by Jenna Brandt
“I wouldn’t feel comfortable with such an informal address.”
With a chuckle, he replied, “I wonder, how long before you give in and allow us to be familiar enough to call each other by our given names?”
“I don’t think it will ever be appropriate, Sir.”
William reached out, taking Debbey’s hand in his, saying, “Now, Pierre, I cannot let you steal all these ladies’ attentions. How are you doing today, Miss McCoy?”
Amelie’s head snapped to the side as she looked at her friend. How did he know her name?
“I’m well, Mr. Almonbury.”
And how did she know his as well? Something was going on which Amelie was not aware.
“A few months back, when I ran into you outside the bakery and knocked your packages out of your hands, I never felt so lucky. Then, when our paths crossed again while you brought your brother his forgotten meal at the mill shortly after and again last night at the town festivities, I realized it must be destiny.”
Blushing, Debbey averted her eyes, but Amelie noticed she didn’t pull her hand away. After a moment’s hesitation, she commented, “Three times cannot be merely happenstance.”
With a pleased grin, he beamed, “And this meeting makes four. There is a very clear pattern forming.”
Debbey nodded her head and allowed William to place her hand in the crook of his arm as he led her over to a sofa seat. “I had no idea you were an acquaintance of Miss Leclaire.”
“We’ve been best friends since we were children.”
Looking over his shoulder, William asked, “Don’t you think this is serendipitous, Pierre? I mean to think, the woman who has captivated my thoughts is the closest of friends with the one who has done the same to you.”
Pierre’s eyes contracted for a moment, as if he did not like being called out by his friend, but quickly he replaced the look with one of nonchalance. “Miss Leclaire has proved intriguing, indeed. Despite my best attempt, I have not been able to figure her out yet.”
She didn’t like the way he made getting to know her sound like a game. Annoyed, she quipped back, “You never tried to get to know me. You simply tried to woo me. There is a very big difference.”
“How astute. You keep me on my toes, Miss Leclaire. I rather like it.”
“Mr. Girald, I think it best—”
But before she could finish her sentence, she heard Aunt Marcella from behind her say, “Mr. Girald? Pierre Girald, the Vidame of Demoulin?”
“I am. And who might you be, madam?”
“I am Marcella Orelle, but you would not know who I am. We socialize in very different sets back in Paris.”
“Then how, may I ask, do you know who I am?”
“I have seen your picture in the newspaper on more than one occasion, accompanying an expansive variety of ladies to different events.”
Looking meaningfully at Amelie, he stated, “I see. However, at the moment, my interests seem to be centered presently.”
“You will do well to know, the young lady to whom you are referring is my niece. Since her parents are no longer able, I am responsible for her. I would kindly prefer you to remove yourself from her presence.”
Mortified, Amelie looked at her aunt with frustration. She didn’t know how she felt about Pierre, but one thing was certain, she didn’t want her aunt making the decision for her. “Aunt Marcella, I appreciate your concern, but I am capable of taking care of myself.”
“You are still a child in every way which counts. You have no idea what it means to be taking care of yourself. I will kindly remind you, as your mother’s sister, I am your next of kin, and you are beholden to obey me.”
Choosing not to argue, Amelie nodded her head and stepped away from Pierre.
“Elise and I came out here to check on you and your companion as you have been absent from the table for far longer than necessary.”
“We were just coming back inside, Aunt Marcella. Please excuse our tardiness.”
“Amelie, it is time for us to take our leave of these… gentlemen.”
Without another word, the older woman took Amelie by the arm and pulled her around, escorting her back into the dining room.
Glancing over her shoulder, Amelie saw both Elise and Debbey trailing behind them. As they walked, Amelie could feel the tension in her aunt’s hand. The tight grip made it apparent she was particularly displeased.
“You will refrain from having contact with that man in the future.”
“Whatever for, Aunt Marcella? Do you know something about him which would make me hesitant to acquaint myself with him?”
“He has a reputation. The type of reputation which could ruin the good name of an innocent girl like you.”
“But he is in America now. This country was founded on being able to leave your previous status behind and start a new life. No one here, except you, knows anything about his past. And isn’t it possible his past has been exaggerated?”
“I highly doubt that is the case, and I will not allow you to associate with him. You will not ruin our family’s reputation on a whim.”
“Why shouldn’t I afford him the same opportunity as anyone else?”
“Because men like him take great pleasure in corrupting young ladies like you.”
As they reached the table, Amelie felt perplexed. She wondered why it bothered her so much, the idea of not seeing Pierre any longer. She had convinced herself he irritated her, making her believe she would be glad to be rid of him. But when the actual likelihood became real, she suddenly realized the pull between them was definitely not one-sided.
Pierre Girald had managed to work his way into Amelie’s life, and she wasn’t sure what she was going to do about it.
Pierre and William made their way to their rooms to pick up a few papers before they headed over to The Trail’s End to discuss a business opportunity with the saloon owner. Pierre could not keep from reviewing what just happened. He was sure Amelie had reacted with attraction when he kissed her hand. Usually, when a woman responded to him in such a way, obtaining her approval followed shortly after. Despite his best attempts to persuade her otherwise, Miss Leclaire seemed to be determined to keep him at a distance.
