by Jody Hedlund
“Good. I see you’re still alive” came Lieutenant Steele’s voice.
“You’ll have to shoot me if you want to kill me,” Pierre said weakly.
Through watering eyes, Pierre stared beyond the lieutenant’s head, soaking in the clear evening sky that was turning into the deeper blue that came before sunset. He took a gulp of the fresh air that surged down into the pit, giving him blessed relief from the stench for an instant.
“Thirsty?” the lieutenant said.
Pierre didn’t respond.
The lieutenant dangled a bucket down toward him.
Pierre wanted to reach for it, but before he could get his arms to work, the lieutenant tipped it and dumped the water, letting it pour over Pierre’s head. It ran in rivulets down Pierre’s face, and he opened his cracked lips to catch every drop he could.
The lieutenant laughed. Pierre was too thirsty to care. In the distance came faint shouts of laughter and celebrating.
“Do you hear that?” the lieutenant asked. “That’s the sound of victory.”
“Congratulations,” Pierre said sarcastically.
“We’ve broken the American blockade. Our troops managed to sneak up on the Tigress and overpower her. And once they were in control of the Tigress, it was only a matter of time before they were able to capture the Scorpion too.”
The news hit Pierre like an avalanche of boulders. Captain Croghan and Sinclair had returned to Detroit in the Niagara along with the wounded, including Jean. But Pierre had placed hope in the remaining American ships to bring an end to the British domination in the Great Lakes. He hadn’t wanted the islanders to suffer, yet he’d hoped the British would get hungry enough to give the island back to the Americans.
He’d wanted Jean to be able to return and take care of Maman and Angelique before winter set in. Especially since he’d be dead and wouldn’t be there to help them.
Now the chances of Jean’s return had vanished. There would be no way for Jean to come back to Michilimackinac with the British still in command. And that meant Angelique and Maman would have to suffer through another winter on their own.
The very thought made him groan.
“You’re in luck,” Lieutenant Steele said, then tossed down a crust of bread. “Several bateaux from Georgian Bay have arrived with food.”
Pierre eyed the dried piece of bread next to his foot in the muck. He didn’t have the strength to reach for it. His own brigade would likely be returning any day now too, the canoes loaded with fresh trade goods. They’d be eager to be on their way west before the weather turned cold. What would become of them now?
“Since we have plenty of food to go around now, I thought maybe I’d share some with you . . . for your final meal.”
Pierre glanced up.
The lieutenant grinned. “That’s right. Your last meal. I’ve decided as part of the celebratory festivities tomorrow that we’ll line up the firing squad and give the soldiers the target practice they’ve been longing for.”
It’s about time, Pierre thought, though he didn’t say anything for fear the lieutenant would change his mind and keep him in the Black Hole until he was nothing more than a pile of bones. If he had to die, he wanted to get it over with quickly.
The lieutenant started to back away.
Pierre greedily drank in the faint streaks of orange and pink in the wisps of clouds far overhead, and he dragged in a final breath of the cool air before the staleness of the Black Hole could settle back around him.
“Oh, and by the way,” Lieutenant Steele said, spitting and aiming so that the glob fell against Pierre’s head. “I’ve heard rumors that Ebenezer Whiley is looking for a husband for Miss MacKenzie.”
Pierre pushed himself up. “A husband?”
The lieutenant gave a hollow laugh. “Thought that might interest you.”
It didn’t just interest him. It carved a path of alarm through his battered body.
“Now with the return of commerce to the island, seems he’s determined to marry her off to any man willing to pay the right price.”
Please, God, no! he screamed silently as he struggled to rise from his cramped position, his arms and legs protesting every movement with sharp pain ricocheting through his body.
“Let me out, Lieutenant.” Pierre clawed at the dirt wall in front of him, sending a shower of crumbling stones and dirt down upon his head. “I beg you to let me out.”
He didn’t care that he was begging now. He didn’t care if he had to get out and kiss the lieutenant’s boots. He’d do anything to keep Angelique from the fate she’d feared more than anything else.
Lieutenant Steele reached for the trapdoor.
“Please, Lieutenant, I’ll do anything you want. Anything. Just let me out so that I can help Angelique.”
“It’s nice to see you so cooperative, Durant. Finally.” He began to lower the trapdoor.
“No!” Pierre shouted. “Let me out!” Laughter mingled with the creaking of hinges until a final bang cut off all light and sound. All that remained was the echo of his protest. “No!” he yelled again.
His breath came in gasps, and he tore at the sides of the pit. He needed to get to Angelique and help her before it was too late.
“Let me out!” he screamed, even though he knew it wouldn’t do any good.
He was as trapped now as he’d been the day he walked into the fort and was arrested by the sentinels. No one was coming to rescue him. No one was going to bail him out of trouble. He’d brought this upon himself and was determined to face the consequences of his actions. He’d decided to take the punishment for his foolish spying so long as he knew Angelique would be taken care of with Jean.
If he couldn’t have Angelique for himself, then he would gladly give her up for his brother. Jean would love her and provide her with a good life. In fact, he couldn’t think of a better man than Jean.
But now . . .
