My Sister's Prayer

by Mindy Starns Clark

  “No,” Celeste answered as Emmanuel stepped closer. An unexpected sob shook her, followed by uncontrollable shivering. She was cold, yes, but her response was more of relief. Emmanuel had come after her, most likely sent by their parents.

  “We need to get Celeste out of here.” Spenser knelt down again and spoke directly to her. “Perhaps now that family has arrived, Constable Jones will treat you better.”

  Another sob shook her.

  “There, there.” Kindness flooded his eyes along with a sadness she didn’t expect. “I’ll go get Jones and tell him to hurry along. You have an advocate now. Two, in fact.”

  She’d already had two advocates—Spenser and Mr. Edwards. But maybe family would count for more with the authorities.

  Spenser stood. For a moment, Celeste didn’t want him to leave. Emmanuel and George felt so unfamiliar to her. Spenser was her rock, even though he’d been limited over and over by what he could do. She knew he would save her if he could.

  Softly he said, “I’ll be back as soon as I can.” Then he hurried away.

  Emmanuel and George both squatted down in front of her. Emmanuel wore a cap over his dark hair. Despite the circumstances, his eyes were as lively as ever. “What happened?”

  “I defended the cook back at the inn.” Celeste paused for a moment. “From a slave trader. He fell into the fire and then claimed I tried to kill him.” She didn’t have the energy to explain everything.

  “Goodness, sister. I didn’t think you had it in you to attack someone.”

  Celeste didn’t answer. She hadn’t attacked him, but clearly she wasn’t the same person she’d been back home. So much had changed.

  “So where’s this Jonathan?” George asked.

  “Away, probably at the plantation that belongs to the Vines family. He intends to marry the Vines’s daughter.” She swallowed hard. It was good to say that right away, but it still hurt.

  “I see.” A hard look fell across George’s face. The rain eased a little. It didn’t matter. Her cloak was soaked through, and her skin was growing numb.

  “How is Papa?” she asked Emmanuel. “And the boys? And Maman?” She choked on the last word.

  “Worried. You can imagine how we all felt when you and Berta disappeared. Maman found your cryptic note, but we had no idea where Berta was.”

  “I didn’t ask her to come along. At first I didn’t even know she was on the ship…” She wasn’t sure how to explain the rest.

  “Then weeks later Papa received your letter.” Emmanuel rubbed the stubble on his chin. “He was ready to come over after the two of you, but I volunteered to come instead. He wasn’t so sure about that until George offered to accompany me.”

  “That was kind of you. Both of you.” Celeste meant it.

  “We can start back tomorrow when the ship returns to Norfolk. A few days after that it will leave for Carolina and then London,” Emmanuel said.

  Celeste wasn’t sure what to say. Could she possibly return home so soon? She would see Maman. Papa. Alexander, Frederick, and William.

  Of course she couldn’t. “There’s the matter of my indenture, the cost of my contract.”

  “What are you saying?” Emmanuel asked. “That you sold yourself as a servant?”

  Her face burned in shame. “That was how I paid my passage. Jonathan said he would buy my contract once I arrived.”

  “But then he didn’t,” George surmised.

  “He promised to sell his carriage and buy my contract that way—”

  Emmanuel shook his head. “But he hasn’t, correct?”

  “That’s right. And there’s another issue too. Berta.”

  This time it was George who shook his head. “She’s indentured as well?”

  That situation was far more complicated than Celeste was prepared to explain while her head and hands were hinged.

  “She was,” Celeste said. “And perhaps still is. You’ll probably have to hire a solicitor to help sort it all out.”

  “We have money to get you both home,” Emmanuel said. “Plus some more.”

  “Enough to free us?”

  “I’m not sure…” Emmanuel’s voice trailed off.

  George cleared his throat. “Will your masters sell your contracts at reasonable prices?”

  “I don’t know.” Celeste couldn’t guess how Mr. Edwards might respond. He was a kind man, but on the other hand he had a business to run. Perhaps it would depend on how bad Sary’s injury was. If she couldn’t cook again, neither Sary nor Celeste would be worth much to Mr. Edwards. As far as Constable Wharton, she had no idea what he would do.

