by Jody Hedlund
Protest rose swiftly inside Angelique. How could he say such a thing? She never gave him any trouble. In fact, she always tried to go out of her way to avoid him.
“Then this is indeed a meeting orchestrated by God himself,” Miss McDouall said. “My father wasn’t quite sure that he wanted a lady like myself to come to this remote and desolate area of the wilderness, but I assured him God had put a call on my life. I’ve been quite willing to sacrifice my own comfort so that I can be of help to someone less fortunate than myself.”
“Someone less fortunate?” Angelique blurted the words before she could stop them. She didn’t need Miss McDouall’s charity, especially when there were others who would benefit from it much more than her. “I can help you find islanders in need of your generosity. There is one widow in particular who is blind and could use help planting her fields and repairing her roof.”
Miss McDouall’s smile faltered. “I regret to hear of the widow, Miss MacKenzie.” She smoothed her white gloves over the glossy layers of her gown. “But as you can see, I’m not exactly a farmer. I’m afraid I wouldn’t do the poor woman any good at all.”
“Of course not,” Ebenezer said, frowning at Angelique, his narrowed eyes telling her she would pay for her obstinate remark later. “You’re much more suited to bestow your kindness upon another young woman, like Angelique.”
“I agree, Mr. Whiley. We all do have varying gifts and abilities. I have come to cheer up the soldiers with dances and parties. I hope to form a Soldiers Relief Committee with the purpose of helping provide better clothes and food for our soldiers. And I would like to bestow my personal attention to one of the island’s more unfortunate women.”
Unfortunate? Angelique wanted to shrink in embarrassment.
“After all,” Miss McDouall continued, “I do seem to have a talent for helping less fortunate women better themselves.”
“I for one will be grateful for any changes you can bring about in Angelique.”
Miss McDouall clapped her hands together again and her smile returned. “Then I shall start at once. I would like to offer an invitation for Miss MacKenzie to join me for tea this afternoon in the officers’ quarters in the fort. Shall we say at half past three?”
Ebenezer spoke hurriedly. “Angelique might be too busy today.”
Angelique wanted to laugh at the thought of her being busy—not when she’d be in her dark dormer room doing nothing.
Miss McDouall’s smile disappeared altogether, and her expression turned petulant. “I really have no time to waste. My father insists that I leave the island by the end of the summer. If I am to help Miss MacKenzie, then I shall need to take advantage of every opportunity I have.”
“Yes, but she must fish. We rely on her fishing—”
“Could she not fish this morning?”
Ebenezer didn’t say anything. The silence was filled with the clinking of mugs and clanking of silverware from Betty’s table-clearing efforts.
“I’m sure Miss MacKenzie wouldn’t mind changing her plans just slightly, would you, dear?” Miss McDouall had turned her sweetest smile upon Angelique.
If only the woman knew just how little control Angelique had over her schedule. “I’m willing, yes, but I must do whatever my stepfather wishes.”
The soldier near the door stepped out of the shadows. “Mr. Whiley, I suggest you accommodate Miss McDouall’s request as best you can.”
Angelique took a quick step backward. It was Lieutenant Steele, the quartermaster, the same soldier that had attacked her two mornings ago.
The lieutenant was dressed in a fresh uniform that had likely been among the items on the supply ships. The red of his new coat was brilliant in the morning sunshine streaming through the doorway. And although his handsome face was still thin, he’d shaven and had lost the wild, ravenous glint.
“Commander McDouall is very supportive of his daughter’s charity efforts,” the quartermaster continued. “I suggest you do whatever you can to support her efforts as well.”
Did Lieutenant Steele remember her?
Angelique resisted the urge to touch her neck and the bruises he’d left.
He didn’t bother looking at her. And his face was stiff and impersonal. If he’d recalled their encounter, he apparently wasn’t going to reveal it.
“Well,” Ebenezer said slowly, “if you feel it would be best for Angelique to visit you today—”
“I do,” Miss McDouall interrupted. “I’d be ever so grateful to you.”
Ebenezer looked at Angelique. She could sense he didn’t want to release her from her discipline, yet what choice did he have? He couldn’t refuse Miss McDouall’s request, not with the lieutenant standing by.
“Run along and do your fishing now, dear, if you must.” Miss McDouall fanned her hand at Angelique, shooing her away. “Just make sure you’re ready at half past three for our tea. I shall send Lieutenant Steele after you to accompany you to the fort.”
Angelique stifled a shiver at the thought of having to be alone with Lieutenant Steele again. “Thank you, Miss McDouall. I’ll be waiting.” And then before anyone could stop her, she turned and sped through the kitchen toward the back door.
She knew she ought to feel grateful for Miss McDouall’s invitation. It would mean food and an escape from Ebenezer’s overbearing control for part of the day. But she couldn’t shake the feeling again, that an association with Miss McDouall would only bring her trouble, especially after she’d worked so hard to stay invisible.
For the moment, though, she was free. Free from the confines of the attic, free to go out in her canoe, and free to savor the beautiful May morning. She would relish the precious moments, no matter the consequences she would face later.
