Captured by Love

by Jody Hedlund

  She wiped the tears from her eyes, sat up, and took a deep breath. She peered past the tall tamaracks and pine that surrounded her to the sky overhead.

  But now what did it matter?

  With heavy steps she started down the rocky path that led back to the farm. She knew she should be filled with gratefulness for the life God had given her, for the freedom to come and go as she pleased, to dress any way she wished, to be within the folds of Miriam’s loving care. It had been so long since she’d had such love and freedom that it had taken weeks for her to lose her fear of Ebenezer’s control.

  Yellow Beaver’s presence on the farm that winter had kept Ebenezer far away. She’d spoken with Betty only once at St. Anne’s for Christmas Mass and had learned that Ebenezer didn’t care where she lived with her new Indian husband so long as he had his money. She hadn’t corrected Betty’s assumption about Yellow Beaver being her husband. She’d figured that if it kept her safe, then that was all that mattered.

  Yellow Beaver had become like a grandfather to her, teaching her many things over the winter, and she would miss him when he left.

  When Angelique reached the edge of the meadow, she stopped. The door of the cabin stood wide open and a haversack like the one Pierre carried had been discarded beside it. Standing by the barn next to Yellow Beaver was another Indian with a black Mohawk much like the one Red Fox wore.

  She couldn’t see the Indian’s face, but she knew it was Red Fox. It had to be. And if Red Fox had come back, maybe he’d brought Pierre. Her heart gave a lurch, and her feet sped into action. She ran as fast as she could across the long grass, her legs snagging in the bright calico skirt she’d recently finished. She stumbled and caught herself, eagerness urging her forward until finally she reached the door, breathless, frantic expectation tightening every muscle.

  But as she ducked inside and squinted into the dim interior, her breathing came to a halt at the sight of Miriam embracing . . . Jean.

  Of course it was Jean. Pierre was dead.

  At the abruptness of her entrance, he pulled back from Miriam and brushed a hand against his cheek, wiping away the wetness there. His skin was shaven, the scraggly beard that he’d had during the battle gone. His fair hair had the neatness of a recent trim, and his face had a healthy glow.

  “Angelique?” The joy in his voice, the beauty of his smile, the longing in his gentle expression made her tremble.

  As much as she wanted to smile, she couldn’t. Her lips quivered. The disappointment was too great to hide.

  The light in his eyes dimmed, and wariness sprang to life in its place.

  “Jean?” She forced cheerfulness to her tone. “Welcome home.”

  “Isn’t this wonderful?” Miriam asked, tears streaking her cheeks the same way they had last spring when she’d been reunited with Pierre. “Jean’s home. God be praised.”

  “It is wonderful.” Angelique meant it. She only wanted the best for Jean. He was a noble, kind, and dear man.

  “I came as soon as I could,” he said. “I only wish I could have returned in December after the peace treaty was signed.”

  “We didn’t even know the war was over until a couple of weeks ago,” Miriam said, holding on to Jean’s arm. “God has been good to us. He sent Yellow Beaver to help us over the winter. We never once went hungry.”

  Jean nodded to the old Indian, who had come into the cabin behind Angelique. “I can’t thank you enough for helping them through the winter.”

  Yellow Beaver nodded in return. “Angel is a daughter to me.”

  He’d picked up more English during their time together and had begun to teach her the Chippewa language. If Pierre had been there, he would have been proud of her. Angelique strained to see behind Yellow Beaver, hoping for a glimpse of Red Fox. But he was nowhere in sight.

  Disappointment surged through her again. She’d wanted to speak with him, to see if he had any more news of Pierre’s death, anything that could put her at ease.

  Smiling hopefully, Jean said, “I was most anxious to return so that I could finally marry Angelique.”

  She was afraid he would cross the room, take her in his arms, and kiss her. She wasn’t sure she would be able to bear it. She’d probably burst out into sobs.