  “And then there’s the matter of the attempted murder charge against me.” Not to mention the accused theft of the ring and the brooch, but she would tell Emmanuel about both of those later when she was out of the pillory.

  “I’ll ask the constable to drop the charges,” Emmanuel said. “Surely once everyone has cooled off we’ll be able to resolve the matter.”

  Celeste believed Emmanuel could talk Jones out of it—maybe after Mr. Horn left the village. Emmanuel had a gift when it came to interacting with others. Plus, his optimism was contagious. “Once they let me out of this thing, you need to go get Berta and settle her contract with Constable Wharton. You have to get her away from there.”

  “All right,” Emmanuel said. “Then we’ll figure out how to buy your contract and head back home.”

  “There’s one problem…”

  “What is it?” Emmanuel squinted up at her.

  “Berta nearly died coming over. I’ve never seen anyone so ill.”

  “Seasickness?” George asked.

  “Yes. It nearly killed her. She came down with typhoid fever too, but she was already deathly ill from seasickness. I doubt she can make the journey back. I’ll stay here with her. I can’t leave her.” No matter what Berta had done, Celeste wouldn’t go home without her.

  “Maybe she would do better on the trip back,” Emmanuel said. “With home as the end goal.”

  “I doubt it.”

  “There would be three of us to care for her,” George added.

  “Spenser helped me with her on the way over, but she couldn’t keep down much as far as food and water.” Not that they’d had much food to give her by the end of the trip.

  “You seemed quite fond of this Spenser,” George said.

  “I am. I’m very grateful to him. Berta is too.” She exhaled. “And he’s quite fond of her.”

  George showed his dimples. She’d forgotten how endearing he could be. He reached for her hand, but she cringed in pain.

  He pulled away, rubbing his hand on his pants. “What’s the sticky stuff?”

  “Salve. I burned myself pulling Mr. Horn out of the fire.”

  “Is that the same fellow you pushed into the fire?” Emmanuel asked.

  “I didn’t push him!” she said loudly, but then she saw the teasing glint in her brother’s eye.

  “Where is this constable?” he asked. “Maybe I should go find him.”

  “He’s probably at the jail. It’s up the hill from the inn.”

  “Where’s the inn?” George asked.

  “Down this street, on the edge of the village.” Celeste twisted her wrist painfully to point the way. “In fact, George, you should go there now to get a room for the two of you. It may fill up because of the sailors.”

  “Good idea,” he said, sounding relieved, she thought, to be done with her and the whole situation.

  She’d been about to add that he should order food as well before it was all gone, but she held her tongue. With that kind of attitude, he deserved to go hungry tonight. Then again, she realized, that meant Emmanuel wouldn’t eat either, and she didn’t want that. Besides, who was she to judge George, or anyone else, for that matter? She was about to speak up, but then she realized the man had already walked away.

  “The two of you might be going hungry tonight unless you leave now,” she warned her brother instead. “If you’re lucky
, you’ll at least get a bowl of soup. Ask for bread and cheese too, after you tell Mr. Edwards who you are.”

  The thought of food made her stomach growl. Anything warm would be more than welcome. She didn’t know how she would survive the night if she had to remain as she was. Every inch of her body hurt. Every inch of her skin was wet and cold. And it would soon be pitch-black.

  Emmanuel interrupted her thoughts. “I’m not worried about food. I need to speak to the constable.”

  “Perhaps Spenser isn’t having any success getting him down here. It might not hurt to go up to the jail instead.”

  A rustling distracted her. “No one needs to go anywhere.” It was Jones’s voice. “Miss Talbot, Spenser tells me you have company.”

  “Yes.”

  Jones came around so she could see his boots and legs.

  Emmanuel stepped forward and introduced himself. Celeste searched the ground, hoping to see Spenser’s legs as well, but it seemed he hadn’t returned.

