Sara made her final preparations for the journey. She packed Lydia’s well-worn shoes, a size too small for Sara, and her Bible, which Luc would want one day. For Luc, she packed cotton flannels, safety pins, a knitted wool soaker to contain his waste, soap and a small bag of burnt flour for his rashes. She wrapped it all up in a wool blanket and placed the bundle in the satchel along with twenty cans of condensed milk. These supplies left little room for her own belongings, so she decided she would wear, under her traveling dress, her work dress, apron, three pairs of undergarments and wool stockings. She had no coat, but hoped that the layers would keep her warm during the winter weeks of travel. She could use her shawl as a sling to bind Luc to her chest.
Saying farewell to the nuns, and to Marie and Adeline, proved heart-wrenching. They had been loyal and amiable companions over the past six months, and Sara felt as if her departure were a betrayal in some way. They promised their prayers, and Sara promised to write when she reached her destination. Out of an abundance of caution, Sara said she was headed to upstate New York.
As Reverend Mother handed little Luc up into the carriage, Sara was surprised to see that her eyes were puffy and red. Right before the door closed, Marie hoisted herself up on the carriage step and kissed both Sara’s cheeks, tears shining in her eyes. She squeezed a small velvet purse into her hand and whispered, “The one who gave me this loves me—loves both of us—very much. Bonne chance, mon amie.”
The carriage lurched forward, bound for the station. Someone who “loves both of us”—what in the world had Marie meant? Sara clasped the purse Marie had given her and felt something small and hard inside it. She opened it and shook it gently. A hand-carved cross of dark-stained wood fell into her palm. Her hand flew to the identical cross that hung around her neck, given to her by Jacques last Christmas. Had Marie seen it? Did she know Sara’s true identity? She must—what else could she have meant? Sara panicked, her guilt washing over her anew.
Bonne chance, Marie had wished her, the same words Sara had spoken to her father the last time she saw him. Marie had implied she would protect Sara’s secret. Sara could only hope this was true.
Mercifully, the rocking of the carriage on the way to Grand Central lulled Luc to sleep. They passed Lydia’s unmarked gravesite, but did not stop. Lydia’s heart would always be with her son, and Sara’s duty now was to take infinite and fastidious care of him. She was tired of saying goodbye to family and friends. She resolved that when they reached California, she and Luc would stay put. Then she would form a plan to take back Saint Martin. Although there was sorrow in her heart, Sara was excited for the new life that lay ahead of them in Napa.
CHAPTER 11
Ambition
DECEMBER 18, 1896, NEW YORK CITY
William Briggs, Esquire, sat behind his oversized, leather-inlaid mahogany desk and fussed with the stack of documents in front of him. The attorney’s face was gaunt, and under his pale eyes was a sliver of shadow, which hinted at a less than perfect night’s sleep. His nails were trimmed, Philippe observed, and immaculate—absent of any sign of manual labor, unlike his own. Before heading east, he had scrubbed his hands with a horsehair brush to remove the wine stains from his palms and fingernails. Philippe imagined the greatest injury this man had ever confronted within the confines of his office was a vicious paper cut.
That thought made Philippe smile. Thank God he didn’t spend his days behind a desk dealing in legal jargon. He would go mad. Even now, as he waited, he shifted in his chair with a restless energy he couldn’t quite account for. Philippe eyed Briggs and thought, For God’s sake, man, let’s get on with it.
As if he sensed Philippe’s impatience, Briggs sat up in his chair, dropped his monocle and began.
“Your father suspects murder.”
Philippe had not expected this. “Why?”
“I don’t know how to say this delicately. Your brother’s body was found burned in the fire. However, there was a wound to the left side of his neck that is thought to be the true cause of his death. The fire, we believe, was deliberately set to hide murder.”
Philippe felt a charge of adrenaline throughout his body. He stared at Briggs. Bastien was not well liked by many. But would his brother’s behavior really have incited someone to murder him? Philippe’s voice faltered. “And the weapon? What about his wife? Was she found with him?”
