My Sister's Prayer

by Mindy Starns Clark

  Celeste shook her head. “What story?”

  He lowered his voice. “She made false accusations the day you first brought her here, out on the street.”

  Celeste nodded. She remembered the encounter but hadn’t been able to hear their exchange.

  “Perhaps the young man with her told you what she said?”

  “Spenser?” Celeste shook her head. “No. He didn’t.”

  Jonathan rubbed his jaw. “That’s interesting. I thought at least one of them would have said something.”

  Celeste again shook her head, annoyed that Jonathan had changed the subject. “Surely there is someone interested in your carriage.”

  He held up his hand. “Please, Celeste. I need you to know what your sister said in case she repeats her story. Or someone who overheard it says something. I don’t want you to be misled.”

  She raised her eyebrows. He spoke slowly and quietly. “She claimed I asked her to come to Virginia because I had feelings for her. She said I told her I no longer cared for you.”

  A pain shot through Celeste’s chest. “What?”

  “Ridiculous, isn’t it?”

  Celeste took a deep breath. “When did she say this happened?”

  “Before I left London. When I was so consumed with tasks I didn’t have time even to see you.” He leaned closer. “I cared about you, Celeste. I really did. I still do—”

  Her heart lurched. “Please don’t.”

  “I know you still care for me.” He reached for her hand.

  She jerked it away. “Don’t.” He was only making it harder.

  His hand fell to his side. “I heard Berta is quite ill.”

  “Yes, she is.”

  “Perhaps her strange words were part of that. I’m wondering if she was delirious.”

  “Perhaps. Thank you for telling me.” She wished she could be sure Berta would never do such a thing—imagine such a thing or, worse, fabricate or exaggerate—but it wasn’t beyond belief. Her sister had been known to be both dramatic and deceitful. Exaggeration was her forte, which made her untrustworthy. And she had been intrigued with Celeste and Jonathan from the very beginning. Now that Celeste thought about it, Berta had always seemed taken with him. Sadly, it was believable she would make up such a thing—either that, or she actually thought it was true. Perhaps Jonathan had been too kind to her, and she’d misinterpreted his intentions. Maybe he’d mentioned coming to America, and she took it as an invitation. Whatever had happened, she needed to talk to Berta soon.

  “I have to go,” Celeste said. “Thank you for telling me.”

  Jonathan nodded. “I’m enough of a scoundrel from what I’ve done to you without adding more to it.” His eyes hung heavy. “If only I’d known you were coming…Please forgive me.”

  “I do forgive you,” she answered. He was sincerely sorry.

  “I know you’re in a difficult situation. Having to work harder than you’re used to, and below your station in life. And, I promise you, I am trying to sell the carriage to help you. I feel horrible about what’s happened.”

  “Thank you, Jonathan,” she said again, turning toward the blacksmith shop. Sadly, she could understand him choosing the plantation owner’s daughter. She’d been foolish to give her heart to him. As she hurried away, she still longed for him. Longed for what they had for that short time in London. She’d never felt so alive as she had during those wondrous, heady days.

  Her forgiveness had been more sincere this time, and she expected to be filled with relief, but she wasn’t. Instead, she found herself mourning the loss of Jonathan all over again. Soon her thoughts shifted to Berta. What would make her sister lie like that? Her illness? Jealousy? Either way, she was more worried about Berta than ever—but now for a different reason.

  Even in her anguish over what Berta had done, Celeste questioned what Jonathan told her. What if, for some reason, he had made it up?

  She didn’t know what to believe.

  Celeste couldn’t get away from the inn that evening to see her sister. The next day, Benjamin was ill, and she had to start the fires and tend to them all day. It wasn’t until an hour before it was time to serve supper that she managed to slip away. She would have to be gentle with Berta. From experience, she knew if the girl felt cornered she would grow silent and wouldn’t respond at all. Or worse, she would lie. There were several times growing up that Berta had been punished by their parents for her lying. Not once, no matter how severe the punishment, did Berta confess. She could be the most stubborn person on earth.