  “Could you unlock me so we could talk?”

  “I can’t do that. You’re sentenced to spend the night.”

  Tears stung Celeste’s eyes.

  “This is unconscionable,” Emmanuel said. “You can’t leave a lady out in the elements like this.”

  “Lady? More like attempted murderess. Liar. And thief.”

  “Thief?”

  “She didn’t tell you about the jewelry? The brooch? The ruby ring?”

  Emmanuel sunk down to his knees in the mud, his face next to Celeste’s. “You didn’t.”

  She scowled, willing him to be quiet and wishing she’d brought up the ring before Jones returned. “Shhh,” she hissed. “I’ll explain later.”

  “I was afraid you took it,” Emmanuel said, ignoring her admonition, “but Maman kept saying there’s no way you would have done such a thing.”

  She was about to shush him again when she realized that his testimony could work to her advantage. “I already told the constables it was Maman’s, and our great-grandmother’s before that, but they wouldn’t believe me. They claim it’s too valuable to have come from the family of an indentured servant.” She paused for a moment, realizing she needed to explain the rest. “I used it to buy Berta’s freedom from Madame Wharton, in Norfolk. But then Constable Wharton came back and accused me of stealing the ring. At the same time, he reclaimed Berta as his property.”

  “I see,” Emmanuel said. Then, to her surprise, he looked to Jones and asked the man if he would excuse them for a moment. With a huff, the constable turned and stomped off, his boots sloshing in the mud as he went.

  From the sound of things, he didn’t go all that far before stopping. Emmanuel leaned in closer to Celeste.

  For a moment she wondered if she could trust him, but then she scolded herself. Of course she could. He was her brother, raised by her parents. He had her best interests in mind. He was certainly far more trustworthy than she was.

  He lowered his voice to a whisper. “That ring is even more valuable than you think, Celeste. Are you aware that it originally came from King Henri IV? He gave it to our great-great-grandfather.”

  “How do you know?” she gasped, her heart sick.

  “Maman has the note that came with it, signed by the king himself and embossed with his seal. Her grandmother sent it before she died. Maman showed it to me once she realized the ring was gone. It’s a thank-you note for the handling of some very important legal matter, and it mentions the ring specifically. Along the lines of, ‘I know you refused payment for your services on the basis of our friendship, but it is on the basis of that friendship that I give you this ruby ring as a gift of thanks.’ Considering that his words provide provenance straight from the throne, I’d say that piece of jewelry is worth quite a lot.”

  Celeste’s face burned, her guilt and shame only compounded by this new knowledge. “I don’t suppose you brought that letter with you?” she asked meekly, thinking that if he had, they could use it in her defense as proof of ownership.

  “Of course not. Why would I?”

  “I don’t know,” she said miserably, her eyes welling with tears.

  He leaned back on his heels. “I can’t believe you stole it,” he said with a shake of his head, no longer whispering.

  “Yes, but I stole it from Maman, not from whom they are saying I did. You need to make them understand that—though they may not believe you, either.”

  “Of course they will.” He put his head in his hands for a moment. “I just can’t believe you no longer have it.”

  “Don’t think about that now, Emmanuel. And you would have done the same, right? Used it to save a loved one?”

  He nodded as he pulled his hands down his face, a glimmer returning to his eyes. “Of course.” He turned and called out to Jones. “What my sister has told you is true. The ring belonged to our mother. Celeste stole it from her before she left England.”

  “Yes, well, you’ll need to convince Wharton of that.” By the tone of Jones’s voice, Celeste realized, it sounded as though he still needed convincing as well.

  “Invite him to supper,” she whispered.

  “And leave you alone? Like this? In the dark?”

  “I’ll be fine—well, at least not any worse than I already am. I need you to go and do what you do best.”

  This situation was delicate, and she knew that if her brother was to be believed, he would have to establish a relationship of sorts with the others first. That meant sticking around the inn, dining, talking, sharing tales, laughing, and making friends. George wasn’t exactly gregarious, but everyone would love Emmanuel; people always did. If anyone could finesse this situation, given enough time, it was he. Meeting his eyes, she tried to communicate as much.

