Madeleine stepped up behind Pierre. “Oh dear. Charles . . . ?”
Pierre put his arm around his wife’s shoulders. “We have not seen Charles. He is not here.”
Philippe stood with his hands on his hips. “You are correct, he would have come here, but he has not. Something must have happened to him. How long has he been gone?”
“Can’t say for sure—probably a week or so.” The older man who was speaking for the two cleared his throat. “I hate to ask you this, but may we have a look around? Zwicken will ask if we searched. If we can assure him that we did, it will go easier for us.”
Philippe’s angular jaw jutted out, and he glared at them. “We are men of our word. There’s no need to search.”
“It will do no harm for them to take a look.” Pierre extended his arm toward the barn and the smokehouse. “Look wherever you like. Philippe, show them around. Then please, join us for dinner before you start back. Or spend the night if you wish. You must be weary. I know my wife joins me in the invitation.”
Madeleine’s voice betrayed her concern. “Of . . . of course.”
Her son’s betrayed his outrage. “Pierre!”
“These men are not our enemies. They are simply doing their job.”
The older man spoke up again. “I, for one, am willing to take you at your word, but if you don’t mind, we’ll have a look around the barn. We knew Charles. Liked him. Really can’t blame him for taking off. But Zwicken hates losing his best craftsman. Clavell knew how to fashion a gun stock better than anybody in the whole colony. Zwicken’s gonna miss him for certain.” The two men and Philippe started toward the barn. “You are correct in your assessment, my friend. If your brother is not here, where is he? For I can assure you that he is no longer in Philadelphia.”
PIERRE AND PHILIPPE WALKED THE MEN TO THEIR HORSES after dinner. Pierre motioned toward the barn. “Are you sure you don’t want to bed down here tonight before starting back? It’s plenty warm in the barn.”
The older man began to cough, and the younger one answered. “No, we need to get as far as we can this afternoon while the weather holds.”
“Yes, we thank you for your kindness. We did not relish having to do this.”
Philippe walked down the steps from the porch. “If . . . if you should see . . . anything . . .” He couldn’t finish the unthinkable.
The men reined their horses around. “We will make sure we get word to you if we should hear anything. Does the post rider come out here?”
“Every month or two.”
“Very well. Again, Mister Clavell and Mister . . . Bovée, is it?”
“That’s right.”
“Again, thank you for your hospitality under these awkward circumstances.”
Philippe’s countenance turned grim as he watched the men ride away. He looked at Pierre and expressed what had hung heavy in the air, unsaid . . . afraid that articulated, it would become fact. “We’ve got to go look for him. He must be hurt . . . or . . .”
“Oui. We’ll head out first thing in the morning.”
PHILIPPE BROUGHT LEGACY AND TONNERRE AROUND TO the front of the house. The two black Percherons pawed the snow, eager to be on the road. Madeleine and Pierre came to the door. She looked up at him, and he whispered to her, then stepped out on the porch, pulling on his gloves. The younger man handed the reins over to him and nodded.
“Wait a moment, please.” Philippe walked to his mother and gathered her in a tight embrace. She wiped tears away with her apron. “Maman, we’ll find him. I promise you, we’ll find Charles. Pray. Pray like you’ve never prayed before.” He turned and went to his horse and mounted. I don’t know that I can keep that promise. I don’t even know where to begin.
Both men’s faces reflected their somber mood as they started down the path to the road.
“How do you think Maman truly is? Will she fare well with us away?”
“She trusts God. But she’s concerned about us as well as Charles . . . afraid that she could lose all three of us.”
“We won’t let that happen.”
“No, we won’t.” Pierre looked straight ahead as they moved onto the road.
“Where do we even begin?” Philippe felt his emotions beginning to take over. “What if . . . what if . . . ?”
“Don’t let your imagination run away with you. Here’s the impression I keep getting—surely Charles knew that this would be the first place Zwicken would look for him. Perhaps he’s hiding out somewhere until he feels it is safe.”
“But where would that be? Where would he go?”
“I don’t know, son.” Pierre turned in his saddle to face Philippe. “This is when we need to exercise our faith and declare that we trust our God. He is in control of our destiny. He has Charles in his hand.
