A Refuge Assured

by Jocelyn Green

  “I love you, too,” he said.

  Vienne smiled at the dimples fading in and out of his cheeks as he nestled into his pillow.

  The floor was warm and smooth beneath her feet as she walked through a gossamer moonbeam. She slipped behind the folding screen and changed into her nightdress before climbing into her bed. Drowsiness was slow to join her. As Henri’s breathing steadied and slowed in sleep, her thoughts swung back to Liam, as they often did while she lay in a bed he’d made, in a house he’d built, on land that once belonged to him.

  But tonight was different. Tonight there was more to think about than wood and earth. Hay crunched in its ticking as Vienne rolled over and scooped a paper fan from the floor. Closing her eyes, she stirred a breeze toward her face and waited for guilt or shame to pounce.

  It didn’t. The only thing she felt was a thrilling wonder. And if she were honest with herself, a longing to belong to Liam. He knew her and wanted her still. When he asked permission to kiss her properly, a yearning, long subdued, had awakened for the man she loved. She had hoped but not dared to believe, until now, that his feelings for her reached beyond friendship. Now she knew. Faith, but he had certainly banished all doubt.

  Perhaps they should take care not to be alone together like that again.

  With a smile, she worked the fan faster.

  Footsteps.

  Squinting against the sunlight filling his room, Liam swung his legs over the bed and followed the sound into the hallway. As much as he’d like to linger in memories of last night with Vienne, the events that had preceded their unplanned moment by the creek surged in his mind. He needed answers. Now.

  “Finn.” Liam’s voice boomed at the top of the stairs, catching his cousin on his way down. “Did you know?”

  At the bottom of the steps, Finn turned. “And a good morning to you, too.”

  “I’ve had better.” Descending to join him, Liam raised the hand that was encrusted with hardened tar. Pain pulsed beneath its surface. “I asked you a question. Sit down.” He jerked his chin toward the parlor.

  Eye widening as he took in Liam’s hand and the black splatters on his chest, Finn slinked into the room and folded his wiry frame into a chair.

  Jethro appeared in the doorway. “What’s this?” His gaze caught on Liam’s black scabs.

  “A little gift from the Schultze brothers last night. And I need to know if Finn, or you, had something to do with it.”

  Mouth pulling down at the corners, Jethro leaned against the parlor doorframe and crossed his arms over his work shirt. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Do you, Finn?”

  A fly buzzed in languid lines near the fireplace. Finn dropped his head into his hands.

  Liam’s jaw clenched. “Then I’ll tell you what I know. The excise collector, Joseph Cowley, was tied up to a tree, naked, when I found him last night. Surprised you didn’t hear his screams, too, by the way. Or maybe I shouldn’t be. Because Derek and Ernest Schultze came moments later with a pot of hot tar and bag of feathers. I got in the way of the plan. Mr. Cowley is fine, in case you were worried. Now, I’ll ask you again. What do you know?”

  Jethro shook his head. “You think I’d be fool enough to have any part in such a plot against a white man? I’d lose my freedom, maybe more than that. No sir, I’d never try it, even if I wanted to, which I don’t. I’ve seen the likes of tar and feathers before. Ain’t no way I’d do that to someone. And if I’d heard tell of such a plan, you can bet I’d have spoken against it.”

  Liam believed him and told him so, and Jethro left to make him a salve of comfrey and feverfew. Liam sat across the game table from Finn and waited. Outside, a woodpecker drilled into the silence stretching between the two cousins.

  “You weren’t supposed to get hurt.”

  “Hang it all, Finn!” Liam slammed a hand onto the chessboard and launched from his chair. He paced across the braided rug, the thick fibers cushioning his feet. “You knew about this? Did you help plan it? I know you’ve got an ax to grind on this tax issue, but this is beneath human decency.”

  “Slow down. I’m not as fully to blame as you think.”

  “Oh no?” Liam swiveled to find Finn on his feet, hands up to halt his tirade. “How fully to blame are you, then?”