  “Go on. I’ll see you in the morning. Really, I’ll be fine.”

  He studied her face for a long moment, silent communication passing between them. Then he looked over at Jones. “So, Constable?” he called out, “Can I buy you some supper at the inn?”

  “Why not?” Jones replied matter-of-factly, as if he weren’t thrilled on the inside. Relief flooded Celeste’s veins, for she knew nothing on earth warmed that man’s heart faster than food.

  “Thank you,” she whispered.

  Still squatting in front of her, Emmanuel nodded but then hesitated before leaving. “I just wish I understood how you could have done such a thing in the first place.”

  Her eyes welled. “Maman always told me the ring would be mine one day.” She blinked, sending tears down her cheeks. “But I know I was wrong to take it. I was wrong about so many things.”

  With a soft grunt, Emmanuel reached out and gently wiped away her tears. His hand lingered at her cheek, though whether in comfort or absolution she wasn’t sure.

  “I’ll do what I can.”

  Then he rose and stepped to Jones’s side. She listened to the smack of their footsteps in the mud as they left her, the sound receding into the night until only the patter of rain remained.

  Please, Lord, help him win them over and soften their hearts toward me.

  Celeste wanted to feel optimistic, but as the darkness continued to fall, she began crying again, hot tears streaming down her cheeks and mixing with raindrops. Her head hanging low, her body shaking uncontrollably, she licked the salt from her face and tried to think about happier times, but those thoughts only made her cry more.

  Eventually, her tears came to an end, as did the rain. With her aching eyes fixed on the dark and muddy ground in front of her, she imagined the night sky above and what Spenser would say about it. How he would find the Big Dipper and then point out the North Star.

  Where was her North Star? If Berta could bear the trip home, perhaps George would still marry Celeste. But then again, perhaps he hadn’t come in pursuit of her at all but only as a favor to Emmanuel. He hadn’t indicated in any way in their brief interaction that he still cared for her. She couldn’t blame him if he wanted nothing to do with her ever again. It was clearly what s
he deserved. She owed him an apology. She knew now what it felt like to be jilted.

  Celeste braced herself for the long night, knowing she wouldn’t be able to sleep. Sometimes Papa would talk about how brave Maman was back in France, how she’d stood up to both dragoons and royalty. How she rode her horse into the wild to save her cousin. With pride, Papa spoke about how fearless Maman had been. How she never would have denied her faith, no matter the persecution. Maman would say, “That’s enough, dear. I only did what anyone would have. What you did too.”

  “But you did it alone,” Papa would say. “You were so brave.”

  Celeste knew she would never be brave like that.

  She’d heard of Huguenots in France being tortured, often until death. She couldn’t compare her circumstances to that or what her mother had survived either. She wasn’t being persecuted for her faith. Only her stupidity. She’d brought it all on herself.

  “Stupide,” she said, mimicking her mother.

  She caught the flicker of a lantern out of the corner of her eye. “No,” a voice said. “You’re courageous.”

  “Spenser?”

  “Yes, it’s me.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “I came to keep you company. I saw Emmanuel and George at the inn and told them to eat and rest, that I would watch over you.”

  Her tears started again and a sob shook her.

  “Do you want me to leave?”

  “No,” she managed to say. “P-please stay.”

  He put the lantern down, took her wet cloak from her back, and spread a dry blanket over her shoulders, tucking it around her as best he could.

  “Here,” he said gently, unwrapping a cloth napkin to reveal a thick piece of bread, which he held to her lips. Despite her tears, she bit into it hungrily. She’d had nothing to eat for hours.

  Her sobs subsided as she chewed. When she’d managed to down the whole piece, Spenser tried to give her some water as well, though the angle of her head didn’t make it easy.

  “Thank you,” she whispered once she’d finally had enough.

  “You’re welcome,” he replied, wiping her wet chin with the napkin and then tucking it away in his pocket.