Trying to avoid thinking about it any further, Pierre turned his attention to his friend’s predicament. “Is there a specific reason you never told me about your encounters with Miss McCoy? It is unlike you, William, to be so secretive about your conquests.”
William shrugged. “Perhaps, it is because I do not regard Miss McCoy in the same way I have other women.”
“Are you trying to tell me you think Miss McCoy has the potential to lead you into a real courtship?”
“I am telling you, I think she is my match.”
Pierre was baffled by his friend’s confession. However, it did explain why he had returned to West Linn in such post-haste.
“And what about you and Miss Leclaire? Dare I ask, what is going on between the two of you?”
“I am still trying to figure that out myself.”
“I find it amusing, how she keeps you guessing. I do not think she is going to be easy to win over.”
“I agree, but I get the distinct impression, winning her favor is exactly what I want.”
Chapter 6
An odd sensation crept up Amelie’s back as she approached the front door to her house. Slowing her pace, as she ascended the stairs to the porch, Amelie immediately noticed the crack from the edge of the door to the frame. Cautiously, she placed her hand on the knob and the door gave way without any pressure.
Amelie knew she locked the door before they left for church. At least, she believed she did. They had been rushing. Maybe, she had not turned the key all the way, causing the latch not to catch. Her father had planned to replace the lock since it had been sticking for the past year. He never got the chance before he passed away.
A pang of longing hit Amelie. She wished her father was with her now because he would know what to do. She shouldn’t
be afraid to go into the house, but something made her nervous.
Hesitantly, Amelie pushed the door open and stepped over the threshold. Looking around the room, she immediately noticed their belongings were in disarray. Someone had been in their home. Waffling about whether to proceed further or turn around and head to the sheriff’s office, Amelie was rooted to the spot. Suddenly, she saw movement at the end of the hall near the kitchen. At first, Amelie thought it might be an animal that had gotten in with the door ajar, but when she saw the shadow dart across the hallway again, the size of the silhouette made it clear it was human.
Amelie whispered to Elise, “Go get the sheriff and bring him back here.”
“But I don’t want to leave you alone, Amelie.”
“I will be fine,” she said, as she pushed her sister towards the stairs. “Leave now.”
After she was sure her sister was safely away, Amelie shouted towards the back of the house, “Who goes there?”
She heard the shuffling of feet, a loud thud, and the back-door slam shut.
Without thinking, Amelie ran towards the kitchen and prepared herself for what she would find. As her gaze met the darkly hooded eyes of a menacing stranger, she raised her hand to her mouth and gasped.
Apparently, the intruder was not alone. His friend must have gotten away but he was still here.
“What, what are you doing in my house?” she asked, timidly.
The stranger did not respond but quickly put the last of the silverware into the sackcloth bag he was carrying.
Amelie reached out to try to stop him from taking their things. They had so little left from their parents, it upset her to see a someone roughly handling their possessions.
“You need to put my stuff down and get out of my house!” she demanded, this time with more force.
Astonishingly, he did not seem to consider her much of a threat. He continued to rummage through the remaining drawer in front of him. As he went to shut it, Amelie moved to block his exit at the backdoor.
“I already told you once to give me back my things and get out. My sister will be back with the sheriff at any moment.”
The stranger snorted. “Little girl, I will be long gone before anyone shows up to help you.” He leaned in towards her until his body was pressed against her, forcing her back against the door. She could feel his hot, thick breath crash across her face. Leering at her, he added, “You seem ripe for the picking. Maybe I should stay a little longer than I planned.”
Amelie tried to swallow the lump which had formed in her throat, but between the mixture of fear and distress, she was surprised she was still breathing.
He gruffly put his hands on each of her forearms to pin her even further. “If you scream, if you make a sound not to my liking, I will cut your throat with this here knife.”
The intruder raised his hand and Amelie saw the glint of the metal from the sun reflecting off of it through the window.
What was she going to do? There was no way she would be able to successfully fight against whatever he had planned, nor was she going to allow herself to be violated. Silently, she cried out to God. Lord, help me! I am so scared. I don’t know what to do. Please help me. As her mind transfixed on the knife near her throat, she had no doubt the intruder would make good on his warning if she tried to struggle against him. The fear, which had been rolling around inside her, transformed into sheer panic.
Unexpectedly, she felt the man’s weight being pulled off of her. Dumbfounded by what she saw, Amelie watched as the burglar was being held in the firm grip of Pierre.
The thief bellowed at him, “Let me go, you buffoon!”
Pierre did not respond to the insult or command. Instead, he pulled back his fist and let it fly, landing a firm punch to the man’s left cheek. Pierre quickly followed up the initial blow with two more. The other man doubled over in pain and was groaning when the backdoor was pulled open from behind Amelie. She stumbled, trying to regain her balance.
“George, we need to be getting outta here, now.” The second man looked dumbfounded to see his accomplice being dealt his just-punishment at the hands of an elegantly dressed gentleman.
Nonchalantly, Pierre inquired, “And to where do you boys think you are running off?”