  When Celeste arrived, Berta was sitting in the salon with Madame Petit. She wore a housedress and her hair was pulled back in a bun, a white frilly cap on her head. She looked the best she had since they had left London, and Celeste couldn’t help but smile with relief.

  “You’re up and about,” she said in surprise as she entered the room.

  “Only while Judith changes the bed,” Berta replied, tiredly.

  Celeste’s smile faded. She took a seat in the chair Madame Petit indicated but didn’t know what to say after that. She was hesitant to bring up Jonathan’s claims in front of their hostess, but then Madame Petit excused herself to go check on the bed, perhaps sensing the sisters needed some time alone.

  As the woman left, Celeste leaned closer to Berta and got right to the point. “I saw Jonathan yesterday. He said you made some disturbing accusations the day you arrived in Williamsburg.”

  Berta pursed her lips.

  “Can you tell me more about it?”

  Berta shook her head.

  “This is important. Jonathan said that you—” Celeste nearly choked on the words. “—believed he had feelings for you.”

  Berta started to stand. “I can’t talk about this.”

  Celeste pulled her sister back down. “I know we’ve had our differences, but could we please discuss it? I need to know what happened.” She had to find out which one of them was telling the truth, which one she could trust. “Did you have feelings for him?” Celeste looked her sister directly in the eye.

  Berta’s eyes narrowed as she glared back.

  Celeste leaned forward even more. “Did you believe he had feelings for you? You told me you’d been kidnapped…”

  Berta’s cheeks flushed a vivid red, and in that instant Celeste realized that she’d been duped. “You weren’t kidnapped?” she hissed.

  Berta shrugged, averting her eyes. “You assumed I’d followed you down to the dock out of concern. You assumed I’d been forced aboard that ship against my will. When you asked if that’s what happened, I didn’t challenge you.”

  “In other words, you lied.”

  “I let you believe what you wanted to believe. It seemed…easier.”

  “Easier,” Celeste echoed, stunned. “You told me someone must have knocked you out or drugged you because the next thing you knew you were waking up on board the ship after we were out at sea.”

  “Again, it was your assumption. I just…elaborated a little.”

  Celeste couldn’t believe it. Not only had the girl lied, but she wouldn’t even accept responsibility for those lies. “How did you get on board?”

  Berta met her eyes. “The same way you did. I signed a contract. I walked right on with my own two feet.”

  “But…why?”

  Berta shook her head, her eyes filling with tears. “Because Jonathan promised to marry me once I reached Virginia, just as he did you.”

  Celeste exhaled loudly, unable to take it in. “You’re my sister, Berta! You’re saying you went out with the man I loved behind my back? How could you?”

  “I admit I found him attractive from the beginning. I went out of my way to talk with him, and soon he was taken with me.”

  “Nonsense. I don’t believe you.”

  “You think I’m lying, Celeste?”

  “Yes. Why would he betray me like that?”

  Berta folded her hands in her lap. “Why would I lie?”

  Celeste could think of sever
al reasons. Spite. Jealousy. Embarrassment. But she couldn’t say any of those. Instead, she chose something much worse. “Why wouldn’t you?”

  Berta stared for a long moment and then whispered, “Yes, perhaps I have lied in the past. And I lied by letting you believe I’d been kidnapped, and by providing a few false details. But I swear to you I’m telling the truth now.” Her voice grew louder. “I don’t expect you to believe me. But, trust me, if I had known that you were going to be on board that ship, I never would have come.”

  Celeste was quiet, trying to take it all in. This whole time she’d felt guilty for Berta following her down to the dock that day and being abducted, but her sister had made that choice on her own, just as Celeste had. This changed everything.

  Berta’s face reddened. “You weren’t spending as much time with Jonathan.”

  “He was getting ready to leave the country.”

  “I hoped you no longer cared for him.”

  Celeste shuddered. “Did you think to ask me if I did?”

  “Honestly, I was so taken with him that I wasn’t thinking much about you.” Berta placed a hand on Celeste’s wrist. Her sister’s touch burned Celeste’s skin.