He will take care of him. And not only that, he will guide us as we look for him.”
“But what if he had an accident on his way here and couldn’t get help?”
“God loves Charles as much or more than we do. If our heavenly Father cares for the lilies of the field and the sparrows of the air, don’t you think he cares for us?”
“I don’t need a sermon. I know all of this.”
“Ah! Forgive me. I don’t mean to preach. But think about how God took care of us at Versailles. He will make a way for Charles too. And, in the event he has chosen to allow Charles to go home to be with him . . . well, his will be done.”
“I feel in my heart he’s not gone. Is that simply hope, or is that assurance from God?”
Pierre smiled at the young man. “Hope is of God as well, and I agree with you. I don’t think Charles is gone either. He’s out there somewhere.”
“Where shall we start?”
“I think we should travel the route to Philadelphia. Maybe we’ll spot something that will give us a clue.”
“Zwicken’s men would have seen something. They were looking for any sign of Charles.”
“Maybe not. They were bent on getting here as quickly as they could. They easily could have passed by a significant clue.” Pierre looked up at the morning sky. “I don’t like the looks of those clouds. We’re liable to run into snow before the day is out. Then any clues that are out there will be covered up. Come on, let’s get moving.”
They rode in silence for the next hour. Philippe mulled over the statements of confidence that each had declared—and desperately clung to the thread of belief that Charles would be found well. Pierre took one side of the road and Philippe the other, searching for any sign that Charles had been there. Philippe walked Legacy off the road a couple of times to explore snow that had been disturbed, but it never turned out to be anything but animal tracks. They saw nothing that would make them think Charles or anyone else had met with foul play along the road.
The snow started late that afternoon. Philippe held out his hand and watched the silent descent of the deceptively beautiful crystals.
Pierre pulled his hat down around his ears. “We need to find shelter. We can make it to the Saunders farm within the half hour if you’re willing to risk it. That’ll be better than spending the night out here.” Dervishes of snow swirled in the increasing wind, making it difficult to see one another. “The road will be covered soon, but we can follow the ruts until we get to the Saunderses’ fence.”
The wind began to blow with increasing intensity. Philippe shouted above the howl. “Let’s give it a try.”
The two men hunched over their saddles and urged the horses forward. Pierre and Tonnerre went in front as the big Percheron picked his way along the road, bending his head against the wind. Philippe and Legacy followed close behind in their tracks. Once Tonnerre stumbled in a hole in the road, but gained his footing straightaway.
“Make a way through this storm for us, Father God. Make a way. Make a way. Make a way.” Philippe repeated the prayer over and over as they inched along. His fingers were numb around the reins, and he knew they needed to find shelter soon.
“There’s the fence!” Holding his muffler up around his face, Pierre turned and shouted again, “We’ve made it. There’s the fence!”
“Thank you, Father.” Philippe nodded, and they turned into the path to the Saunderses’ cabin.
Pierre pulled up to the hitching rail, jumped off his horse, and ran onto the large porch that wrapped around the cabin. He pounded on the door with his fist. “Hello! Hello, Saunders family! It’s Pierre Bovée.”
The door opened almost immediately, and a large man with a long beard stepped out. “Mister Bovée! What are thee doing out in this weather? Come in, come in.”
“Actually we—Philippe and I—need a place to spend the night. We have reason to believe that Charles has tried to get home and didn’t make it. We are out looking for him.”
“Come in and warm up and eat some supper. You must be freezing. We’ve just finished our meal, but there’s plenty left.” Mister Saunders pulled his hat and jacket off a peg beside the door. “Jeremiah! We have company. Come help with their horses. Rebecca, we have friends we need to feed. Make ready two plates.”
“Thank you, Mister Saunders, we are so grateful. We’ll help you with the horses. These two are special.” Pierre started off the porch with Mister Saunders.
“Beautiful mounts. Does thee have any more Percherons? I’d be interested in a team for plowing. They are strong.”
“We do. We are raising them, and we just had a black colt exactly like the stallion here.” The men had to yell at each other to be heard above the wind.