Taken aback by his cavalier attitude, both men looked at each other with shock. A moment later, the man who had accosted Amelie, swung the bag of silverware at Pierre’s head, who masterfully dodged it. It did, however, give enough opportunity for the stranger to make his escape past Amelie, who grabbed the bag as he went. The intruder let go without a fight. Apparently, holding onto his loot was not his top priority. He seemed to be more focused on getting away from Pierre than anything else.
Once both burglars were gone, the strength drained from Amelie’s body. She began to shake and her knees turned to mush. Pierre must have noticed her sudden shift in demeanor. He immediately rushed to her side, putting his arm around her waist to steady her.
“Mon étoile, your bravery seems to have abandoned you. Let me help you.”
She glanced at him with a surprised look on her face. Mon étoile? She hadn’t heard the phrase since her father passed away. As far back as she could remember, her father would call her by the French term of endearment. It meant, “my star,” and he often told her she was the brightest star in the sky, shining so bright, it hurt to directly look at her. What were the chances this man would use the same name for her? Was it a sign from God she could trust him?
She knew, as a proper young woman, she should object to the intimate proximity of his arm around her waist. But feeling queasy from what just transpired, she allowed him to continue to hold her as he guided her over to one of the kitchen chairs.
Gently, he helped her sit down and then pulled a chair behind him to sit across from her. Looking her square in the eyes, he asked, “How are you fairing, mon étoile?”
There was the name again. It disconcerted her to no end. “Why do you keep calling me that?”
“Honestly, I have no idea. My father used to call my mother by it. When I saw you in distress, even as dire a situation as you were in, your courage shined through. In that moment, you reminded me of a brilliant star.” He shrugged and looked away. “If it bothers you, I will refrain in the future.”
“I didn’t say you needed to do that.”
As he brought his gaze back to her, Amelie tried to swallow the lump in her throat; a lump no longer made of fear, but a fresh one created by the unknown feeling in the pit of her stomach. His chocolate eyes were hypnotizing and she found herself lost in their deep pools.
“You are certain you are alright?” Pierre asked, as he placed his right hand on her knee and leaned towards her.
Nodding, Amelie felt herself start to shake again. It wasn’t from what had occurred with the intruder, but rather from what was currently happening between her and Pierre.
She knew she should tell him to remove his hand; she knew she should tell him they needed to go outside because it was inappropriate for them to be alone, but somehow she couldn’t form the words. Instead, she waited, wondering what he planned to do next.
“You are still shaking. Do you need me to get you a blanket? A hot cup of tea, perhaps?”
She shook her head, as she croaked out, “None of those things will fix what is causing this reaction.”
Pierre cocked his head to the side, then as if he was aware of what was going on, a knowing smile crossed his face. “Perhaps, if I was to do this,” he murmured, as he gently began to rub her knee between his fingers and thumb.
Even through the layers of her skirt and camisole, she could feel the tingling course through her body. If he could evoke this type of sensation with merely touching her knee, what would it feel like to feel his lips upon her own?
Before she could find out, she heard the front door open and Elise call out, “Amelie, are you here? Is everything alright?”
“Yes, Elise, we are in here.”
Within seconds, E
lise was rushing into the kitchen, followed by William, Debbey and Matthew.
Elise came to Amelie’s side, inspecting her for damage. “What happened?”
Amelie glanced up at the three people behind them. “What are all of you doing here?”
Elise answered. “I was running as quick as I could towards the sheriff’s office. I saw Mr. Almonbury on the front porch of Debbey’s house and Mr. Girald at the end of the path near the street. I knew they could get here faster than if I continued on to the center of town to get the sheriff. When I explained what was going on, Mr. Girald bolted towards our home. Debbey ran inside to get Matthew. As soon as he grabbed the family rifle, we made our way here.”
“I daresay, I have never seen such a worried look on your face, Pierre, or have seen you run so fast,” William stated.
Amelie looked at Pierre for a long moment. He barely knew her. Why would he risk his life to save her? For all he knew, the men in her house could have had guns.
“Thank you, Mr. Girald. I appreciate your intervention.”
“It was nothing, Miss Leclaire. I do think, under the circumstances, you can now call me Pierre.”
This time she didn’t argue the point. It seemed ridiculous when the man just saved her life. Instead, she stated, “And I think you have earned the right to call me Amelie.”
Feeling eyes on them, Amelie looked up and noticed the angry expression on Matthew’s face. He was clenching his rifle with a fierce grip and was staring directly at Pierre’s hand on her knee. In all the commotion, she had forgotten it was resting there. As a matter of fact, she had a tendency of forgetting all manner of things when Pierre was nearby.
To avoid further awkwardness, Amelie gently pulled her leg out from underneath Pierre’s hand. A confused look flickered across his face before he glanced over his shoulder at where Amelie was looking. A small chuckle escaped him, as he asked, “Do you feel safe enough to stay here alone, Amelie? Or do you wish for me to stay the night?”
This time a low growl sprang from Matthew. Amelie wasn’t sure, but it seemed as if Pierre was irritating Matthew on purpose.