My Sister's Prayer

by Mindy Starns Clark

  “Did anyone try to help her?”

  “I tried.” Sary’s eyes filled with tears. “I lost a baby, a girl, in such a way. She was bigger than the maid’s, though, just a couple of months from being ready. And mine was healthy—until I was beaten.”

  Celeste gasped. “Mr. Horn did that to you?”

  Sary nodded.

  “And he’s the one that beat your sister too?”

  She nodded again. “He beat Orrinda the day we left the West Indies, causing her to hit her head. She died on the ship. Mr. Horn was so furious with my wailing that he turned on me.”

  Celeste remembered the fear in Sary’s eyes in the kitchen that day. Now she knew what the slave trader was capable of. “I’m so sorry.” Celeste put her hand on Sary’s arm.

  The woman nodded, her chin down. “There was nothing I could do for my baby or for that poor girl’s baby either.”

  “Did the physician come?”

  “Eventually.” Sary raised her head a little. “But there was nothing anyone could do. She was dead by morning. She’s buried in the churchyard.”

  Celeste nodded. Aline had shown her the grave. “You don’t think Jonathan had anything to do with her death, do you?” Celeste felt ill.

  Sary considered the question for a moment. “No. Except for breaking her heart. And filling her with shame.”

  “And you think he talked her into coming? Into indenturing herself?”

  “She never said, but I wouldn’t be surprised. She was smart, like you. Except for believing in a man like him.” Sary sighed. “I’m sorry.”

  “No.” Celeste clasped Sary’s forearm. “Thank you for telling me. You are a true friend.”

  Sary placed her good hand over Celeste’s and squeezed. “As you are.”

  Their eyes met, and in that moment they seemed to share the knowledge of how truly dire their situation was.

  “You’re not married yet,” Sary whispered. “We can still get away.”

  Celeste shook her head. “I can’t. He owns my contract. But you can go with Emmanuel and Berta. You’re free.”

  Sary frowned. “No. Where you go, I go.”

  “Sary, please—”

  “No,” the woman replied firmly. “I’m not leaving you alone with that man.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Maddee

  My conversation with Greg the night of the party stayed with me all the next morning. I just kept trying to figure out what I’d said that had upset him. I was sitting in my office, trying to put him out of my mind and focus on the file in front of me, when I received a call from Miss Vida.

  “Taavi Koenig!” she cried as soon as I answered.

  “Excuse me?”

  “That’s his name. Taavi Koenig, from Cleveland, Ohio.”

  I gasped. “The man in the cabin? How do you know?”

  “Well, I don’t for sure. But nineteen years ago last July, a Jewish man with brown hair and green eyes named Taavi Koenig came to Virginia for a visit—and he was never heard from again.”

  The next hour was insane as I connected Miss Vida with Detective Ortiz and then waited nervously to hear back from one of them. In the meantime, I gave Nicole the news, and then together she and I conference-called our cousins Renee and Danielle. All four of us were so excited that to an outsider we might have seemed disrespectful, but we weren’t celebrating a man’s demise; we were celebrating the fact that we had our first real lead since the case was reopened in July.

  We were still on the phone when I heard back from Ortiz, so I conferenced her in as well and we all listened as she gave us an update. Apparently, the man’s son was ready to hop on the next plane and fly here from Cleveland, desperate to know, at long last, what had happened to his missing father all those years ago. Ortiz had told him to wait for now, but when he mentioned he’d once had his own DNA tested as a part of an ancestry project, she had him scan and send that report, and then she ran a comparison.

  “And sure enough,” she told us now, “Koenig’s our guy. The case is back on.”

  She warned us that we were probably still a long way from finding the whole truth, but at least this was a big step in that direction.

  When two o’clock rolled around and the office closed for the rest of the day, Nicole and I took off for Williamsburg as planned. It felt odd to leave town in the wake of such exciting developments, but there was no reason to stick around and nothing we could do to further the case—Ortiz had been firm about that.

  “You did well, Maddee,” she’d said at the end of our call, “but your time for playing detective is over. Don’t poke around any further, or you might actually mess things up. Understand?”

  “Understand,” I said, happy to relinquish that role. I had enough going on in my life as it was.

  We reached Williamsburg at four, paid at the visitor center, and headed toward the village. A canopy of yellow and orange blazed above us as we walked, our feet crunching through dried leaves along the path. I’d been here several times before, but never in the fall. I couldn’t help but think of Celeste trudging through town in a storm, braving both the wind and the mud. Thankfully, we had a paved path to walk on, and the day was clear and bright.

  I was also grateful for all of the walking Nicole and I had been doing lately. Although she seemed quiet and lost in her thoughts, she was moving pretty well. We brought along the wheelchair for when she’d had enough and would need to switch, but at the moment she was fine just rolling it in front of her, using it like a walker.

  When we reached the village, we both stood in awe for a long moment at the top of the green. The fall colors were absolutely spectacular, framing the entire place in reds and oranges. It struck me that this was where Celeste first stopped when she arrived in Williamsburg to search the crowd of soldiers for Jonathan. As if right on cue, the rat-a-tat of a snare drum started, and a group of soldiers began to gather.

  “Let’s keep going,” Nicole said.

  At her leading, we wandered east toward the jail. It was larger than it had been in Celeste’s time, but we could easily imagine her up in the loft, longing for Jonathan to arrive—only to have Spenser appear instead. Nicole shivered as we stood there, but she didn’t say anything. In fact, she’d been oddly quiet almost since the moment we arrived.