Chapter
6
Pierre hoisted the canoe, letting the smooth birchbark rest against the top of his head. He carried the fishing rod inside the canoe—Papa’s fishing rod.
He was surprised Maman had suggested he take it. Even though she said she’d forgiven him, he hadn’t expected her to allow him to use anything that had once belonged to Papa. It was almost as if she’d not only forgiven him for his mistakes but had forgotten them too.
He wasn’t quite sure he could accept that kind of love. It seemed too good to be true. And it made him feel even guiltier that he would need to leave her by the end of the week.
The crunch of twigs under his feet echoed in the crisp morning air. The scent of woodsmoke hung heavy, rising from the Indian campfires along the island’s south shore.
He was planning to get done as much work around the farm as he could before he left. He’d even gotten up early that morning to repair the roof. But a gurgling stomach had prodded him to find the makings of their next meal. Except for the few potatoes left in his pack, Maman had no food anywhere in the house. She hadn’t had any food all winter . . .
Except for what Angelique had provided for her.
Angelique.
Pierre tripped over a root buried beneath soggy leaves. The canoe wobbled, and he tightened his grip to steady it.
Gratefulness for Angelique’s kindness was quickly replaced by remorse. He hadn’t exactly been polite to her since his return to the island.
“It was her fault,” he muttered. “Oui. She should have identified herself earlier. The first time she saw me.”
It would have saved him the worry about his mission being discovered. His abdomen tensed at the thought of what might have happened to her had he not rescued her from her attacker. The Lord only knew what other trouble she’d experienced during the past two years in her efforts to take care of Maman.
He snagged his boot again, this time on a rock. He stumbled forward, losing hold of the canoe. It slipped from his head and began to fall. With a lunge he caught the canoe and gently lowered it to the ground. He’d found it in the rafters of the barn, dusty but still solid, the same canoe he’d hewn with Papa’s help when he’d been younger—except that Papa had embarked on one of his trip
s before they could finish.
Pierre had worked on the canoe all winter, attempting to line it with small splits of cedarwood. But he’d only gotten angrier and more frustrated at his ineptness and lack of knowledge, until finally he’d stopped working on the canoe altogether.
He supposed that was when he’d first realized how much he resented Papa having to be gone half the year. When he became a voyageur, he decided he wouldn’t have a wife or children. That way he wouldn’t have to leave behind a family.
With his sleeve Pierre wiped the perspiration from his forehead. After the hard work of the past couple of hours, he was not only ready to eat but ready to cool off in the pond in the secluded cove where he’d always gone when he was a boy, where he could swim without being disturbed.
He started to heft the canoe again, but then stopped and peered through the newly leafed foliage. A flash of white was followed by the distinct sound of splashing.
Someone was already there. In his spot.
Granted, he hadn’t been here in over five years. Still, he’d been the one to discover it. His muscles flexed. He once again lowered the canoe to the ground, then crept forward soundlessly. He neared the pond and crouched behind a jagged boulder.
A ball of clothing rested on a fallen log near the swimming hole. He peeked around the boulder.
There in the calm water floated a young woman on her back, the white of her petticoats swirling in the water around her legs, her bare arms paddling. Her long, thick curls fanned around a pretty face, forming a beautiful dark red against the green-blue of the water.
His heart began to race.
Angelique?
He stepped out of his hiding spot, allowing himself a clear view. Her eyes were closed and her expression serene, as if she were relishing every stroke and lap of the water.
He smiled. Yes, it was Angelique. Silently he tugged his shirt out of his breeches and shrugged out of his suspenders. Then he slipped his shirt over his head and shed the boots.
Sunlight bathed her face, kissing the faint freckles sprinkled across her nose. She sighed and kicked her legs, keeping herself afloat.
His grin widened. Before she had time to open her eyes and catch sight of him, he jumped in, letting his entire body hit the water near her, so that his splash crashed over her.
She yelped and flailed her arms and legs.
His body submerged into the pond, and the shock of the cold water took his breath away. When he broke the surface, his teeth were already chattering.
She was sputtering water and wiping tangles of curls out of her eyes, eyes that were wide with fright.
At the sight of him, the fear evaporated into anger.
“Good morning.” He grinned, tossing his head and shaking the water from his hair and treading water to keep afloat.
“You scared me.” She glared at him, the darks of her eyes wide in contrast to the paleness of her face. Her arms swished back and forth in the water with her own effort to keep from sinking.
“I couldn’t resist.” He laughed at her indignation. “For old time’s sake.”
Her glare wavered. And then, before he could duck, she brought her hand around and sent a wave splashing into his face.
The water filled his mouth and eyes, and for a moment he was the one left sputtering. With a cough he wiped his face clear of water and found that she was watching him, amusement in her eyes.
“For old time’s sake,” she said dryly.
A burst of laughter welled up, and he let it out. Within seconds he found himself in a splashing war with her, just as they’d done in the days before he’d left. Only she wasn’t half his size anymore. And she was much stronger and quicker than he’d anticipated.
Splash after splash knocked into him, until finally he lifted his hands in mock surrender. “You win,” he laughed. “I can admit when I’m defeated.”