“There was no weapon found, not a knife, not anything. Mrs. Lemieux was originally thought to have perished in the fire, but her body was not recovered. Upon further investigation, it was discovered that she and her sister were missing. They haven’t been seen since that night.”
“They could have run away on foot. Made it to the river and stowed away on a barge or something,” Philippe theorized, his thoughts spiraling.
“But she was heavy with child.”
Philippe hadn’t known this, but felt a mixture of suspicion and sympathy toward Bastien’s wife. “You’d be surprised what a woman can do if she sets her mind to it.”
“Jealousy?” Briggs sounded unconvinced.
“I don’t know.” Philippe drummed his fingertips against the arm of his chair. “My brother was certainly known to enjoy his diversions.”
“There’s no evidence that she did anything.”
“Of course not. No one can find her. Did you talk to the gendarmes? What about this sister? What about the foreman, Jacques Chevreau? Where is the girls’ mother?” To Philippe, it sounded like a sloppy investigation.
“They have been questioned and have denied any knowledge of the ladies’ whereabouts. The mother was quite distraught, understandably, and appears to believe that the wife and sister may have also died in the fire.”
Yes, understandably. But for once he agreed with his father. Something was amiss. The girls had always seemed congenial enough. He remembered the younger one better—what was her name?—with skinned knees and a defiant tilt to her chin. But girls grow into calculating women, and who knows what could have happened?
“Are there any other suspects? Bastien was not a popular figure. Any business associates who would have had a motive?”
“He had gambling debts, but that alone is not a motive. In fact, his debtors would have wanted to keep him alive to—” Briggs lowered his voice. “Forgive me, but …”
“But what?”
Briggs exhaled. “You should know that there has also been talk of suicide.”
Philippe shook his head. Clearly, Briggs had never met Bastien. “Mr. Briggs, that is not possible. First of all, if my brother planned to end his life, he would have done it with a shotgun, not by stabbing himself in the neck. Second, he thought too highly of himself to end his own life, no matter how great his debts were.” Philippe leaned toward the solicitor. “You see, Mr. Briggs, I regret to say that my brother was indeed a scoundrel.”
Briggs shifted back in his seat and interlaced his fingers tightly. “Be that as it may, Mr. Lemieux, your father has decided to offer a bounty of five hundred dollars for the capture of either Mrs. Lemieux or Miss Thibault. You see, they’ve exhausted all leads in France and he suspects they’ve come here. He wants retribution, and he also wants his grandchild, who, by our estimates, would have been born sometime in September.”
Philippe was surprised his father would go to such expense to track down his son’s killers, if that’s what they were. Then it dawned on him. His father wanted custody of the child, presuming it was a boy. Bastien’s legitimate son would inherit half of the Lemieux business and land holdings.
“What makes him believe they’ve come to America?”
“It’s in the latest gendarme report.” Briggs pointed at the papers on his desk. “When they searched the stables the next morning, two horses and a wagon were missing. They showed up later that afternoon, with Chevreau driving them.”
“Where did he say he’d been?”
“In Tours, but the horses were too winded and tired for that to be the case, or so the officer thought. When they searche
d the wagon they found a soiled lace handkerchief—it looked to be blood. Chevreau claimed he had a bloody nose on the way home. They think he’s hiding something. Maybe he took the girls to Orléans, and from there they caught a train to Paris and on to Le Havre. The timing works. He could reach Orléans and be back by the following afternoon. In addition, your father sent an emissary to check the passenger lists of the ships leaving from Le Havre and Nantes on the days following your brother’s death.”
“But they wouldn’t be foolish enough to use their real names. It’s like looking for a needle in a haystack, is it not?”
“Perhaps, but apparently they found something.” Briggs grabbed the papers, licked his finger and peeled them back one by one until he found what he was looking for. “Two women, Lydia and Sara de Coursey, sailed from Le Havre on May eighteenth. It looks like they did use their Christian names.”
“And they traveled to America?” A long journey for an expectant mother, Philippe thought. They must be guilty of killing Bastien if they fled here.
“To this very city, aboard La Champagne.”
