by Jody Hedlund
Her smile vanished too, and her eyes widened, revealing the love he’d hoped to see there. She tilted her head just slightly, but it was enough of an invitation.
The soft intake of her breath, and the tiny nibble she gave to her lower lip sent fire racing through him.
He was going to kiss her. He was going to lose the battle, and part of him didn’t care. He wanted to be with her too much. But another part of him screamed for him to stop, to flee from the temptation.
He groaned, let go of her, and submerged his body under the water, letting the iciness crash against his face. He forced himself to swim toward the shore. And he didn’t stop until he’d climbed out and moved a safe distance away.
She followed him out of the water slowly, until she stood in her wet shift shivering, dejection dripping from every fiber of her body.
He grabbed his capote where he’d discarded it and held it out to her.
She wrapped it around herself, yet her teeth chattered and her body shook uncontrollably. “I’m sorry for hurting you last fall, Pierre.”
“You were right to reject me.” He set his shoulders, preparing for battle against his selfishness. “During all the running I had to do, I realized I was only thinking about myself and what I wanted. I didn’t take into consideration you or Jean and what would be best for the two of you.”
She reached out a hand to him.
He forced himself not to take it. “I’m sorry for pushing you to be unfaithful to Jean. And I’m sorry for making you feel like your mother. I loathe myself for how I hurt you.”
“I’ve done some thinking over the winter too,” she began.
“Let me finish, Angelique.” He had to get everything out before he lost his courage. She shook her head, but he continued anyway. “You belong here on the island, and I don’t. At least not at this point in my life.”
Tears escaped from the corners of her eyes, and the sight of them squeezed his chest until he could barely breathe. “Please don’t cry, ma cherie.” He wanted to go to her and comfort her, but if he allowed himself to be near her again, he wouldn’t be able to tear himself away this time.
“I love you with all my heart,” she whispered. “I realized that I don’t care where we are so long as we’re together.”
A tiny waft of hope fluttered in his chest.
“I’d planned to tell Jean I wouldn’t marry him. That I couldn’t. I wanted to be honest with him. Finally. But then after I heard you were dead and when I saw Jean this morning, I couldn’t tell him no. I promised him again that I’d marry him.” The words came out strangled. “With his injury he needs me now more than ever.”
The hope vanished, leaving him with an overwhelming sorrow.
“We’re getting married at St. Anne’s at noon.” Her shoulders slumped. “I came here to wash up and prepare for my wedding.”
He couldn’t move or speak. The gentle lapping of the water, and the song of a warbler in the surrounding woodlands echoed in the silence that settled between them. He wanted to yell out his protest, wanted to grab her and take her away with him, far from Jean and the island. But he was strangely empty.
He took a half step back. “You’re doing the right thing.”
She nodded.
“I want you to know,” he said, his voice cracking with the effort it took to restrain himself, “I love you even more for your sacrifice.”
“And I love you more for yours.”
He held her gaze, knowing it was the last time he would look into her eyes. He let himself feast on her love for one final moment before he spun away from her and disappeared back into the forest. His unshed tears blinded him, and he tripped over a long, smooth stick. He would have ignored it, except the perfectness of the wood stopped him.
He reached down and picked it up. It wasn’t just any stick. It was carved and oiled and rounded at the top, obviously fashioned with great care by someone.
He tucked the stick under his arm and ran. His chest ached with too much pain to think about anything but losing Angelique again. His chest was an open wound, as if a Menominee warrior had chopped through his skin and bones, dug inside, and wrenched out his heart.
Chapter
27
Angelique twisted the last strand of curls up into the loop she’d fashioned at the back of her head, then stood back and examined herself in Miriam’s tarnished silver mirror. Her hair didn’t look quite as fancy as it had the night Lavinia had styled it for the dance, but it would have to do.
She swished the skirt of the shiny gown Lavinia had given her. She’d long ago repaired the rips and stains gained during the canoe voyage last fall and had packed it away carefully inside a trunk.
“Thank you,” she said, handing the mirror back to Miriam. She took a deep breath, letting in the scent of lilacs from the bouquet she’d arranged that morning and placed on the table.
The faded yellow curtains fluttered in the open window, bringing in a hint of smoke from the Indian campfires on the beach and the faint sound of drums, the signal that spring had finally arrived. This year, unlike the last, the walls on either side of the table were bare. The paddle and fishing pole were both gone, and Angelique knew now they’d never return. It was time for something new to go in those spots, something that belonged to Jean.
Angelique had done the best she could to be the beautiful bride that Jean deserved. If Lavinia could have seen her, she would have been pleased with the outcome.
“It’s time.” She reached for Miriam’s arm and hooked it through hers.
Strangely, over the past hour of preparations, a sense of peace had settled over Angelique, replacing her need for Pierre. She had a calmness for what she was about to do. She wasn’t sure if the peace came from knowing Pierre was alive and well or if perhaps it was God’s way of assuring her that she was being faithful. She’d resisted temptation, and she’d come out stronger as a result.
Miriam shuffled toward the door, feeling her way forward. She’d changed into her best skirt for the wedding and looked as lovely as the blooming lilacs.
