Captured by Love

by Jody Hedlund

  “Describe Pierre to me,” Miriam said, her voice wistful.

  Angelique couldn’t resist taking another peek at Pierre. He’d always been strong and sun-browned. But now, after his years of living out of a canoe and hefting the heavy bundles he transported, he had turned into the kind of man who would turn the head of any woman.

  He quirked his brow at her, which only made him more irresistible.

  Her stomach did a funny flip. If only he didn’t have the same effect on her after all these years apart.

  She gave herself a shake. He wasn’t irresistible to her. She could keep from falling prey to his charm if she worked hard enough. “If he put on his capote and hood and hid in the woods,” she said, “you might mistake him for a loup-garou.”

  He scowled at her. She ignored it, reached for one of the wooden trenchers on Miriam’s table, and placed the pigeon and potatoes on it.

  After his insensitivity to Miriam, he deserved to squirm for just a few minutes. “I’m guessing—just guessing, mind you—that he’d look even more like a loup-garou, especially with a dark beard and mustache covering his face.”

  Miriam’s smile began to fade, and a flicker of confusion stole over her gentle features.

  “But of course now that he’s cleaned up,” Angelique went on, “I probably wouldn’t mistake him for a monster.”

  “Probably?” he asked.

  She paused and gave him a false perusal. “You’re right. It still would be a difficult choice.”

  “Angelique,” Miriam said, “you shouldn’t tease Pierre today, not on his first day home.”

  Whatever she knew about teasing, she’d learned from Pierre. Jean was always so much more serious and sensitive, which was something she appreciated about him. He would be a good provider and give her the kind of life she’d always craved.

  Even so, she had to admit, she’d missed bantering with Pierre.

  “Angelique?” Pierre said slowly, his scowl disappearing and his eyes widening. “My little sister, Angelique?”

  “Yes,” she said, spinning to face him. Something within her protested his title for her. She wasn’t little anymore. And she wasn’t his sister either—although she was almost his sister-in-law.

  “I can’t believe it.” This time he took his time studying her from her face down to one of her bare feet peeking out from beneath her muddy hem.

  Her face was unwashed, the muck of the hen house still splattered over her skirt, the stench of it probably in the air. Embarrassment seeped through her. She should have taken more time to clean herself, at the very least change into the other skirt she owned.

  But ever since the previous spring when Therese had reached her eighteenth birthday, when Ebenezer had married her off to the trader willing to pay the highest price for her, Angelique had done her best to hide any trace of beauty. She couldn’t bear to think that Ebenezer might sell her too, especially now that he no longer considered the marriage agreement with Jean valid.

  And since she’d recently turned eighteen, she had no doubt Ebenezer would start looking for a husband for her soon.

  Who else would want her—a poor, uneducated woman—if not a trader? The idea of having to marry a fur trader strangled her every time she thought of such a fate. She’d decided the best course of action for the duration of the war was to do the best she could to cooperate with Ebenezer and make herself into the kind of woman no man would want.

  And hopefully she’d survive until the end of the war, until Jean came home and she could finally marry him.

  “You’ve grown up,” Pierre said.

  Gone was the animosity that had filled his eyes. Instead they reflected pity, which seemed to reach across the room and slap her cheeks. Although she’d been the object of pity plenty of times over the past couple of years—like the pretty woman on the beach earlier in the day—none of the pity had stung quite like Pierre’s.

  “Angelique has developed into a lovely young woman, hasn’t she?” Miriam said.

  “She’s changed so much I didn’t recognize her.” Pierre avoided eye contact with Angelique just as smoothly as he avoided his mother’s question.

  Angelique’s face burned. Of course she couldn’t expect him to agree with Miriam that she was lovely, but deep inside she wished he’d missed her the same way she’d missed him. The truth was he hadn’t known who she was and had likely been too busy to think about her even once during all the time he was away.

  “Angelique has been a gift from the Lord,” Miriam added, smiling in her direction. “I don’t know how I would have survived this past winter without her.”