  “I was so flattered by his attention…” Berta leaned closer. “God knows the truth, and I’ve confessed my sins to Him and He’s forgiven me. But I still need your forgiveness.”

  Celeste yanked her arm away. “I wouldn’t know where to start.”

  Berta sighed, closing her eyes for a moment. “Let’s start with when you found me on the ship. Believe me, I was as shocked to see you as you were to see me.”

  Celeste pursed her lips, silent.

  Berta continued. “I was so ill by then that I could hardly speak.”

  “And so you let me speak for you, let me make all the wrong assumptions. Why?”

  “Because I had no choice! I needed you to care for me. How would you have felt if I’d told you the truth, that the man you thought you were going to marry had betrayed you for me? Would you have stayed by my side and nursed me across the Atlantic?”

  “Of course I would have,” Celeste whispered, even as Berta’s words echoed in her mind. He betrayed you for me.

  For me.

  It couldn’t be true. Berta had to be lying. Celeste stood, wanting to say more but having no idea what.

  “I have to go,” she murmured, grabbing her cloak and fleeing the cottage.

  Outside, the wind blew, whipping the brown leaves from the trees. Dirt and debris pelted Celeste. The first storm of autumn was brewing as she ran down the front steps, her head bent, anger welling in her chest.

  “Easy…”

  She jerked her head up just before she collided with Spenser. He reached out and steadied her, his hands on her shoulders. “What’s the matter?”

  Only Spenser’s strength could anchor her.

  “I spoke with Jonathan yesterday. And then with Berta just now.”

  Spenser’s face fell. “Does this have anything to do with what she said to him the day she arrived?”

  She nodded, mute.

  “I’m sorry, Celeste.”

  “Do you think she’s lying?”

  He grimaced but didn’t respond.

  “She’s lied before, so this isn’t that surprising. She was so ill, and I was so desperate to save her that I forgot what she could be like.”

  “Celeste,” Spenser said, gently. “She seemed quite genuine when she confronted him. And heartbroken.”

  “And how did he seem?”

  “Caught off guard. Surprised she was in Williamsburg. Flustered.”

  Celeste shook her head. “Well, of course. But he was honest with me about what Berta said, wanting to prepare me. She could be lying.”

  It was Spenser’s turn to shake his head. “I don’t think she is.”

  Celeste stepped away from him. Of course he didn’t want to believe that the woman he loved was a liar. “I don’t blame you for siding with her. You care about her.”

  “I care about both of the Talbot sisters.”

  She swallowed the tears welling in the back of her throat. “I need to get back to the inn.”

  “Can you pray about it?”

  “Pray?”

  “Yes. For the truth to be revealed.”

  She couldn’t tell Spenser she hadn’t prayed in the last half year. She stumbled past him.

  “Celeste!” he called out, but the word was muffled by the wind howling through the village. Ignoring him, she braced herself, marching down the street, the wind pushing her sideways. She held onto her cap and increased her speed as much as she could. She’d forgiven Jonathan for not waiting for her. Could she forgive Berta for lying?

  If Berta hadn’t come, Celeste would still have the ruby. Perhaps she could have bought her own freedom and then worked for her return passage to London. Now it would be four years until she was free. Then more years until she could save any money to return home. And then, even if that all went smoothly, they couldn’t risk Berta’s health with another voyage.

  Celeste was destined to stay in this New World, penniless, with no hope of marriage and no family of her own. And with a sister she most likely couldn’t trust.

  That evening, after dinner was served and Celeste was scrubbing a pot with her calloused hands, Sary asked her in French what was wrong. Celeste could have tried to ignore her. Rain battered the window, and the wind howled too, scraping a branch from the hickory tree against the eaves.

  But it was seldom that Sary asked Celeste anything, so she decided to respond while avoiding an actual answer.

  Celeste lifted her head. “Just a spat with my sister. Is it that obvious?”

  Sary nodded over her shoulder as she tended the fire. “Must have been a bad one.” Celeste merely concentrated on the pot. Sary stepped to Celeste’s side of the table and gathered up the leftover rosemary. “You’re fortunate to have a sister close by.”