He loathed the thought that Ebenezer was selling her off to any old fur trader willing to pay him a bride price. He had no doubt that if Ebenezer set his mind to do it, he would. Look what he’d done to Therese.
Panic seized him at the idea of some dirty trapper touching Angelique. “Help!” he called again toward the heavy slats.
With the little strength he had left, he dug into the dirt wall and tried to climb up the incline. He managed only a few small steps upward before the dirt crumbled and he lost his hold. He fell backward awkwardly. A cry of frustration slipped from his lips, filling the pit with all the agony welling inside him.
For once in his life he was completely helpless, unable to do anything in his own power or charm. He couldn’t save his own life, much less Angelique’s. He pounded his knees with his fists, then hunched into a quivering and exhausted mass.
He knew he’d always thought too much of himself, put too much stock in his own abilities. Was this God’s way of showing him how prideful he’d been?
“I admit it, God!” he cried out. “I’ve been arrogant and stubborn. I can’t get myself out of this situation on my own.”
Maybe he shouldn’t have relied so much upon himself in the first place and should have been turning to God for help.
It wasn’t too late to start doing that, was it?
Angelique huddled against the attic wall, her arms wrapped around her knees, her cheek against the smooth fabric of the gown Lavinia had given her.
The early morning slants of sunshine coming in through the cracks in the roof marked the eighth morning of her captivity in the attic and one more day that she was safe from marriage.
At least during this discipline, Ebenezer hadn’t starved her. He’d sent Betty with food and water twice a day. Surprisingly, Betty had been friendlier than she had since she’d arrived last fall. She’d kept her updated on the news, telling her about the end of the blockade, that starvation had been avoided, that companies of voyageurs were returning to the island, and the Indians were coming for their last gifts before returning home.
&
nbsp; Angelique had no doubt Ebenezer was making sure all the returning men knew about her. It would only be a matter of days before one of the men decided he wanted a wife to take with him into the wilderness.
“I won’t go,” Angelique whispered into the darkness. “I’ll run away first.”
But she despaired every time she thought about Therese trying to run, only to be captured and forced to leave the island anyway.
Angelique buried her face in her arms. Once out in the wilderness, where could she possibly run? If she tried to sneak away from her husband, she’d only face the harsh elements and wild animals. She’d be trapped again.
Had Therese found the only true escape?
The ladder creaked, the signal of Betty’s morning ascent. Within seconds the lock scraped open.
“I have news,” Betty said, lifting the door and popping her head into the dormer room. Her head was covered in her usual mobcap and long collar pulled up to her chin. “Ebenezer has found you a husband.” Rather than a bowl of soup and bread, Betty came with a washbasin and towel. “My husband says you’re to make yourself presentable before you come down.”
“Very well,” Angelique said, waiting for Betty to leave. She wasn’t washing for anyone. If Ebenezer hadn’t taken away her everyday skirts, she would have changed into one first. She knew what he was doing. He’d left her in Lavinia’s gown because he wanted her to look appealing so that he could earn as much money from her as possible.
“He told me I wasn’t to leave you until I saw the job done.”
For a long moment, Angelique refused to budge.
“When Ebenezer decided to marry me, I didn’t have a choice either, you know,” Betty said, sliding the basin of water across the floor toward Angelique.
“I know.” Angelique sighed and reached for the tin bowl.
“I’ve had to learn to make the best of it.”
Why was Betty willing to be pleasant to her now on the morning she was being forced to marry and leave the island?
“Truth be told,” Betty continued, “I’ve grown to have affection for Ebenezer . . . even though he’s far from perfect.”
Angelique splashed the water on her face, wiping away the many tears she’d shed over the past week. Mostly tears at knowing she’d failed to save Pierre. She’d missed the chance to plead with Lavinia one last time for his life. At the thought of his death, her heart had broken over and over until there was nothing left.
It was too late for her to do anything. And now she was the one who needed saving.
“Maybe in time you’ll grow to love your new husband too,” Betty said.
Angelique started to shake her head, but Betty slid something across the floor toward her. A comb. The comb Jean had given to her.
She sucked in a breath. Was this some kind of trick? Was Betty tempting her to take it only to make her pay later?
“Go on. You can have it.” Betty crossed her arms.
Angelique hesitated.
“I want you to take everything with you so that there aren’t any reminders to tempt Ebenezer.”
The pain in Betty’s eyes reached across to Angelique. Did the young woman think Angelique’s leaving would end her problems with Ebenezer’s unfaithfulness? Was that why Betty was being so kind to her—now that she was no longer a threat?
“Thank you, Betty.” Angelique picked up the comb with its smooth ivory handle. With the comb as a peace offering between them, Angelique didn’t have the will to defy Betty’s instructions to clean herself up. She took pains to comb the tangles from her hair, but then stretched her cap across her head.
As she descended the ladder behind Betty, her legs shook with the need to retreat and hide. But there was no place left for her to go, and no one who could help her.
She followed Betty into the dining room, and at the sight before her, she shrank in horror. Standing near the doorway were two Indians, a fierce-looking man with his hair shaved on either side of his head with a strip running down the middle. Next to him stood an old Indian with stooped shoulders and a long gray braid. They weren’t covered in the war paint the Indians had worn on the day of the battle against the Americans. Even so, their dark eyes were cold, their expressions as unrelenting as stone.