  At Miriam’s words, Pierre looked at her again, this time with new interest.

  “She’s been such a blessing to me.” Miriam shuffled toward her, in slow, halting steps, her hands outstretched. “I thank the Lord for her every day.”

  Angelique reached for the dear woman’s hands and immediately found herself wrapped in Miriam’s embrace.

  “You’ve been a blessing to me too,” Angelique whispered. “And now I must run home. Before I’m missed.”

  It didn’t matter what Pierre thought of her, she told herself as she released Miriam and backed out of the cabin. It didn’t matter in the least.

  She’d pledged herself to Jean. And from the letters they’d received from him, she knew he thought of her every day and missed her. When he returned, she’d clean herself up once and for all. She’d marry him, and they’d finally start the life they’d been planning.

  Pierre’s opinion wasn’t important. He’d likely be gone by the week’s end anyway. And this time she’d make sure he didn’t carry away another piece of her heart.

  Chapter

  5

  Angelique gingerly opened the back door of the tavern, holding her breath and praying Ebenezer was still down on the beach.

  She hadn’t meant to linger at Miriam’s. If only Pierre hadn’t been there when she’d arrived. If only he hadn’t been kneeling before Miriam, offering the sweetest, most sincere apology she’d ever heard. If only he hadn’t returned to the island at all. Then maybe her whole body wouldn’t be trembling from the confusion his presence had stirred inside her.

  She pushed the door wider, the dark interior of the kitchen devoid of its usual heat. The dining room beyond was alive with the loud laughter and songs of the men who’d claimed a spot at the inn—the first time sleeping in a real bed in a year’s time.

  Perhaps Ebenezer was busy pilfering his customers, as was his custom. Whatever the case, Angelique released a soft breath, grateful the kitchen was deserted. She closed the door behind her and began to tiptoe past several barrels Ebenezer had purchased from the supplies that had come off the ships.

  God had helped them survive another winter. Their days of starvation were over. At least temporarily.

  At the beach earlier, everyone had been talking about how an attack from the Americans was imminent, that a fleet of American ships was on the way, and that they would attempt to retake the island.

  When she’d heard the news, Angelique didn’t know whether to be excited or worried. The last time the Americans had sailed into the northern waters of the Great Lakes, they’d formed a blockade that hadn’t allowed the British supply ships to reach Michilimackinac. She just prayed they wouldn’t experience another blockade and that this time the Americans would reclaim the island so Jean could return.

  She stepped lightly toward the back stairway, but a plank in the floor squeaked. She paused and held her breath, her stomach growling and reminding her that even with the feasting and new food supplies, she hadn’t eaten enough to ease the ache in her stomach.

  “And where have you been, young lady?” Ebenezer spoke from the doorway that led into the dining room.

  Defeat crashed down on Angelique. She’d hoped with the coming of the ships, she’d regain some freedom that came with the busyness of summer.

  Her stepfather’s bulky frame filled the doorway, and the light from the dining room glea
med off the round bald spot at the top of his head. A ring of black hair surrounded the shining skin of his head, reminding her of the tonsure of the Jesuit priests. His plain gray shirt hung loosely over his fleshy middle, almost like a priestly robe.

  “Where have you been?” he repeated louder. “And why are you sneaking in so late?”

  “I’m sorry.” She hung her head as he would expect. “With all the excitement of the day I lost track of the time.”

  “You didn’t have permission to go anywhere.”

  “I didn’t think you’d mind today.”

  Ebenezer stepped into the kitchen. “Of course I mind.” His tone took on the seething angry quality that didn’t bode well. “As long as God’s given you into my charge, I expect you to obey me and to abide the Ten Commandments.”

  “I do my best—”

  “Not when you steal food right off this very table. Food I forbade you to eat.” He brought his hand down as if to slam it against the plank worktable that Betty used for preparing the meals for the guests. But instead of slamming the wood, he stopped himself and thumped it gently with his palm.