“I’ll be damned.” Philippe was incredulous. He’d missed them by a few months. Or maybe they were still here. “Did you check the Ellis Island records? Did they list a specific destination?”
“We just learned about all this two days ago. I’ve instructed the men I’ve hired to search for the girls’ names in the ship’s manifest.”
“Who does this type of thing?” It sounded shady to Philippe.
“Bounty hunters—ruffians. But they always get the job done.”
“They will bring them back alive, will they not, so we can question them?”
“Of course.” Briggs waved his hand nonchalantly. “But more than likely a bit … bruised.”
Philippe nodded. “Sounds reasonable.”
Briggs shifted the conversation to the Saint Martin property. He gave Philippe a full accounting of what remained and asked him to sign the documents that would transfer Saint Martin and all the estate’s debts from his father to him. Philippe asked for the evening to review the paperwork. His father might just be pulling him back in to clean up Bastien’s mess, or the acquisition of Saint Martin could be a real opportunity. Briggs gave him a stack of documents: a copy of the deed, inventory lists, written interviews and the official gendarme report. With the expectation of meeting the next day, Briggs bade Philippe bonne chance.
With his mind reeling, Philippe decided to focus on the afternoon he had planned with Marie and Adeline. He walked slowly through the city streets toward the convent, paying little mind to the shouts of the scuttling street vendors. He was consumed by the knowledge that he’d have to impart the news of his brother’s death to Marie. What would she think?
Bastien had kept quiet about his relationship with Marie Chevreau and had certainly never acknowledged Adeline. Philippe assumed that everyone back home in Vouvray believed the child to be his own and that he had taken Marie to America to live a life of sin. He didn’t care; he knew the truth. Philippe remembered how Bastien had pursued Marie relentlessly and even promised her marriage. Her parents were outraged when Bastien did not make good on his offer once she was pregnant. When the Lemieux family discovered the truth from Marie’s parents, Philippe, disgusted by his brother’s boorish behavior, took pity on the girl and decided that he must help her. Her prospects for marriage had been ruined. What would become of her?
Philippe realized that Marie could be his ticket to a new life, away from his father. He had stood in her parents’ humble parlor and offered Marie the chance to come to America. He’d been surprised when Marie jumped at the opportunity to leave France. Even though Pierre and Mim Chevreau had objected to their daughter leaving them before she gave birth, Marie had insisted. She did not want to shame her family any further, she had said. With promises to return one day, Marie set off with Philippe.
Finding a suitable situation for Marie in a convent in New York City had delayed his journey west by six months. His only communication to his family that year was a note letting his father know the two had arrived safely and giving him the address on Mott Street where they could be contacted temporarily. Philippe stayed in New York until the baby was born. When he had first seen the pink-faced girl, he knew he’d done the right thing. His mother certainly would have approved, even if his father had no sense of responsibility toward his only grandchild.
Philippe had wondered if Marie would want the Lemieux name for his niece, but Marie refused. Adeline, the child’s Christian name, would go well with her own surname of Chevreau. It was a proud French name, she had told him. Marie explained that because she did not have a hold on Bastien’s affections and he did not acknowledge their child, she could not in good conscience lay any claim to the Lemieux name or fortune. Marie’s character had grown in motherhood: she was now a strong, independent and, despite her youthful indiscretion with Bastien, morally scrupulous woman. Philippe admired her courage.
Over Marie’s protestations, Philippe had given her a portion of his funds to cover her starting expenses and promised to send more. With the support of the convent nuns, Marie apprenticed to train as a midwife. Satisfied that Marie and Adeline would be safe and well cared for in New York, Philippe set out for California’s wine country to make a name for himself in America.
It felt strange to be walking alongside the convent, down the long alleyway to Marie’s apartment. With its impenetrable stone walls, this place had always looked to him more like a medieval fortress than a nunnery. Philippe checked his pocket for the tickets he had tucked away there and quickly smoothed his hair before knocking.
