by Jody Hedlund
If he could trade all his pelts without any further problems, he would accumulate a hefty profit. So long as the North West Company left his furs and men alone.
He needed to stay with his brigade. He wanted to stay with them.
Pierre reached the shore and climbed out. Water dripped from his body and formed a puddle at his feet. The spring breeze thrashed against his bare back like a cat-o’-nine-tails.
He couldn’t expect Angelique to continue to put herself at risk for Maman, could he?
“I’m sorry the past year was so difficult for you and Maman,” he finally said, squeezing water out of the leg of one of his trousers. “It hurts me to think of how much you’ve suffered.”
She didn’t say anything.
When he chanced a glance at her, she was staring directly at his chest with her mouth slightly open. Her gaze slid down the length of him and then back up.
A grin tugged at his lips. “We’re not little kids anymore,” he said, mimicking her tone from only a moment ago.
When her eyes lifted to meet his, his grin widened in expectation of one of her ready smiles. But she didn’t smile. She didn’t even speak.
Instead a current shot across the distance between them. The intensity of it pierced his gut and charged through his blood.
Her runaway curls tumbled about her face and down her shoulders. Even though her face was thin from hunger, there was no denying that the years apart had shaped Angelique into a beautiful woman.
Again, for a long moment he couldn’t make himself look away from her. He felt as though he were riding through a surging rapids with the crashing and swaying of the water pushing on him and threatening to capsize him.
He had the sudden urge to cross the distance between them, grab hold of her, and . . .
And what?
He shook his head, letting his hair flap in the breeze and spray water everywhere. He gave himself a mental shake while he was at it.
Angelique was his friend. She’d always adored him in a brotherly way. That was all she still felt. Wasn’t it?
He rubbed his hand through his hair, combing out even more water, and he peeked at her from under his lashes.
She’d turned her head away, and a blush had crept up her cheeks. Non. She felt nothing more than the old friendly affection for him. He’d do best to continue to treat her like a friend just as he always had. He grabbed his shirt and tugged it back on, yanking it over his damp skin.
She didn’t say anything but instead busied herself retying her cap and tucking every single strand of her glorious hair out of sight. When she turned to face him again, she’d even shoved her collar up to her chin, hiding the bruises on her neck.
Covered from head to toe in the plainest of garments without a stitch of color, she looked like a nun, which was a shame. Her hair was much too pretty to cover. “I think you should leave your cap off.”
She shook her head. “Ebenezer would lock me in my room for a month if he saw me without my head covering.”
He forced his foot into one of his boots. “I take it Ebenezer is still giving you a hard time?”
She hesitated, a cloud settling over her features. “Now with Therese gone, he’s taken it upon himself to make sure I turn into a saint.”
He paused, his other boot in hand. In the distance he could hear the songs of other voyageurs arriving on the island. “I’m sorry about Therese. I heard what happened.”
Angelique nodded, her face a solemn mask. “She didn’t want to go.”
“So Ebenezer forced her to marry Duncan?” He’d suspected as much, but he hadn’t known for sure, only that the old trader had boasted he’d won the bid to marry the attractive girl.
Angelique stretched her collar higher. “After mother died, Ebenezer got tired of dealing with Therese. She was too spirited, too independent for him. He warned her if she didn’t stop disobeying, he’d marry her off in the spring.”
Pierre frowned at the thought of Ebenezer’s treatment of Angelique and her sister, the control he’d exerted over them, the harshness, the lack of kindness. He supposed that was why his own maman had opened her home to Angelique. Maman had encouraged Jean and him to include Angelique, even though she’d been just a girl. Maman had tried to reach out to Therese too, but the girl was older and uninterested in fishing or building forts or racing along the island trails.
Angelique started toward the edge of the pond. “I guess Therese wasn’t strong enough to make it out in the wilderness.”
“The rapids are dangerous for even the toughest voyageur.”
She stopped. Her eyes were sad but direct. “She didn’t fall out, Pierre.”
He nodded, sensing the despair that lay below the surface of Angelique’s sadness. Even though she could put on a calm façade, as he’d seen her do many times around her stepfather, she was a passionate girl with a tempest of feelings. He’d always liked that about her. She was genuine and honest.
“Every trader that came in last fall said Therese threw herself out of the canoe. On purpose.” Her eyes begged him to contradict her.
But Pierre had heard the same rumor too—the news that Therese had been so miserably unhappy that she’d decided to kill herself rather than live as a fur trader’s wife.
“I’m sorry, Angelique.” He wished he had better news for her. But the truth was the fur-trading life was not suited to any woman, except maybe an Indian woman.
Pierre shoved his foot into his other boot. After all the problems he’d experienced firsthand over the past five years in the wilderness, he could completely understand why Papa had opposed his decision to follow in his footsteps and enter the fur-trading business. There were long stretches away from home. Even when Papa had come home, he’d been too busy with the farm to have much time for his sons and wife. Not to mention he’d been consumed with drinking and had often let his anger get the best of him.