“I’d be interested.” The older man turned as he and his son led them around the cabin. He cupped his hands around his mouth. “Stay close to the fence. It will lead us to the barn. This blowing snow can be deceptive. A man can get lost and freeze to death between his barn and his house.” The men chatted as they fed and watered the horses and bedded them down in the barn, then crept along the fence to return to the warm cabin.
An older woman, wearing the traditional Quaker dress and head covering, stood beside the table putting plates and goblets down for the unexpected visitors. Her face broke into a large hospitable smile as they entered. “Welcome! Thee are welcome in this house. I’ve cabbage and potato stew ready, and pickled eggs. And plenty of biscuits.”
“Thank you for your hospitality, Goody Saunders. We are most grateful.” Pierre removed his hat. “This is our older son, Philippe.”
Philippe removed his hat as well and nodded. “My pleasure.”
“He has just recently been released from his servitude in Philadelphia. We are so glad to have him home.”
Goody Saunders ladled out the stew and motioned toward the table. “Sit, sit. Would thee prefer ale or cider? Or I have milk and water.”
“Ale for me. What would you like, Philippe?”
“Ale, as well, please.”
“Yes, Abigail told us that Philippe had returned home.” Goody Saunders poured ale for the two while Jeremiah stoked the fire.
“Of course. You are Abigail’s family. I knew her folks lived here in the valley, but I didn’t make the connection.” Philippe sat down at the table and looked at Jeremiah. “I can tell you are her brother.”
“That’s what everybody says.”
“Jeremiah, I do believe you are going to be taller than your father.” Pierre stood beside the young man and measured him with his hand as the adolescent rose up from the fireplace. The young man smiled and ran his hand through his head of thick light-brown hair.
Pierre scooted onto the bench and motioned to Mister Saunders. “As the head of this household, would you pray for us? We need God’s guidance in our quest to find Charles. We know that he left Philadelphia about a week ago. But other than that, we have no idea where he is, or if he . . . if he is . . .”
“Of course, I would consider it a privilege to offer up prayers for you.” Mister Saunders stood at the head of the table and began to pray in a confident deep voice.
Philippe felt the presence of God descend upon them.
“Our Father, we acknowledge who thou art and that thou art always good to thy children. We beseech thee, O Father, to guide these two men in their search for their loved one. Thou dost know where he is. We do not. We are praying that thee would keep him safe and from harm. Send someone to help him if he needs help. Send aid if he is afflicted. Protect these two as they search for him. And, Lord, I’m asking thee to tell the snow to cease. Thou dost command the wind and the waves. Surely that includes the snow, so I’m asking thee to do that for us tonight so that the search can continue in the morning. If Master Charles should be out in this storm, please lead him to shelter—lead him to safe shelter. And . . . oh yes . . . bless the food that these two are about to enjoy.” He chuckled and stroked his beard. “Amen!”
“Thank you, Mister Saunders. I believe God heard that prayer.” Philippe picked up his spoon. I wish I knew how to pray like that. This is a man who knows how to touch God.
“God hears all our prayers. I feel a sense of peace in this matter. I believe thee will find thy brother sooner than thee may think.”
“God told you that?”
“It is simply an impression, my boy. God speaks to his people. Trust him.”
PHILIPPE SAT UP FROM HIS PALLET IN FRONT OF THE FIRE-place. The wind whistled around the eaves of the cabin and found its way through the cracks in the walls. He listened, but all was quiet, except for Pierre’s snoring—and the wind. He lay back down and folded his arms underneath his head. A huge log lay on the back of the grate in the fireplace, glowing and radiating heat. As the log burned it shifted and scraped against the grate. That must have been what he’d heard. He closed his eyes and turned over, pulling the quilt up around his chin.
There it was again. He was sure he heard something this time. He stood and listened. He heard a horse nicker and snort.
Mister Saunders came through the bedroom door pulling on his breeches and snapping his suspenders over his long underwear. “Must be the night for visitors. There’s a lone horse in front of the cabin.” He unlatched the door and creaked it open. Snow blew into the room, and in a heap on the porch lay a redheaded young man, unconscious.