  Celeste murmured in agreement, remembering Sary mentioning her own sister. She paused for a moment and then asked, “Did you ever have conflict with yours?”

  Sary’s eyes grew misty as she put the herbs in a basket. “A few times. But she was older than me and stronger. She was always praying—for all of us, but especially for me. She was very protective of me. In fact, that’s how she ended up dying.”

  Celeste gasped.

  Sary nodded. “She put herself between me and a beating.”

  “What happened?” Celeste wiped her hands on her apron, moving slowly, hoping Sary would keep talking.

  The woman paused and looked toward the kitchen door, even though they were speaking in French. “My husband had died the month before from malaria.”

  Celeste blinked, startled. This was the first time Sary had ever mentioned a husband.

  “We tried to save him, but he never had a chance. Of course, I was distraught. Neither my sister, Orrinda, nor I wanted to leave what had been our home our entire lives. Our mother was ill with malaria too, and we asked to stay with her for just a few more days. I wasn’t not cooperating—not intentionally. I just couldn’t seem to move. Not only did Orrinda get whipped, but she was pushed and hit her head…”

  “Sary.” Celeste put her arm around her, pulling her close. Sary leaned against her but didn’t say anything more.

  “I’m so sorry.” Celeste wanted to know exactly what happened, but the woman remained silent.

  Celeste held her tighter, not letting go until Sary took a deep breath and pulled away, a dazed expression on her face. She seemed to have said all she was going to—at least for the moment.

  Celeste hoped that someday Sary would feel safe enough to tell her the rest. Sary put the basket on the shelf and then stepped back to the fire, bending down. “I suppose whatever happened was your sister’s fault.”

  Surprised the woman had broached the subject of Berta again, Celeste simply replied, “I hope not, to be honest.” She couldn’t bear to think that Berta had betrayed her. Hearing just a bit of Sary’s st
ory made her even more desperate to find a sense of harmony with her own sister. But no matter what, Berta had been willing to steal Jonathan away from her, or else she’d lied about having done such a thing. Either option was horribly cruel. Celeste didn’t know if she could forgive her for either, but she desperately wished there was a way to discern the truth.

  “Can you make it right with her?” Sary asked.

  Startled, Celeste glanced up from the pot. “Pardon?”

  “Your sister. Can you make amends with her?”

  Celeste pursed her lips together. Berta had asked for her forgiveness, but she wasn’t going to tell Sary that. Instead, she answered, “Perhaps,” and tackled the pot again. She’d been able to forgive Jonathan, but this was different. Maman had always claimed Berta and Celeste would one day be best friends. Now that day would never come. What Berta had done was unconscionable.

  That night as Celeste tried to fall asleep over the rhythmic beat of the rain pounding the roof, she thought of Sary, her husband, sister, and mother. Then she thought of Maman, and of Berta.

  She missed her mother more than anyone. Maman was always gentle. Always quick to pray about a problem. Always ready to forgive. Now, an ocean away, she realized that her mother had been her best friend, but she’d never valued the relationship as she should have. If only she could have the same with her sister now.

  Was Celeste the kind of woman who could forgive a man who had jilted her but not her sister for lying to her? Or, perhaps, betraying her? A sister who was one of a very few people she had any relationship with at all in this New World?

  And what if she didn’t forgive Berta? Already she felt the threat of bitterness.

  Would she grow more resentful for being stuck in Virginia with no hope of freedom for four years? No hope of ever going home? She and Berta would have to work together to survive, if her sister was willing.

  But what was Celeste willing to do to embrace her sister?

  Spenser had suggested she pray. She tried to, but all she could manage was Lord, please help me.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Celeste

  Celeste didn’t return to the Petits’ home for several days. She vacillated between wanting to distance herself from Berta to chastising herself for even considering such a thing. Could she really abandon the only family member who was on the same continent as she, the only one she could have a meaningful relationship with? That thought alone made Celeste feel as if she were on a ship without a sail.