Angelique started to open the door, but Miriam stopped her with a gentle tug. “Wait, Angel.”
She turned to Miriam. She’d expected her dear friend to be happier now that both her sons were home. Of course she’d been overjoyed at the first sight of Pierre, had shed tears when she’d hugged him, but her gentle features were grave now. Was she sad that he had to leave again so soon? He’d declared his intent to sneak off the island before noon, even though Miriam had pleaded with him to stay for the whole day.
Angelique could see that he wanted to be gone by the time she stood next to Jean at St. Anne’s. As it was, Pierre lingered outside near the barn, waiting to talk with Jean.
“You know I’ve loved you like you were my own daughter,” Miriam said.
“And you’ve been a mother to me more than my own mother ever was.”
“I haven’t wanted to meddle in all that’s gone on with you and Pierre and Jean. I’ve done the best thing for you that I could, and that is to pray God would direct each of you into His plans for you.”
Angelique wasn’t surprised Miriam had guessed their struggles. She may be blind, yet she still saw many things clearly.
“I promise I won’t start meddling today,” Miriam continued, “but I couldn’t help noticing you’re preparing to marry a man you don’t love.”
“I’m just trying to do the right thing.”
“I can’t imagine the right thing is marrying someone because you feel obligated to him while throwing away your chance to spend your life with the man you love.”
Miriam’s words were quiet, but the power of them knocked into Angelique with a strength that took her breath away.
Miriam squeezed her arm. “Like I said, I don’t want to meddle, so I promise I won’t say anything else.”
Angelique didn’t know how to respond. She’d already decided she must marry Jean and help him with the farm. Pierre had agreed she was doing the right th
ing. What should she do with Miriam’s advice now?
Fighting a wave of confusion, she opened the door and stepped outside the cabin. Instantly the May sunshine and warmth enveloped her.
Next to the barn, Red Fox and Yellow Beaver shifted their attention to her from where they stood talking with Pierre, who was busy cleaning his musket. Yellow Beaver grinned, and Red Fox stopped mid-sentence.
Pierre didn’t look up but instead continued polishing the rifle. Several wayward curls clung to his forehead. He’d changed into a pair of clean trousers and a dry shirt since she’d seen him at the swimming hole.
Even across the span of the yard he looked as ruggedly appealing and handsome as always. The mere sight of him sent her pulse racing and chased away the last remnants of peace.
She was marrying Jean. She needed a glimpse of him, his joy, and his desire for her. That would restore her peace.
Red Fox shoved Pierre and grunted something harsh. But Pierre kept his eyes focused on the rifle barrel in his hands.
“Where’s Jean?” Angelique glanced around the farmyard that Yellow Beaver had kept in immaculate condition. “We’re done readying ourselves.”
Earlier she’d laid out Jean’s Sunday best. Even though the clothes had been wrinkled and musty when Miriam pulled them out of the trunk, Angelique made quick work of pressing them with the hot iron.
“Jean?” she called, expecting him to emerge from the barn.
“I’m still waiting for him,” Pierre said, working on his musket as if it were the most important job in the world at that moment. “I haven’t seen him since I got here.”
Angelique searched the freshly plowed fields and then the line of evergreens beyond. “Does anyone know where he went?”
“The last I knew,” Miriam said, “he was heading to your swimming hole to take a bath. He said he wanted to clean up before he went to St. Anne’s.”
“Did he ever come back from the pond?” Angelique asked, a knot of worry cinching her belly. Had he fallen and been unable to get up?
“Swimming hole?” Pierre slapped his forehead and groaned. “Oh no . . .”
“What?” Angelique pressed her hand against her middle, fighting against the growing anxiety.
Pierre pointed to a smooth stick in the grass by his feet. The rounded top gleamed in the sunshine.
Angelique stared at it. Was it Jean’s cane? If so, why had he left it behind?
Shaking his head, Pierre handed Red Fox the musket. He picked up the cane. “I’m guessing he was on his way to the swimming hole to wash up . . . but then he got distracted.”
Angelique wanted to ask Pierre what he meant by Jean being distracted, yet the sadness in his eyes told her the answer. Jean had overheard them as they’d played in the water and then made their declarations of love to each other.
“He must have been in such a hurry to get away,” Pierre said, “that he left his cane behind.”
“After he left the swimming hole, where would he have gone?” She could only imagine how their passionate pleas of love had shocked him and wounded him to his core.
Pierre stared at the woods, his brow furrowed. “I think I know where he went.” He didn’t wait to explain but sprinted across the open field toward the forest.
Angelique picked up her skirts, kicked off her satin slippers, and started after him. He was much faster, and she soon lost him. But she could easily track his progress through the woods, and it didn’t take her long to figure out where he was headed.
She arrived at the edge of Dousman’s field hot and breathless. Her hair had come loose from the pins she’d used with such care, and the soles of her feet were pricked and sore from the run.
She tiptoed toward the big cedar tree, their thinking tree, and she could see the bottom of Pierre’s boots dangling from where he perched on a lower branch. Farther up the tree, she caught a glimpse of Jean’s shoes.