Pierre couldn’t blame Papa for wanting him to go to school in Detroit, for forbidding him to become a voyageur. He’d only wanted to prevent Pierre from making the same mistakes.
He could see Papa’s wisdom now. If only he’d realized it at the time he’d left the island. Maybe if he’d understood that Papa had only loved him and wanted to protect him . . .
It might not have changed the fact that he’d become a fur trader. The wilderness and fur trading were in his blood. But maybe he wouldn’t have left home spewing such hateful words. Maybe he wouldn’t have made so many sinful mistakes.
Angelique bent toward the water. “I’ve got a couple of fish for Miriam if you’d like to take them back to her.”
He whistled under his breath as she lifted a stringful of trout from a shallow pool of water between boulders. “Looks like you’ve become quite the fisherman.”
“I’m all right.”
“You better be all right considering you had the best fisherman on the island teach you everything you know.”
“Best fisherman?” She smiled. “I doubt he’d be the best anymore.”
“Is that a challenge?” He returned her smile, glad to put the serious conversation and thoughts behind them.
“You wouldn’t want to challenge me.” She took three fish off the string and held them out to him. “Because I’d most certainly beat you.”
“Tomorrow at dawn. Meet me at the west shore and we’ll see who’s best.”
Her smile stretched into her eyes. “I already know who’s best.”
“Are you afraid to lose?” He couldn’t resist teasing her back.
“Not at all.” She pushed the fish at him. “Here. Take these to Miriam.”
He took them from her. They were prime-size trout. Their scales glistened in the sunlight, and his stomach growled, reminding him of why he was out in the first place.
She picked up the rest of her fish.
“Maman was asking about you this morning,” he said, not ready for their time together to be at an end. “When you didn’t come before daylight, she got worried about you.”<
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“Ebenezer detained me.” A shadow flitted across her face. “But I knew you’d be there to take care of her.”
Take care of her. The words made him squirm.
“I want you to know,” he said, “how grateful I am for all you did for Maman this past year.”
She started to shake her head. “It was nothing—”
“It was everything. She told me about all you did, coming every morning to bring her food and wood, to start her fire, to cook her fish.”
“I only wish I could have done more.”
“She said you often gave her your own portion and went hungry.”
“We were all hungry.” She glanced at the fish she’d given him, and her face pinched with hunger. “If only we hadn’t been blockaded. And if only the British hadn’t insisted on buying up all our food.”
“Stealing sounds like a more accurate way to describe what they did.” Pierre spat the words, his frustration with the British mounting more each day that went by. Since arriving he’d learned that when the British supply ships had been cut off from the island by the Americans, the commander had decided to purchase the necessary winter supplies from the locals both on the island and mainland.
Of course, the islanders and local Indians hadn’t wanted to part with their precious stores of winter food. But they were given little choice. They either had to hand the food over to the fort commissary and accept a pittance of reimbursement or face having their food confiscated without any payment at all.
Either way, everyone had suffered. They’d had a shortage all winter. And Angelique was obviously still hungry.
His mind returned to the bundle she’d left on the table last night, the small meal she’d brought to Maman. Had she sacrificed for Maman again?
“Come back to the farm and join Maman and me for breakfast,” he said. “I’ll make you the best fish cakes you’ve ever eaten.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “You? Cook?”
“Oui. You’re not going to believe this, but I’ve turned into an exquisite cook.”
“You’re right,” she teased. “I don’t believe it.”
“Then I guess you’ll have to come back and try my cooking for yourself.”
She looked up at the position of the sun and then peered in the direction of town. “I have to be somewhere at half past three.”
“You’ll be back in plenty of time.” His muscles tensed in anticipation of her answer. More than anything he wanted to make a meal for her, to show her his appreciation for all she’d done for Maman over the winter. And he wanted to feed her, to see the hungry look on her face replaced by satisfaction.
“Please, ma cherie. I haven’t killed anyone with my cooking . . . yet.”
“That’s reassuring.”
He grinned.
She hesitated only a moment longer before smiling back. “How can I resist, especially after your promise not to kill me?”
“Good. Let’s go then. I’ll race you back.”
“We can’t race anymore.”
“Why not? Are you afraid I’m still faster than you?”
“Pierre Durant, you are still as arrogant as ever, aren’t you?”
“Just telling the truth, that’s all.” He loved that she could take his teasing and then give it back to him in full measure.
She lifted the hem of her skirt, giving him a glimpse of her bare feet. He looked down at his boots. She didn’t have any shoes? “Maybe we’ll have to wait to race for another day—”
She jolted forward and dashed through the brush, leaving him staring after her.
“Last one back has to gut the fish,” she called over her shoulder.
He took off running, and as he was chasing her, he realized he was truly glad to be home. Gladder than he’d ever imagined.
Chapter
7
Pierre sat back in the kitchen chair, folded his arms across his chest, and let contentment fill his empty belly.
Angelique raised a last forkful of fish cakes to her mouth. With eyes closed she took a long sniff as she had for each bite, and then she closed her lips around the fork. She chewed slowly, savoring every tiny granule of fish and potato that he’d pressed into the patties.