  Air puffed sharply through Finn’s nose. “After you told us Cowley had come through here, I mentioned it to Derek and Ernest. We joked about what we’d do if he ever came back. I said I wouldn’t pay, because I have no cash. They said they wouldn’t pay, even if they did.”

  “And then?”

  “Ernest asked me what had happened to the excise officers in Washington County when they came around to collect. I told them the truth.” He scratched the patchy whiskers on his cheek. “Some were scared off with just words, one or two that I know of were tarred and feathered. But I have never been part of that myself, Liam, not out west, and not here.” His voice tapered off at the end.

  Liam angled his good ear toward his cousin. “What are you not telling me?”

  Finn pinched the front of his shirt and flapped it back and forth to fan himself, for already the day was too warm. Then he crossed his arms and studied the mantel behind Liam. “Derek asked me how tarring and feathering was done. I told him to use his common sense and figure it out himself. It couldn’t be complicated. I didn’t mean that he should actually carry it out on someone. You’ve got to believe me, cousin. I never thought this would happen, and I certainly never thought you’d come to harm in the process.”

  That Finn never thought, Liam believed. Struggling to keep Finn’s past indiscretions out of the argument, Liam held his tongue before he said something he would regret later, for he could feel his temper rising. Think it through, Finn. Just think. How many times had Liam told him that? He’d always been far too easily influenced by careless comrades.

  And yet somehow not influenced enough by Liam. If Liam was at fault for that, he prayed God would forgive him. Staring at his blackened palm, he exhaled as much frustration as he could. If what Finn had told him was true, he’d been thoughtless, but not the merciless scoundrels the Schultze brothers were. He hoped.

  “Tell me this, Finn. If you had come across Cowley about to be cast into the most intense suffering he’d ever known, what would you have done? I want the truth.”

  Finn walked to the window and opened it wider. Humidity infused the room without a breath of wind to carry it. He swatted at a mosquito on his arm before facing Liam. “The truth is, I don’t know. Maybe I’d have intervened like you did. Maybe I’d have looked the other way. I truly don’t know. And that’s the most honest answer I can give. I’m certain that disappoints you, but we can’t all be Liam Delaneys.”

  Liam rubbed his hand over his face. “I don’t want you to be anyone but yourself. But I want you to be the best version of Finn O’Brien you can be.”

  “And what would that be? The kind with two eyes, ten toes, and a thriving carpentry trade?” The edge in Finn’s tone belied the pain beneath the words. “Do you think I like living on charity? Do you think I don’t know I’m a burden, just like I was when I first moved into your household?” His shoulders hunched slightly upward, as they had when he was a boy, caught in some kind of trouble.

  “Finn.” Liam crossed to him and gripped his shoulder until it settled back down into place. “You’re not a burden, you’re family. And I’m living on the same arrangement as you, remember? This land and house don’t belong to any of us. But as long as you do live here, we must come to an agreement. If Joseph Cowley comes back around, or any man he sends in his place, there will be no violence. We’ll settle your debt. We will live inside the law, cousin. This is the country we fought to establish. It’s time to play by this country’s rules. If you need to cut ties with Derek and Ernest to make this easier—and I strongly suggest you do—the sooner, the better.”

  Finn nodded, his expression serious. “I am sorry about your tar, you know.”

  “I forgive you.” Liam r
eleased him and wondered if Jethro was about ready with that salve. “And I trust this won’t happen again.”

  Henri kicked a plank in the paling fence, only mildly caring if it came loose. No one had time for him anymore.

  Sweat made his scalp itch under his straw hat. He picked up a stick and dragged it along the fence as he walked. Ta-ta-ta-ta-ta-ta-ta. All along the perimeter he went, sometimes slower, sometimes faster, listening to the stick sing against the wood. Ta-ta-ta-ta-ta-ta-ta!

  Boring.

  With a sigh no one heard, he squatted at the edge of Vivienne’s garden and plunged the stick into the earth between her flowers. He stirred the soft soil until he found a big fat worm and tried to pick it up without using his hands, but it writhed away.

  Boring.

  He couldn’t wait for Louis-Charles to get here. One day, they’d be together again—here for a while, and then back in France.