  “I missed you, Angelique,” he said softly. “And I’ve dreamed of this day for the past three years, the day when I could come home and make you my wife. Some days, thoughts of you were all that kept me alive.”

  Her throat constricted. What should she say? What reason did she have for saying no to him now?

  He took a step forward, and for the first time she noticed he was holding a cane. She glanced to his leg, the one that had taken a bullet during the battle for the island. He looked down too. “The surgeon saved my leg, but just barely. It was his daughter who nursed me back to health these past months.”

  “I saw her come ashore this morning. She’s beautiful.”

  “We’ll have to thank her,” Miriam interjected. “And thank her father too. They must have cared about you a great deal to give you so much attention.”

  Jean shrugged. “They were both kind to me.”

  “I’d like to meet her,” Miriam insisted, her expression serious. Her lips stalled. She wanted to say more but didn’t know what.

  Jean took another halting step, and his cane thumped against the wood floor. “I’m grateful for their help in keeping me alive, and I’m thankful to still have my leg. But the fact is I’m a cripple. And I’ll always be a cripple.”

  “You’re a good man,” Angelique said, “and the condition of your body doesn’t change that.”

  “Then you’re still willing to marry me? Even though I’m less of a man now?”

  “You’re not less of a man,” she said at the same time Miriam gave a murmur of protest. “You could never be less of a man.”

  Even so, he would never be able to manage the farm by himself. How would he do the hard physical labor of plowing and sowing and harvesting alone?

  Jean smiled hesitantly. “I didn’t think you would turn me away and refuse to marry me because I’m a cripple now. But I wasn’t sure. I wouldn’t blame you if you did.”

  “Of course I wouldn’t refuse to marry you for that.” What was she saying? Her mind stumbled over the words that could explain how she really felt.

  “Let’s get married as soon as possible,” he said, his face flushed and his eyes bright. “Today. After I have the chance to clean up.”

  Could she really marry him, especially when she didn’t love him?

  She hadn’t loved him before the war either. He’d told her it hadn’t mattered, that his love would be enough. But would it? After all she’d experienced with Pierre, would a loveless marriage ever be truly enough?

  “Please say yes.” His eyes regarded her with all the adoration he’d always had.

  She didn’t want him to believe she was refusing him because of his injury. But if she told him no, he’d think that she didn’t care for him anymore because of his condition.

  How could she do that to him? And if she didn’t marry him, who would help him with the farm? He would need her now more than ever to work the land and help take care of Miriam.

  “Please, Angelique . . .” He limped across the cabin. The swish of his dragging foot and the tap of his cane pressured her, shouted at her to give in.

  Miriam didn’t say anything more. And Angelique wanted to yell out in frustration. She wished her friend would voice her opinion for once, share her wisdom and reveal God’s will in the matter.

  But Miriam’s lips moved in silent prayer, her answer to every problem.

  Angelique stifled a sigh. Couldn’t her friend try something else today?

  Behind her, Angelique sensed Yellow Beaver’s confusion. He’d watched her with Pierre. He’d seen the love they’d shared. Would he step in and help her?

  Jean reached for her hand. “I promise I’ll always love you and give you everything you’ve ever wanted.” His eyes pleaded wi
th her. There was a desperation there she hadn’t seen before. It tore at her.

  She couldn’t refuse Jean. She wouldn’t be able to live with herself if she did. There was no reason to put off marrying Jean. No reason at all. Not now that Pierre was dead.

  Jean, Miriam, and the farm all meant too much for her to just turn her back on them and walk away. Where would she go anyway? Now that she’d been free from Ebenezer, she would never be able to return.

  She swallowed hard, then nodded at Jean. Yes, she would marry him. She would have to put her love for Pierre behind her and pray that God would help her care about Jean, help her be the kind of wife he deserved.

  And at some point she would have to break the news to Miriam that Pierre was dead.

  Chapter

  26

  Pierre crunched through the woods. The branches swung back and swatted him, and the vines snagged his feet and tripped him. “Even you are telling me I shouldn’t have come home,” he said to the island.

