A muffled gunshot from the direction of the house echoed over the field. Charles twisted in his saddle and looked toward Whisper Wood. Philippe and Bridget were engrossed in conversation and seemed not to hear it. He prayed they truly had not heard and would not want to turn back.
PHILIPPE TURNED THE TEAM OF HORSES TO PULL THE SLEIGH alongside the cornfield, its stubble now covered with the residue of old snow.
“Where are you going?” Bridget touched his arm.
He smiled at her. “There’s something we need to do.” Philippe turned to Charles, riding beside them. “Bridget and I need to take care of something before we start home. Trade with me.” He jumped out of the sleigh and took Legacy’s reins. He helped Bridget exit the sleigh and motioned for her to mount Kimi. “Wait here for us, Charles. We won’t be long.”
Charles shrugged his shoulders. “Certainly. Don’t mind me.” He stole a glance toward the house, but saw nothing. “Don’t tarry.”
“We won’t.”
Whisper Wood faded from their view as they rode into the cornfield. Bridget started to turn to go around the cornfield, but Philippe caught hold of Kimi’s bridle.
“No longer, my love. You never need avoid the cornfield again. We will go through it . . . together. It will never hold control over you again.”
They walked the horses at first, then they began to trot. Philippe let go of the bridle as the horses started into an easy canter. Bridget looked at Philippe, then took the lead and began to gallop. As they galloped past the spot where the murder had taken place, the wind whipped around their faces and dried the tears that had begun to spill down Bridget’s cheeks.
They raced across the meadow to the edge of the forest. They picked their way through the snow and down the embankment to the fallen log.
Philippe dismounted and helped Bridget off her horse. He took her hands, led her to the log, and they sat down. “I wanted to bring you here, where my love for you really began. I think I truly saw who you were that day when you first brought me here.”
He pulled the blue ribbon out of his pocket. “After I left Whisper Wood, each time I took your hair ribbon out of my pocket, the fragrance of lavender reminded me of you. And I wanted to see you and hold you. It seems I was living my life in shades of gray until I acknowledged my feelings for you. Since then a rainbow of brightness and color has burst into my world. You brought layers of understanding to my heart. Every time I imagined having a wife and children, building a house, and working the land, it was always you I pictured by my side, you I pictured as the mother of my children, you I pictured standing at the door to welcome me home. I want to spend all of my days beside you.”
Bridget looked down and began to cry, her tears spotting the ribbon. “I find it difficult to sincerely believe that any gentleman would still want me after . . . after . . .”
Philippe took her hands and knelt in the snow. “I want no other. I vow to spend the rest of my life making up to you what has been taken from you. Can you . . . will you ever be able to forgive me?”
Bridget stared at him. “Forgive you? Whatever for?”
“If I had told you how I felt that day at Whisper Wood, perhaps none of this would have happened.” He removed her gloves, turned the palms of her hands up, and kissed them.
Bridget shook her head. “No, don’t blame yourself. My parents would have gone ahead with their plans regardless.”
“But if I’d only told you how I felt, you never would have agreed.”
“How can we say what might have been and what it means? All I know now is that my heart overflows with love and joy at being loved by you and becoming your wife. There’s no need for forgiveness. I love you with all that I am, and that’s what that means.” Bridget sniffled and blinked her eyes.
Philippe smothered her hands with kisses. “Thank you, my love.
Thank you. I pledge to make it up to you.”
She touched his bruising cheek and the wound in his thigh, which by now had stopped bleeding. “I think you’ve already started trying to make it up to me.”
It had begun to snow. He gathered her in his arms and held her close. She swept an icy, lacy flake from her eyelashes as she looked into his eyes. He kissed her gently, searching her lips, softly brushing them with his own, as if he did not wish to offend her wounded sensibilities in any way. They both trembled as they surrendered to the warmth of each other’s arms. She felt herself responding to his tenderness. She wanted more and more of him.