  Henri plunged his hands into his pockets. “Mademoiselle!” he called, marching toward the kitchen house. He stood in the open doorway but would not go in. The building was cozy in the winter, but midsummer made it like an oven. “Mademoiselle, how long will it be, do you suppose, until we can all go back to France?”

  She leaned on the table’s floured surface and dropped her head for a moment. When she looked up again, she didn’t look happy. Not mad, though, either, though he asked this same question fairly often. “We can’t go back yet,” she told him quietly. “You know that, mon cher. No one knows how long it will be until it’s safe to return.”

  Henri gripped his whittled horse inside his pocket. Waiting was such hard work. “Let’s go for a canoe ride,” he suggested. “It will cool you off. Won’t that feel nice, to be out on the river?”

  She punched down a bowl of dough. “Not now, Henri. Perhaps later.”

  Perhaps later. He’d heard that before.

  “What’s Mr. Delaney doing today?”

  “I don’t know.” She didn’t even look up this time.

  Henri crouched and called to his cat. “Here, Fishy Fishy Fishy Fishy!” When she came, he scooped her up and held her beneath his chin. He liked to smell her silky fur. “What about Mr. Fortune? Or Mr. O’Brien? Sometimes they need help. Do you think I could help them?”

  “They would have come to get you if that were the case.”

  That meant no. Probably the men thought he wasn’t strong enough for the work even though he’d told them his legs felt so much better. Madame Fishypaws squirmed, and he tossed her to the ground.

  Henri pressed his back straight against the doorframe and walked his feet up the other side of it. He was getting pretty good at this. “Look! Look at this, I’m doing it!” Hands gripping the frame behind his back, knees bent, he pushed his feet against the doorway as hard as he could to keep himself locked in place, suspended above the floor. Slipping, he jumped down. “Did you even see that?”

  Vivienne looked up and smiled. “I’ve seen you do that many times.”

  “That time was the best, though. What are you making? Are you saving some for me? Is it ready?”

  “Faith, Henri! Go read a book in the summer house.”

  “What’s this?” Paulette crossed the yard toward him, an empty laundry basket in her hand. Behind her, sheets flapped on the clothesline beneath the cloudless sky. Like sails against the ocean. “Nothing to do, I see.”

  Henri knew better than to agree with her. Once when he’d done that, she’d set him to shelling black walnuts, and his hands were stained brown for days. Another time, she made him grind coffee beans. He’d much rather stay outside.

  “I have it.” Paulette tapped her temple, hazel eyes as sharp as the point of her chin. “Vivienne, could you use any raspberries?”

  Mademoiselle looked up. “Oh, yes! That would be wonderful. Would you? Would you take him?”

  “My pleasure.” Paulette picked two small baskets off a shelf and handed one to Henri. “I don’t suppose you could show me the way, could you?”

  “I most certainly can.” A little surge of energy shot through him as he led her through the small settlement toward the winding river.

  It didn’t take long to reach the place Henri had in mind. Nestled between sighing trees and laughing river, a clearing spread before them where grass bowed low in the wind, a sea of changing greens and ochers. Grasshoppers leapt through undulating blades. Bees hummed from one wildflower to another.

  At the edge of the clearing, thorny bushes as tall as his nose were loaded with red, ripe fruit. “Watch out for the stickers,” he told Paulette. He’d been poked by them plenty before.

  The broad brim of her hat shadowed half her face as she dropped berries into her basket. “We should have worn gardening gloves to protect our hands.”

  A warbler flickered on a nearby tree, a small yellow flame against the green. “I’m very tough,” Henri informed her, “and my arms are smaller than yours. If you want, pick the easy ones, and I’ll go in after the rest.” He popped a raspberry into his mouth, crushing the flavors with his tongue until he felt the seeds against his teeth. So good. But it would be even better with sugar.

  He glanced toward the river. Even from here, he could see the sun sparkling off its churning surface. “Do you know, Paulette, of all the rivers I have known—the Seine, the Delaware, and this one—I love this one best.” He smiled at the Susquehanna.

  “Is that so? Why?”