  “Steal?” She glanced at the table, empty except for several greasy pans. “I haven’t stolen anything—”

  “Don’t talk to me that way, young lady.” His tone turned low and menacing. “Betty told me she left the rest of the bread here, but that when she came back into the kitchen, it was gone.”

  Angelique thought back to her encounter with Betty earlier in the day and the offer of the bread. She knew Betty had eaten it, but she didn’t want Betty to get into trouble. “Perhaps one of the guests took it?”

  “Stop lying to me!” The words burst out loud and harsh before he caught himself, cleared his throat, and then spoke again in a too-calm voice. “You’re only sinning further by lying to me.”

  “I’m sorry.” She quelled her angry retort. She knew it would do no good to argue with him.

  “After all this time I’d expected more character growth within you. But instead you are still very much like your sinful mother.”

  Angelique shook her head. She didn’t want to struggle with the longings of her flesh like her mother had, but what if she did have the same wayward tendencies?

  Ebenezer crossed the dark room toward her. “Come with me. Apparently you’re in need of more discipline.” He gripped her forcefully, giving her little choice but to allow him to propel her toward the narrow stairwell.

  As he started up the steps, his fingers tightened. With each step they ascended, his breathing grew louder.

  When they reached the second floor, a sliver of light met them. Betty stood at the crack in their bedroom door in a lacy nightgown that hung embarrassingly low. Ebenezer stalked past without a glance, dragging Angelique along behind him until they reached the ladder that led to the attic.

  “Go to your room.” He shoved her away from him toward the ladder. “And you will stay there all day tomorrow, praying and repenting for your sins.”

  Angelique started up the rungs and couldn’t resist glancing through the shadows to where Betty stood. A flicker of remorse crossed the woman’s face, but then she quickly closed the bedroom door without saying a word to defend Angelique.

  Angelique scrambled the rest of the way up the ladder and crawled into her room, shutting the trapdoor behind her, wishing it were as easy to shut out the sting of Betty’s silence.

  Though she’d encouraged Betty to eat the food and didn’t begrudge her the extra, she wished Betty would have spoken up for her. At the very least, the woman could have deferred the blame on to one of the guests.

  The ladder scraped against the wall as Ebenezer pulled it away, trapping her in the cold, windowless room as he’d done many times before.

  She sat back on her heels, her head brushing against the low roof rafter. The dark reaches of the attic were crowded with empty crates and a few worthless trinkets left from last fall that Ebenezer would likely sell to the Indians.

  What had her mother ever seen in Ebenezer? After all the men her mother had lived with after the death of her father, why had she finally chosen to marry Ebenezer?

  That was the question that haunted Angelique during these confrontations. And she didn’t want to delve too deeply into the painful memories of the past for fear that blame might rest upon her.

  After all, she’d been the one—not Therese—to cry about missing Michilimackinac, to complain about wanting a real family, and to blame their mother for all that had happened to destroy the happy home they’d once had.

  Angelique didn’t want to think that perhaps her mother had married Ebenezer for her, so that she could return to the only place where she’d ever known happiness, however brief it had been. The thought was too painful to consider.

  She sagged against the wall. She couldn’t keep from overhearing the click of the door beneath her room, the squeak of the bed frame, and Ebenezer’s low voice followed by Betty’s higher one.

  Quickly she began to hum, and she reached up to the rafter, to the makeshift shelf that doubled as a hiding spot for the only worldly possessions she owned. She skimmed the board until her fingers brushed against the smooth ivory edge of the comb that Jean had once given her. She brought it down and caressed it.

  At the sound of Ebenezer’s grunt from the room beneath, Angelique squeezed her eyes closed and hummed louder. She wrapped her fingers around the comb.

  If only God would hasten the day of Jean’s return. Then she’d finally be free. She’d finally be able to have the family and stable life she’d always wanted.

  Angelique awoke to the scraping of the ladder against the wall.

  “Come down this instant, Angelique” came Ebenezer’s call from below.