He stepped back and tilted her chin. “Mistress Philippe Clavell, I meant what I vowed to you. I promise you I will never let anything hurt you again. Let us leave the heartache and regrets of the past here—here in your special place where you always felt safe. I will always love you and take care of you. God will be your refuge, and your safe place is now here in my arms.”
Tears flowed down Bridget’s cheeks, and she reached up and touched his face. “Take me home, Philippe. Take me home to your valley.”
AMOS AND SARAH BARRINGTON RETURNED TO WHISPER Wood the day after Christmas. Eb pulled in front of the house and assisted the Barringtons as they exited the carriage. No snow had fallen since they’d left for Philadelphia. Amos noticed a stain on the cobblestones, but said nothing.
Abigail greeted them as they moved up the steps. “Welcome home, Mister Barrington. Mistress Barrington.”
Sarah began to cry immediately upon stepping into the house. “You’re not going to believe what happened. It was absolutely the most humiliating ordeal I’ve ever lived through in my entire life.” She took off her cloak and handed it to Abigail. “I’ve never been so ashamed.”
Abigail handed Bridget’s letter to Amos. “Mister Barrington, Bridget and Philippe were here. She left this for thee. I believe it will answer all of thy questions.”
Amos tore open the letter and began to read. Sarah read over his shoulder and cried even harder.
Father and Mother,
I do not wish to cause you further pain. I love you. When you have read this letter, I believe you will understand why I had to take drastic action.
The letter continued and related the story, beginning with Bridget’s witnessing the murder when she was a little girl and ending with the fact that the young couple had stated their vows and were already married. Bridget had signed the letter,
I am confident I will be safe and happy with Philippe as we make our home in the Schuylkill Valley. Please give Sophie a secure place of employment until we can come after her in the spring. Until then, I remain,
Your loving daughter,
Bridget
Sarah sat on the edge of the settee and intermittently shook her head and blew her nose. Amos got up, lit his pipe, and paced.
The Barringtons looked at each other, and Amos patted Sarah’s hand. He took a deep breath and puffed on his pipe for a few seconds.
“Well.” He nodded his head. “Well. That’s quite a story. And it does put a different light on the situation. I need our daughter’s forgiveness for not heeding her reservations about Edward Moorehead. If I had, this whole series of events could have been prevented. And I owe Philippe an apology. We could not hope for a finer young man for our daughter. I am indebted to him for protecting Bridget and treating her with respect.”
Sarah nodded slightly and wiped her eyes. “But I had hoped for—”
Amos turned to his wife. His eyes glinted. “For what, Sarah? What more could we hope for than a man of character and integrity who loves our daughter with his whole being? I have no doubt that he will take care of her in a most honorable manner.” Amos jabbed the floor with his cane and jutted his chin in the air. “They have our approval.”
TWO DAYS LATER SOPHIE WATCHED FROM THE UPSTAIRS window as a black buggy pulled in front of the house. Only a remnant of the telltale brown stain remained on the cobblestones beneath the mud and slush of old snow. Two men emerged and tromped through the icy mix, unaware of the gruesome blot beneath their boots. Sophie recognized Jacob Moorehead, but the other man was a stranger. The clank of the pewter door-knocker rang through the house. She tiptoed to the landing and, her heart thumping against her chest, strained to hear as the men asked to speak to Amos.
Jacob’s voice, so similar to Edward’s, led the queries. “My brother has been missing since the day that was supposed to be his wedding day. Do you have any knowledge of his whereabouts?”
“I have not seen Edward since we were at his residence for the wedding, which . . . a-hem . . . as you well know, did not take place.”
“Might I inquire as to the whereabouts of your daughter?”
“She has gone with her new husband, Philippe Clavell, to his family’s home in the Schuylkill Valley.”
Sophie could hear the shuffling of feet and nervous murmuring.