  Henri ate another berry before adding more to his basket. “I’ll show you. But we’ll have to leave our baskets here.” He looked at her skirt. “Can you climb in that?”

  Paulette’s hand hovered over her basket. “What do you have in mind?”

  He grinned. “Trust me. It will be worth it.”

  After tucking their baskets where they could find them again later, Henri took Paulette to a path that wound around tree trunks and through underbrush.

  “Where are you taking me?” Paulette puffed as she followed him up stony curves.

  “Prospect Rock.” It was a hard climb, and he’d only done it once before. In the spring, Vivienne had said she felt suffocated by how close the hills were, and Mr. Delaney responded with a hike. He had needed to help Henri in the toughest parts that time, but Henri was stronger now. He could do this. And wouldn’t Vivienne and Mr. Delaney be surprised to hear he’d done it without any help? “You’ll like it at the top, I know you will.”

  The trail dipped and climbed, and soon he was panting, too. He’d forgotten how steep it got. In some places, they had to grasp a small tree or branch to keep from falling backward. It was harder for Paulette, because she also had to keep her skirt out of the way. But she did it.

  Finally, they reached the top. “See.” Henri was short of breath. “That’s why I love this one best.”

  Paulette stood beside him, hand on his shoulder. She put her other hand to her heart, and he smiled. He knew she’d like it.

  To the west and south, mountains rose in layers, ridge after ridge. Across the river, hills hundreds of feet high were covered with green trees. Out from the north flowed the Susquehanna River in giant sweeping curves. In the great horseshoe bend lay log houses, all the same except for the Grand Maison, and straight streets crossing each other in a perfect grid. From this distance, it looked like a toy town made of pieces Mr. Delaney had whittled.

  Henri sat on the rock, then lowered himself to his back. Soft clouds blotted the blinding blue sky with restful, dove-breast gray. They seemed low enough to touch. He reached up to bury his hand in the feathers.

  “I’m going to bring Louis-Charles here one day, too,” he said. “But he’ll have to be extra careful.” He pointed to the loose rocks at the edge. “It’s a long way down from here.”

  Paulette stood over Henri, mind racing. The boy could have an accident up here, if he wasn’t careful.

  A squirrel skittered out onto the rock, and Henri jolted up. “Do you think I could catch it?”

  Sweat beaded on her neck. “Yes,” she whispered. “Try.”
>
  Henri pushed himself up to a crouch on the rock. It was broad enough that he could scramble about without going near the edge. She inched closer to the drop-off and looked down. Her heart slammed against her chest.

  “Next time,” Henri said, and she turned to find him clapping dirt from his hands. “He can climb trees. No fair.”

  Below, some little creature scattered a spray of pebbles.

  “What’s that?” he asked. “Another squirrel?”

  “I think—” She could do this. The boy had set it up for her perfectly. One lie. One push. And it would be over. “I think it’s Madame Fishypaws down there.”

  Henri blanched. “Are you sure?”

  “Come see.” She pointed to a narrow outcropping below.

  “Oh no.” He came close, and she wrapped her hands around his shoulders.

  Gently, she moved his body in front of hers. “I’ve got you,” she told him. “Do you see her?”

  He leaned forward, trusting her to hold his weight. “Here, Fishy Fishy Fishy!” he called. His toes edged closer to danger.

  Paulette’s hands grew damp on his shirt. Courage! This was the moment. This was her chance to act for the good of her country.

  Still she paused, envisioning what might come after she pushed him over the edge. What a mess.

  And the alternative: he might not die. What then? Would she try to convince him he had slipped from her grasp? Would she have to kill him with a rock?

  Paulette shuddered. She tightened her grip on the boy, her pulse throbbing.

  “I don’t think she followed us up here.” Henri backed away from the precipice.

  So did Paulette. She sat on the rock to catch her breath. How very weak she was.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  August 1795

  After leaving a basket of food on the blanket, Vivienne and Paulette approached the edge of the woods where it seemed all of Asylum had gathered. In the spirit of improving the settlement for the arrival of Louis-Charles, Monsieur Talon had called for a tree-felling contest, to be followed by a picnic afterward.