“That’s a first.” She gave a breathless laugh and swiped at the hair that had fallen into her face. “You used to be such a poor loser. A big crybaby.” Her eyes and smile teased him.
“I couldn’t have been a poor loser,” he teased back. “Since I never lost.”
“Oh yes you did. Especially when Jean and I teamed up against you.”
His hands and feet were numb from the cold water, but for some reason his chest pulsed with warmth. “Two against one? Non. I don’t think that counted as a real victory.”
She shrugged. It was almost as if the years hadn’t separated them, as if he’d never left. She was still the sweet girl who’d tagged along with him and Jean for all their adventures together.
“I think the only reason you won now was because you were already used to the water.” He shuddered. “I’m frozen.” It was only mid-May, much too early for swimming.
“So now you’re blaming the cold water for losing? Maybe you’d better just accept the fact that I’m all grown up now and can beat you fair and square.” At that, she tossed one more splash at him.
Though he was stiff from the cold, he smiled and gave her a nod. “I believe you’re right—much has changed since I’ve been away.”
Her gentle brown eyes looked up at him with warm adoration. During those turbulent months of fighting with Papa, amidst all his anger and resentment, amidst the horrible ogre he’d become, she’d followed him everywhere and listened to him. She hadn’t condemned him or shut him out like Papa had done.
And now, seeing her again, seeing that same adoration, an ache grew in his chest. He realized just how much he’d missed her acceptance and friendship.
“It’s good to see you again, Angelique,” he said softly while treading water near her, brushing her legs with his.
“It’s good to see you too.” She lowered her head, as if embarrassed by her admission. But then she let out a gasp. “Oh my.” Her eyes widened at the sight of his bare chest only inches away.
He shrugged. So what if he was shirtless? As children she’d seen him unclad plenty of times.
She began to back away, and even though the water covered her to her shoulders, he was close enough to see bruises on her neck, and the way the water plastered her chemise to her body and outlined her feminine curves.
Her breathing turned choppy and only served to bring more attention to her wet chemise.
A spurt of heat shot through him, and he couldn’t make himself look away as he became aware that she wasn’t a little girl anymore. And he was no boy.
She was a woman—a beautiful, full-grown woman.
She glanced up and, seeing where he was looking, gasped again, kicked her legs frantically and swam a safe distance away from him, toward the shore and the log where she’d left her bundle of clothes.
He ducked underwater and let the cold pressure bring him to his senses. What was he thinking? Angelique was his little sister and nothing more.
He broke the surface and blew out a breath of air and water.
She started to step out of the water, but then stopped and glanced over her shoulder. “Turn around, Pierre. We’re not little kids anymore,” she called.
“Oui. I can see that,” he replied, unable to resist grinning.
She scowled at him, clearly waiting for him to obey her order.
“All right, ma cherie. If you insist.” He spun in the water so that he was facing the opposite direction. “But you’d better hurry or I might peek.”
“You’d better not.” Her voice was jagged with her effort to hustle back into her clothes.
“And just why are you swimming without your clothes on anyway?”
“I didn’t think I’d have any visitors.”
He shook his head at her stupidity. “If I could sneak up on you, then why couldn’t one of the other voyageurs?”
“Because they’re all still drunk in their beds.”
“But there’s always the chance that someone might see you.”
She didn’t say anything.
For some reason her silence fueled the frustration swirling in his chest. “And what ab
out the Indians? They’re swarming all over the island.”
“I’m fine.”
“I suppose you were fine the other morning when I pried that British soldier’s fingers from your neck?”
“You have no right to get angry with me, Pierre.”
“Why?” He spun to face her, not caring if she was half dressed. But she’d already donned her skirt and bodice, and they stuck to her wet skin and undergarments. “Why aren’t you being more careful?”
She reached for her mobcap, pressed a fisted hand onto her hip, and glared at him. “For your information, I was sneaking food to your mother. Without my deliveries every morning, she would have starved to death.”
His angry retort died, stabbed by a sword of guilt that had been slicing at him since his return to the island. If he’d been here over the winter, he could have cared for Maman and kept Angelique from having to put herself in danger.
With a breath of frustration, Pierre dove underwater again and swam for the shore. The chilly water stung his cheeks. The muddy scent from the recently thawed snow filled his nostrils. And the taste of guilt lingered on his tongue.
It wasn’t his fault Maman had almost starved to death. He hadn’t known she was blind and that she couldn’t take care of herself anymore. And he hadn’t realized the food situation for the islanders had become so desperate.
But would he have been willing to leave the wilderness to return to the island to help her? Would he have sacrificed his brigade, his furs, and the way of life he loved? More important, now that he knew how desperate her situation was, what was he going to do about it? He couldn’t very well abandon his brigade or his furs to help her.
Since the fur-bearing animals were nearly extinct in Europe, the British were desperate to keep control of the fur trade in North America. They were paying good prices for each pelt. The past few years of trading had proven to be very profitable for him. He’d amassed four canoes of his own and was an independent, bourgeois headman over nearly fifty men.