“She has already married? Obviously she did not truly care for my brother if she so quickly jumped into the arms of another man.” Jacob hesitated. “Did she see Edward before she left?”
“I have not seen her myself. She left only a letter for us.”
An unfamiliar voice spoke. “What about your servants? Could they possibly have seen Mister Moorehead?”
Sophie stepped back into the shadows.
The tapping of a cane indicated that Amos was walking to the door of the parlor. The servant’s bell chimed. Sophie watched as Abigail, holding her infant, walked past the stairs to the parlor.
“Abigail. Would you come here, please? Have you seen Mister Moorehead?”
“No, Mister Barrington.”
“Have you seen Bridget and Mister Philippe?”
“Yes, sir. They stopped by here on their way to . . .”
“All is well. You need have no fear of telling the truth.”
“Mistress Bridget and Philippe and his brother, Charles, stopped by here to get a few of her things before they proceeded to Mister Philippe’s family’s place . . . north . . .”
“Yes, continue.”
“They said their marriage vows before us as witnesses and did not tarry. They packed up the sleigh, and . . .” The servant paused. “I do not know what happened after that. My husband and I went to the barn before they left.”
Jacob again. “So when you came in from the barn, they were gone?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And you haven’t seen my brother?”
“No, sir.”
“What about Sophie? Where is Sophie?”
Amos’ strong voice interjected. “She is here. I’ve employed her at Bridget’s request until there is a place for her with my daughter.” A chair scraped on the wooden floor. “Do you wish to speak to her?”
A tense moment crawled by as Sophie held her breath, gripping the banister.
Jacob spoke. “No, I don’t suppose that is necessary.”
The unfamiliar voice entered the conversation again. “You will notify our offices if you hear anything, will you not?”
“Yes, of course.”
They moved toward the door. Jacob again. “Incidentally, Leo Zwicken has completely vanished. No one has seen nor heard from him. I’m convinced my brother’s disappearance is connected with his.”
The men said their good-byes and left. Sophie exhaled and sat on the top step with her head in her hands. Abigail emerged from the parlor and paused at the bottom of the stairs. She looked up at Sophie, then ducked her head and proceeded to the keeping room.
Sophie returned to the kitchen and sat down at the trestle table to quiet her trembling knees. Zwicken was gone. Even if Edward’s body were to turn up, she didn’t think it likely that anyone would look in the direction of the Barringtons or their servants. Still, she looked forward to the day when Bridget and Philippe would come for her and take her away to the hills of central Pennsylvania.
THE SLEIGH JOSTLED DOWN THE HILL, ROUNDED THE CURVE to cross Bushkill Creek, and then started up the road toward the houses. Twilight settled over the woods, and the lengthening shadows reached across the road, spilling over the sleigh. Charles had ridden ahead to alert the family.
Bridget snuggled next to Philippe, shivering in the cold. “Will we make it by nightfall?”
Philippe nodded and chucked the reins, urging the horses to pick up their pace. “It’s just over the rise.”
Bridget felt a knot in her stomach. Gripping Philippe’s arm, she whispered, “I’m so frightened. Will your family . . . are you certain your mother will . . . accept me?”
As the horses climbed from the creek bottom up the hill, the houses came into view, silhouetted against the pink sunset sky. The sleigh bumped over the ruts in the road.
Philippe pointed toward the house. “Look, my love, look!”
From every window shone a lighted candle. A soft halo of light wrapped its luminescent arms around the picturesque scene. Philippe urged the horses to pick up the pace, and the snow began to fly beneath the runners. Approaching the house, they could see a woman with a shawl wrapped around her shoulders standing on the porch.
Madeleine Clavell Bovée slowly stepped off the porch, and then began to run. Her shawl fell into the snow as she stretched out her arms toward them.
Philippe turned and grabbed Bridget’s hand as she began to cry. He laughed. “There’s your answer. The invitation is extended. Welcome home, my love. Welcome to the family.”