  When he’d stared at Michilimackinac earlier that morning from the mainland, every nerve in his body had keened with the longing to jump in his canoe and go to Angelique. But he’d told himself that he wouldn’t, that it would be too hard to see her again and know he couldn’t have her.

  All winter long he’d held fast to his decision to sacrifice his own selfish need to be with her and do what was best for both her and Jean. And if he had any hope of keeping his vow, he knew he couldn’t return to the island. He didn’t trust himself. Even though he’d grown a great deal through his trials over the past year, he was far from being a perfect man. Some days he lost his battle with his sinful nature. He was afraid if he saw her, he’d resort to his old selfish ways.

  But Red Fox had prodded him all morning while he’d shaven and cleaned himself up, until finally he’d given in to his friend’s pressure.

  Now that the Americans were back on the island, he supposed he was relatively safe, as long as he kept away from the British, especially Lieutenant Steele. He didn’t want to risk the lieutenant seeing him, to discover that he was still alive. There was no telling what the man might do, even if the war was over.

  Now that he’d paddled to the island, he hadn’t worked up the courage to return to the farm. He had a strong feeling Jean would be there. Could he really face Jean and Angelique and then walk away and let them be happy together?

  “You’ll have to help me through this one,” he prayed with a sigh. “Even with your help, I’m still going to have a rough time.”

  His feet had veered from the path that led to the farm, and he found himself heading to the spot where he could always find solace. He knew he was putting off the inevitable, but a cold swim would steel his muscles to fight the coming temptation.

  The splash of water and a flash of white through the brush halted him. He crouched and peered through the branches, past the long grass and boulders surrounding the swimming hole.

  There, kneeling at the water’s edge, was Angelique. She was dressed in a shift that outlined every curve of her body. Her beautiful red hair hung in a wet mass about her, and she was lathering some soap into it.

  He couldn’t move. He was helpless to do anything but watch her.

  She was obviously bathing, and he knew he should back away and give her privacy. But his heart ached too much to do anything but take in every detail about her, from the bare skin of her arms to the dainty toes poking out from under the fabric.

  Oh, God, help, he pleaded. He wrenched his attention away and forced himself to look at the moss-covered stone by his knee. He needed to run. Run away as fast as he could.

  He started to retreat, but at a splash he lifted his gaze again. She’d jumped into the water and disappeared below the surface.

  He stood and waited for her to come up.

  Long agonizing seconds ticked by, and when she still didn’t break through the water, he jolted forward, crashed through the thick brush, and sprinted toward the shadows of her sinking under the water.

  He managed to shed his capote as he ran but didn’t take the time to slip out of his boots before he hit the pond at a running jump. He sank into the frigid depths. The biting cold took away his breath. Water filled his mouth and nose and dragged him down with the weight of his clothes and boots.

  Arms and legs flailed near him, and he grasped her.

  She fought him, squirming against his hold, pulling away from him. But he was quicker and stronger and was able to grab her arms, giving her no choice but to rise upward with him.

  They broke through the surface, each gasping for air. She choked, spitting out the water she’d swallowed. When she could finally breathe again, she swiped the tangles from her face.

  At the sight of him, the irritation in her eyes evaporated and was replaced with wide-eyed shock. “Pierre!” Her voice shook and her face paled.

  “Are you all right, ma cherie?” He searched her face.

  “Is it really you?” She lifted a hand, hesitated with her fingers outstretched before grazing his cheek. “You’re alive!”

  He grinned. “Oui. Of course it’s me. Who else is this handsome and charming?”

  She didn’t smile, but her eyes lit with wonder. “I don’t believe it. Lieutenant Steele told me you were dead. The Menominee found your paddle next to a pile of bones.”

  His thoughts went back to the torturous weeks of avoiding capture and how he’d finally outsmarted the warriors who’d been trailing him. “I located the grave of a voyageur we’d buried the previous year, dug up the bones, and then smeared them with blood from a wild turkey I killed. I had to leave most of my belongings behind to deceive the Menominee, including my paddle.”