  She sat up and glanced to the far end of the attic, to the light filtering through the cracks in the roof. From the slant of the rays, she could tell it was still early morning.

  “You must hurry.” Ebenezer’s voice held an eagerness that Angelique heard only when he was counting his coins. “You have a visitor.”

  A visitor? She rose from her sleeping pallet onto her knees, bumping her head against a beam. Who could possibly be calling? And why?

  Miriam. Had something happened to Miriam?

  She grabbed her mobcap from the dusty floor and pulled it on over her tangle of long curls. Then she scrambled toward the hatch.

  Maybe Pierre had come to deliver bad tidings regarding Miriam.

  When she lifted the door open, Ebenezer was there, scowling up at her, his all-seeing eyes taking in her disheveled appearance. “You’re in no condition to be seen by anyone.”

  She hastily shoved the curls into her cap out of sight as he required, then straightened her high collar so that it brushed against her chin.

  He glanced down at her dirty bare toes before he spun away and hustled down the hallway, clearly expecting her to follow him as quickly as possible.

  He didn’t stop until he stood in the kitchen by the door leading into the spacious tavern area, where the guests congregated to drink and eat. The mustiness of stale tobacco lingered with the scent of fried fish, making Angelique’s stomach rumble, reminding her of how hungry she was.

  Ebenezer wiped a hand across his bald spot, polishing it. And then he furrowed his brow so that his ring of hair dipped. “Whatever she wants you to do, you do it.”

  She?

  Ebenezer was already striding into the dining room, a wide smile plastered onto his face.

  Angelique knew she had no choice but to follow him.

  “Miss McDouall,” Ebenezer said. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”

  Miss McDouall? Angelique froze halfway through the doorway.

  There in the dining room stood the beautiful young woman who’d come ashore yesterday from the ships. She was clothed in a gown just as flouncy and frilly as the one she’d worn previously, with a high waist and lines of ruffles layered over the skirt. Angelique didn’t know much about British fashion, but she could tell from the style
and embellishments that Miss McDouall was every bit a lady.

  Behind her, in the shadows of the doorway, stood a British soldier who’d likely been sent to accompany and protect her.

  “No need to apologize, Mr. Whiley. If you would be so kind as to introduce me to your stepdaughter, I would be ever so grateful.” She smiled brightly at Angelique, her attention flitting to Angelique’s soiled skirt, but then just as rapidly returned to her face, as if she were making an effort not to gape at the filth.

  “Ah, yes, Miss McDouall.” Ebenezer frowned at Betty, who’d stopped her work of clearing the remains of last night’s drinking to stare with open mouth at Miss McDouall. The mugs and pitchers were drained. The tables glistened with sticky spots, which was all that remained of Ebenezer’s overpriced rum.

  “This is my stepdaughter, Angelique MacKenzie.” Ebenezer waved her forward. “Her poor mother, God rest her soul, gave me charge of the girl and made me vow to take care of her until she’s properly wedded. And I’ve taken my duties very seriously.”

  “I’m pleased to meet you, Miss MacKenzie,” the woman said, her pretty face alight with interest.

  What exactly did the woman want? Why had she come?

  Angelique’s empty stomach cinched. Miss McDouall’s presence didn’t bode well. Angelique knew she’d be better off staying far away from the woman. But at the warning glint in Ebenezer’s eyes, Angelique nodded at Miss McDouall and forced out the greeting expected of her. “Thank you. I’m pleased to meet you too.”

  “Wonderful.” Miss McDouall clasped her gloved hands together. “From the second I saw you, I just knew you would benefit from my help.”

  Angelique started to shake her head. Everyone on the island looked gaunt and hungry after the winter. They could all benefit from Miss McDouall’s help. In fact, if Miss McDouall had been on the island all winter she wouldn’t have looked quite so fresh herself.

  “Perhaps you’re just the influence Angelique needs,” Ebenezer said before Angelique could formulate a response. “The Lord knows I’ve tried so often over the years to teach her to be a good Christian. But unfortunately I still have more trouble with her than I’d like.”