He hadn’t been able to resist watching her eat. It had been like gazing upon a beautiful sunset.
“This is so good, Pierre,” she said again through her mouthful, as she had at least a dozen times since starting the meal.
Maman’s smile was achingly wide, and her eyes brimmed with tears, as if listening to Angelique’s enjoyment of the meal was almost as pleasurable as eating it herself.
He’d insisted both the women eat everything he’d cooked. He knew he could always scrounge up some food from his men and eat later. And if need be, he’d buy more supplies from the British.
For now, it was enough to watch Maman and Angelique—especially Angelique—enjoy each bite.
She opened her eyes. The impact of her pretty lips curling into a satisfied smile crushed into him and squeezed his chest.
“You were wrong,” she said.
“I’m never wrong.”
“You were this time.”
Sunlight streamed through the faded curtains and touched the loose curls of her hair, turning them into a lush reddish brown. He was glad that at some point in the race back to the cabin, her mobcap had fallen to the back of her neck, allowing her hair to tumble down around her face again.
“You’ve almost killed me with your cooking.” She set the fork on her empty plate and sat back in her chair.
“What? I almost killed you? Impossible.”
“Yes. You killed me with the pleasure of it.” Genuine admiration shone from her eyes. “I can’t remember a time when I’ve enjoyed a meal as much as this.”
The warmth of her praise spread over him like the sunshine. It filled him and seeped down to his toes. He picked up his coffee cup and took a sip, letting the rich flavor add to the gratification that had settled over him in a way he hadn’t experienced in a long time.
“I think I especially enjoyed it because for once I didn’t have to gut or fillet the fish.” She held her mug of coffee between both hands and inhaled the freshly brewed aroma.
He didn’t want to think about the bitter acorn-shell tea he’d thrown out onto the grass or the last time Maman and Angelique had tasted real coffee.
“Of course you only won the race because you cheated,” he said.
She smiled at him sweetly. “And here I thought you were learning to accept losing like a big boy.”
“You had a head start and you took a shortcut.”
“Miriam, I think Pierre needs a handkerchief so that he can sop up all his tears.”
Maman gave a soft laugh. “It’s so good to hear you both teasing each other again. I’ve missed it.”
Already Maman looked less hungry and tired than she had yesterday when he’d kneeled before her and begged her forgiveness. Her face had lit up when Angelique arrived, breathless and disheveled, after their race home. She’d wrapped her arms around the girl and let go of the worry that had plagued her since Angelique’s failure to appear at dawn.
Maman hadn’t said anything about being worried, but she’d spent a great deal of time on her knees in prayer that morning. And as he’d worked, he’d lifted his own grateful prayers for a Maman who prayed, for he had no doubt she’d petitioned God on his behalf every day he’d been gone. And he was quite certain those prayers had carried him through many of his rough days and in time brought him back to the Lord.
He reached across the table and captured Maman’s hand and squeezed it. He hated to think of how lonely it had been for her living by herself, with her eyesight failing and leaving her stranded in the cabin.
“I’m glad you’re home, Pierre,” she said, placing her other hand over his and gripping him as if she would never let go.
How could he let go of her now that he was home? How would he ever be able to leave her to fend for herself? But how could he
possibly stay?
Angelique was studying his face. Her smile faded, as though she sensed him plotting his departure, and her eyes flashed with accusation—the same that she’d leveled at him last night when she’d first arrived.
Was she angry with him about something? But why would Angelique be upset with him? How could she be, not when she’d always admired him?
She stared at her coffee and forced a smile. “I’ll only be glad Pierre is home if he promises to gut the fish every morning.”
For some reason he didn’t like the thought that she might be disappointed in him, even if just a little. The need to sweep away that disappointment surged through him. “I’ll gut the fish forever if it makes you happy,” he said softly, wanting to see her eyes light up again.
He hadn’t minded gutting the fish. It had given him the chance to watch Angelique without her knowing it. The first thing she’d done was fret over a new burn on Maman’s hand. She’d slathered it with salve and then bandaged it using a rag. Afterward she’d emptied and cleaned the chamber pot, swept the floor, and brought in more straw to add to Maman’s hat-making supply.
She’d even helped Maman brush and plait her hair and twist it into a knot.
“Gut the fish forever?” Angelique said.
“Oui, and I’ll fillet them perfectly and make you fish cakes as often as you’d like.”
Some of the light returned to the brown of her eyes, soothing him. “Fish cakes every day would make me very happy.”
“If you come for dinner later,” he offered, “I’ll make you a whitefish stew like nothing you’ve ever tasted before.”
“You’re tempting me, Pierre, but perhaps another day.”
She glanced out the window at the sun and then pushed away from the table, her chair scraping the floor and signaling the end of their time together.
“You still have plenty of time before you have to go, don’t you? I thought for sure you’d like me to regale you with tales of my adventures in the wilderness.”
He was only joking with her again, hoping to gain another of her smiles.
But she shook her head, leaned over, and kissed his maman’s cheek. “Good-bye.”