She hesitated at the base of the tree. The long branches covered with needles swayed gently in the breeze and shielded them from her sight, though she could hear them talking.
Jean’s voice was raised. “You stole her from me, Pierre.”
“It was selfish of me, I admit.”
“Yes, it was. What kind of brother would do such a thing?”
“Oui. I’ve not been a very good brother to you.”
“You knew she would be better off with me.” The pain in Jean’s voice stabbed Angelique. “Why couldn’t you leave her alone? Why did you have to win her affection?”
“It was wrong of me, Jean. I see that now.” Pierre’s words were laced with anguish. “I shouldn’t have gone behind your back. She didn’t want to, but I pursued her anyway.”
A long silence followed, filled only by the sound of the wind rustling the branches around them.
“I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness,” Pierre finally said. “But I beg you for it. And once I have it, I promise I’ll leave this island and leave you both alone.”
A silent cry arose in Angelique, but she cupped her hand against her mouth. For endless moments she didn’t dare to breathe for fear of crying.
At last, Jean let out a sigh. “Honestly, you didn’t steal her from me. You were only claiming what has been yours all along.”
“What do you mean?”
“She’s always loved you.” The anger in Jean’s voice had changed to frustration. “Always, even when we’d climb this tree, she’d chase after you, sit on the branch next to you. You were always the one she watched with those beautiful eyes of hers.”
Pierre remained silent.
“She never looked at me like that. She didn’t notice me until you were gone.”
“I don’t know—”
“But I’m not you,” Jean interrupted. “And she wants you. She’s always wanted you . . . not me.”
Angelique pressed her hand tighter over her mouth to keep another cry from escaping, a cry that would acknowledge the truth of Jean’s words.
“When she walked into the cabin this morning, I could tell she’d been expecting you, Pierre. And when she saw it was me, she tried to hide her disappointment. But I knew it was you she wanted.”
“Jean, I—”
“And last summer in the cave, I knew then too. How much you cared for each other, and that you’d fallen in love with her.”
Angelique looked past the cedar tree to the yellow grass of the field with its shoots of new green growth popping up everywhere. It was hard to imagine it was the same spot of the bloody battle that brought Jean back to the island.
“I tried so hard to hold on to her,” Jean said. “I wanted to cling to the hope that she would still have me, that maybe you’d realize she’d be happier with me here on the island.”
“And I have realized that. I want her to be with you, here, the place she loves most in the world.”
“She won’t be happy. You know that, brother.”
“But she loves it here,” Pierre said.
“No. She won’t be happy anywhere unless it’s by your side.”
Tears pricked Angelique’s eyes. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing, but she knew it was the truth, the truth that God had been wanting her to know all along. She shouldn’t look to a place or circumstances for her happiness. If God was her rock, then she could be content anywhere.
“I wanted her to marry me anyway,” Jean admitted, “even though I knew how much she loved you. I tried to justify to myself that I’d make her happy eventually. That I’d do everything I could to make her forget about you, and that she’d come to love me someday.” His voice cracked. “Then when I saw you both at the swimming hole, having fun and laughing together, I realized I’ve never made her laugh. I can rarely get her to smile.”
He grew silent for a few moments, then added, “I realized that if I force her to marry me, I’ll only make her miserable. I’ll never see her smiles or hear her laughter, no matter how hard I try.”
The tears in Angelique’s eyes brimmed over. She knew she sh
ouldn’t eavesdrop any longer, and yet she couldn’t make herself walk away.
“Don’t you see?” Jean went on. “I’ve been selfish too. I wanted her for myself, and I didn’t care about what was best for her.”
“No one is as selfish as me,” Pierre said. “I’m the worst.”
“And the most boastful,” Jean said dryly. “Even when it comes to the negative.”
Angelique couldn’t keep from smiling. She could picture the two men exchanging grins. Her tears spilled over once again, this time in gratefulness that she hadn’t destroyed their brotherly love for each other.
“Does this mean you forgive me?” Pierre asked.
“If you forgive me.”
“Deal.”
“And if you promise you’ll marry Angelique and make her happy every day of your life.”
Pierre hesitated.
Angelique stiffened.
“I don’t know if she’ll have me now. She was determined to marry you.”
“You’ll marry him,” Jean called down toward her. “Won’t you, Angelique?”
She gasped and stepped backward. How long had they known she was standing there listening?
Within seconds Jean appeared on the branch above her as he made an awkward descent, favoring his injured leg. When he hopped to the ground, he landed on his good leg but still gave a grunt of pain.
She wanted to rush to help him, but when he straightened, the sadness etching his face stopped her. He took halting steps toward her, holding the cane Pierre had brought to him, dragging his injured leg. He reached for her hand, brought it to his lips, and placed a tender kiss on the back of it.
“I’m sorry for breaking our commitment, Jean,” she began. “I was wrong to give way to my affection for Pierre when I was bound to you.”
He shook his head. “You were never mine to begin with. And now I release you to be with the one you’ve belonged to all along.”
She fought back tears. “You’re a good man, Jean. You deserve a woman who will love you with all her heart.”
“I don’t think there are too many women who will want me now, not like this.” He cocked his head toward his leg.