  He’d hated to leave his papa’s paddle behind, knowing how much it must have cost Maman to give it to him. But the deception had worked. They’d finally stopped their relentless hunt after assuming he’d been devoured by a pack of wolves that had left a bloody heap of bones.

  It was a good thing he’d lost the warriors when he did because he’d barely made it to the Chippewa winter camp before the lake had frozen. He didn’t want to think about how he’d nearly died during the canoe trip across the waters that were freezing even as he paddled.

  Only the thought of seeing Angelique again had kept him going, when he’d been weak from hunger and cold, when the ice forming on the lake had begun to trap him, and his body had urged him to give up—to lay back in his canoe and fall asleep forever.

  “Why did the lieutenant tell me you were dead?” she asked.

  “That’s what I need him to believe.”

  She touched his smooth-shaven cheek again as if unable to believe he was really there. “If Lieutenant Steele sees you and realizes you’re still alive, won’t he throw you back in the Hole?”

  “I won’t let him see me,” he reassured her. He wouldn’t tell her that he was leaving in a couple of hours. That he’d hug and kiss Maman, make sure Jean was safe, and then he would leave the island for good.

  Facing her now, he knew he’d have to leave sooner rather than later or he’d do something very foolish, like kiss her, and then he wouldn’t be able to tear himself away.

  “I came back because I knew you’d need rescuing,” he teased, trying to lighten the moment.

  “What do you mean?” Underneath the surface her feet and legs bumped his as she kicked them to stay afloat.

  “You were drowning and I saved your life.”

  “I was rinsing the soap out of my hair.”

  “You disappeared under the water and didn’t resurface.” He couldn’t relinquish his hold on her arms.

  She cocked her head, and a smile twitched her lips. “Do you really think I’d drown, Pierre? You know I can swim as well as a fish.”

  “Oui. You’re right. What was I thinking?” He knew he hadn’t been thinking of anything but how beautiful she’d looked. But he couldn’t tell her that.

  Treat her like a friend, he commanded himself, forcing his eyes not to look anywhere but at her
face—her sweet, lovely face.

  Her smile widened, and it was as welcoming as the blue sky overhead. Her eyes lit with joy and wonder and . . . desire. Water dripped from her hair and ran in rivulets down her face, meeting at her lips and drawing his attention there, irresistibly.

  A sudden and powerful urge shot through him. He needed to kiss her more than anything, even more than taking another breath.

  Treat her like a friend. The words shook him, breaking his thoughts and demanding he do the noble thing.

  He let go of her and pushed a wave of water at her.

  She sputtered at the cascade of water in her face. “What was that for?”

  He made himself grin, trying hard to appear carefree when everything within him protested. “That was for scaring me half to death.”

  She wiped her face, clearing the water away. And then before he could duck, she sent a wall of water splashing into his face. “And that was for scaring me half to death.”

  It was his turn to sputter. He lunged for her, but with a laugh she darted away from him. He swam after her, but she was slippery and quick, always evading his grasp. Laughing with her, he chased and splashed her until finally he snagged her shift.

  When he pulled her against the flow of water toward him, this time she didn’t resist.

  “I let you catch me,” she said, her legs treading water near his. She looked up at him with all the adoration she’d always had.

  “Oh, no you didn’t. I’m still faster than you.” Even though his limbs were numb from the frigid water, all it took was one look into her doe-like brown eyes to heat his insides thoroughly and completely.

  “You just can’t admit defeat, can you?” Her smile was glorious and touched a place deep inside him with such bittersweet pain he wanted to cry out at the unfairness of everything.

  Bantering with her and seeing her in all her beauty made him realize once again how much he wanted her. Desperately.

  His hold on her arms tightened. His grin slipped away. He could see by the reflection in her eyes that his desire was etched into every line of his face.