Adeline bobbed in her seat, clapping her hands with glee. In her excitement, she dropped the freshly shelled peanuts she had clenched in her fist. Philippe didn’t mind. He was happy to continue in the post of nut sheller, and had spent the better part of an hour cracking and serving peanuts to the little one. Philippe took more pleasure in watching Adeline squeal and giggle at the Irish tenor, the juggling monkeys and the clumsy muscleman than in watching the acts himself. He could not remember when he had last laughed so hard.
The Union Square Theatre was a marvel. Its stained-glass lobby was teeming with costumed players, all eager to take your fifty cents in return for what they promised would be a great spectacle. A statuesque moor, dressed in the Turkish style, complete with curled-toe slippers and silken turban, had ushered them inside the building and directed them to the gallery. Adeline could not take her eyes off the purple ostrich plume that was fastened to his turban with a huge brooch made of faux rubies and diamonds. “Look how it sparkles, Maman,” she had exclaimed, her eyes as wide as saucers. The threesome took their seats in the lowest level, just to the right of the rounded stage. Gas lamps burned brightly all around, illuminating the stage and the tall walls of the theatre. Two levels of ornate box seating framed the sides of the stage. The vaulted gold-leaf ceiling reminded Philippe of the dome that topped his favorite cathedral, in Reims.
The vaudeville was quite a change from the bawdy acts he’d witnessed the last time he was here, over three years ago, with a group of city wine merchants who insisted on bringing him to a burlesque show. The garlic-smelling, smoke-filled, foot-stamping gallery Philippe remembered was populated today with midday shoppers, mostly women from all classes who were happy to remove their hats so as to not obstruct the view of their fellow patrons. Now it smelled of roasted nuts and cherry soda, a welcome change from tobacco and sweat. Nonetheless, at either side of the gallery three hulking bouncers stood ready to whisk any unruly patron away at a moment’s notice. With this crowd, they’d be more likely to bounce a cuckolded husband than a drunk.
He looked over at Marie, who was also caught up in the whirlwind of pageantry on stage. He had forgotten how striking she was. How foolish Bastien had been to toss her aside. She was smart, hardworking and attractive. He wondered if she still cared at all for Bastien and how she would react when she learned of his death. He would have to tell
her soon enough. He shook the thought off, determined to enjoy his few hours with Marie and Adeline.
They followed their afternoon of vaudeville with sodas and candy at the fountain on Fourteenth Street. Later that evening, in their apartment, Adeline squeezed the fair-haired doll that Philippe had given her and asked politely, with her childish lisp, “May I give you a good-night kiss, Uncle?”
“Right here, if you would.” Philippe tapped his finger to his cheek. Adeline raised herself on tiptoes.
“Off to bed, my love,” Marie nodded to Adeline.
“And thank you, Uncle, for all the fun!”
“You are most welcome. I hope you will convince your mother to bring you to visit me on my farm in California sometime.”
“Oh, yes! Maman, can we go?”
“I promise to think about it, Adeline.” With that, Adeline scooted off to bed.
Marie sat down on the ottoman across from Philippe and sighed. “This has been such a wonderful day. I so needed to laugh. The winter days have been long … though I’ve managed to keep busy with my work.”
“I’m glad I could offer a little diversion for you and Adeline. I have so enjoyed seeing you both again. It’s been far too long. And Adeline—she seems to be thriving.”
“Yes, thank you. But then, children are always more resilient than we adults, are they not?”
“I suppose so.” Philippe did not know how to broach the subject of Bastien, and racked his brain for another topic.
“Come to California with me. It’s so bleak and depressing and crowded here, and Adeline would love the farm—the wide open space to roam. We could eventually send her to the city for schooling. I’m sure the town’s in need of a midwife.”
Marie shook her head. “You’ve been generous enough. Besides, you have your own life to lead. Eventually, I’m sure you’ll want to marry and have a family, and we wouldn’t want to stand in the way of that.” Marie’s hint was sisterly.
“You would never stand in the way,” Philippe replied earnestly. “You know how important Adeline’s well-being is to me—and yours, too. I would feel better having you closer to me, so I could keep an eye on you,” Philippe teased. Marie was more than a friend to him; she was family.
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