“This can’t be right,” she whispered through a burst of panic.
“Oh, it’s right,” Ebenezer said from his spot at one of the long tables still slick with spilled rum and piled with dirty dishes. He didn’t bother looking up from the coins he was stacking in front of him. But his greedy smile spoke loud enough. He’d gained all he wanted and more out of the exchange, and there was no way he’d change his mind now.
Betty stared at the Indians with widening eyes. “I thought you said you’d made a deal with a fur trader.”
“Then you heard wrong.”
Angelique was surprised when Betty’s fingers made contact with hers. The young girl squeezed her hand and offered her a look of sympathy that only filled Angelique with more dread.
With a scowl the younger brave scrutinized Angelique from her head down to the tips of her shoes. He shook his head and then turned and spoke to the older Indian. The tone suggested they were arguing, and Angelique hoped they didn’t like what they saw and that they would refuse her.
The younger one lifted angry eyes to her once again. “Come.” He motioned her forward with a jerk of his hand.
Angelique’s body stuck to the wall. Her fingers intertwined with Betty’s.
The Indian motioned to her again, this time more impatiently. “Come. We go now.”
The older Indian nodded at her. There was something kind about his face, almost encouraging, as if he were trying to reassure her that everything would be all right.
Still, she couldn’t make her legs move, not even when Ebenezer glared at her. “What are you waiting for? It’s time for you to go.”
The brave gave a curt shake of his head, the feathers in his hair swirling and the metal discs around his neck clinking. He took several long strides toward her. When he stopped in front of her, she flattened herself against the wall.
His bronzed skin glistened with bear grease and emanated a powerful odor. Was he to be her husband, or had the older Indian paid for her?
The young Indian studied her face and then, before she could stop him, yanked on her mobcap and tore it from her head. Her curls tumbled down her shoulders and about her face in wild disarray.
His eyes rounded, and he fingered a strand of her hair reverently.
She tugged her head away, pulling her hair out of his grasp.
But he reached for a handful this time and tugged it hard. A pained cry slipped from her lips.
He turned and grinned at the old Indian. He then spoke something in his native tongue, something that made them both nod and smile, as if sharing a private joke.
The desperation that had been rising inside her finally burst. “Please,” she called to Ebenezer. “Don’t make me go with them.”
She tried to scramble away from the Indian back to the kitchen, back to her attic room, but he was too quick. He captured her arm in a grip that told her she wouldn’t be going anywhere but with him.
“You have nothing to fear,” he said, surprising her with his good English and his almost gentle tone. “I will keep you safe.”
But everything about the brave spoke of danger, hardship, and a way of life that was completely foreign to her. She had everything to fear.
His ebony eyes implored her. And when she still didn’t move, he jerked her, giving her little choice but to move away from the wall. Her legs shook with each step she took, and she willed herself to go with him bravely, without further struggle. She didn’t want him to tie her up and sling her over his shoulders. She couldn’t go the way Therese had.
If she cooperated, maybe she could figure out a way to get away from them before they took her too far from the island. If she could steal a canoe, she might be able to paddle back to the island and take refuge with Miriam. She could hi
de on the farm, help Miriam through the coming winter, and wait for the day when the war ended and Jean could finally come home.
A tiny flicker of hope fanned to life. Even if the plan was nearly impossible, she had to cling to something.
As she approached the door, the older Indian nodded at her. She tried to muster a return nod, but her muscles were wooden. When she stepped outside and cast a glance over her shoulder to say good-bye, Ebenezer was too busy counting his coins, and Betty was staring at the floor.
Angelique stiffened her shoulders, lifted her chin, and tried to quell the thought that no one was there to say good-bye to her.
No one would know or care she was gone—no one except Miriam. But what could her dear blind friend do to save her? If the war ever ended and Jean made it home to learn the news of her marriage to the Indian, he’d never be able to find her out in the miles and miles of wilderness. She would be as good as dead to him.
And with Pierre gone, what reason did she have for living anyway?
Chapter
22
Angelique huddled under the wool blanket the older Indian had given her, but after hours of exposure to the cold drizzle, the blanket no longer kept her dry or warm. She stared over the side of the canoe at the endless churning of Lake Michigan. The stormy gray of the water reflected the low clouds overhead.
They’d been paddling for three days. And with each passing day, she’d lost hope that she’d ever see Michilimackinac Island again. Her slim chance of escape had vanished. The young Indian never let her out of his sight, and even if she had managed to steal the canoe, she didn’t know how she’d be able to return that far by herself.
As it was, the older Indian was struggling. The waters had grown choppy, and the cold wind had become stronger. Lines of weariness had settled on the man’s face.
She glared at the straight back of the young Indian in front of her. He was pushing the old man from dawn until well after dark every day. Couldn’t he see his friend was almost as miserable as she was?
But the silence stretched between them as wide and long as the lake itself. He’d spoken only a few sentences to her since they’d met. She still didn’t know where they were going or which of the men was to be her husband.