  Before moving on from there, I told her it was time to shift to the chair, and she did so without protest.

  “Mr. Edwards’s inn was this way,” I said, turning right at the next street. Nana had told us the original inn was torn down nearly two hundred years ago and replaced with several smaller buildings, but we found the property and even the spot where the bench would have been. I imagined Sary standing in her drying shed on the other side of the fence, listening in on all the gossip and deals being made within her hearing. I squinted, picturing the garden and orchards, the kitchen and laundry. If only we could step back in time.

  We continued on, passing several “villagers,” all dressed as if they belonged in 1775. And though the styles would have changed from Celeste’s era, the layers of clothing—shift, chemise, petticoat, skirt, apron, cloak, and cap—were probably quite similar.

  We came upon the blacksmith shop, which made me think of poor Celeste and the heavy pot. Next was a row of houses, one of which was white with green trim, not unlike the Petits’. Up ahead, I spied the sight I’d wanted to see most, the pillory.

  When we reached it, we stood silently for a long while, staring at the brutal contraption of wood and metal, thinking about that horrid night of Celeste’s.

  People were allowed to try out the pillory and take photos, so I asked Nicole if she wanted a turn. “We ought to take at least one picture for Nana.”

  Nicole shook her head, and when I really looked at her, I realized she was visibly upset. Her face was pale, her shoulders slumped, her hands trembling.

  “Hey, what’s wrong?” I asked, startled. “Are you in pain? Why didn’t you say something?”

  She shook her head even as her ey
es filled with tears. By the anguish on her face, I just knew this had to do with Nana and whatever big secret it was they shared.

  “Let’s go,” she said suddenly.

  When I hesitated, she rose, grabbed the handles of her wheelchair, and took off on foot toward the green.

  I stared after her for a moment. “Wait. Nicole! What’s wrong?” I strode forward to catch up.

  “I need a meeting,” she said, and then she gestured in the direction of the parking lot. Apparently, we were going back home.

  I hesitated a moment, glad at least that she had recognized her need and made the healthy choice. “Okay. But let me push you. You’re going to hurt yourself.”

  With a heavy sigh, she complied.

  As she sat down in the wheelchair, I turned back to look at the pillory one last time, thinking of the brave and determined Celeste who, much like me, had just wanted to love and protect her little sister but ended up hurting her instead—or so she’d thought. In the end she learned that Berta’s plight had not been her fault after all.

  Perhaps, I realized, that was a truth I needed to grasp as well.

  Nicole said not one word the whole way back to Richmond. She just sat there, hugging herself, eyes closed, head leaning against the door. We’d been doing meetings for so long now that we both knew the schedule by heart, so when we got into town at 6:25, we headed straight to the 6:30 one on Monument Ave.

  I pulled to the curb out front and let the car idle as she gathered her things.

  “I hope you know how proud I am that you recognized the need for a meeting—and then made sure we got you to one,” I said. “That’s exactly how the program is supposed to work.”

  She nodded, one hand clutching her bag, the other reaching for the door handle.

  “Can I ask you something?” Her voice sounded sad. Lost.

  “Sure.”

  She turned and met my gaze. “You would love me no matter what, right?”

  Her question floored me. Of course I would, but why had she asked? Was she on the verge of doing something she knew was going to hurt me? Something so big she feared it might even make me stop loving her?

  Swallowing hard, I replied, “No matter what.”

  I prayed all the way home even as my mind wrapped around every possibility. Was she on the verge of using? Had something—or someone—from her former life shown up in the here and now? I hadn’t seen any more of Hedge, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t around. With a shudder, I let myself into the carriage house and headed for the stairs.

  I was so lost in thought, it wasn’t until I placed a hand on the banister that I realized I wasn’t alone. A man was in my living room, gaping at me in surprise, his hands buried deep in a pile of Nicole’s belongings.

  I gasped at the sight, realizing in an instant that this was the paunchy, balding fellow from the alley and the car. Now he was inside my home, rooting through our things? The very thought made me so furious I forgot to be scared.

  “Freeze!” I barked. Without any sort of weapon, I had no way to enforce my command, but he obeyed just the same. “Who are you? And what are you doing here?”

  He didn’t answer but instead just stood there, his mouth shut tight, his expression blank.

  My anger now being quickly replaced by fear, I glanced toward the door, wondering if I could make a run for it and get out before he caught me. Given our positioning, I didn’t think so.

  Greg’s words filled my mind.

  Elbows, fingers, feet, car keys, cell phone—anything you have at your disposal.

  My keys were in my front right pocket, but before I attempted to arm myself, I held up my phone for him to see.

  “I’m calling the police,” I said as calmly as I could. I began to tap out 9-1-1.

  “Wait.”

  Something in his voice made me pause.

  “Before you do that, you might want to call your grandmother first.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Celeste

  Celeste left Sary on the ship and hurried back down the gangplank to the dock. Beyond Jonathan, on the pier, stood Emmanuel, Berta, Spenser, and George. All of them watched her.

  Celeste focused on Jonathan as she reached him. He took both her hands. “I have a few errands to run. Say goodbye to your family and then ask to be shown to our cabin on the Royal Mary. I’ll be back soon.”

  Celeste watched him go, turning left when he reached the wharf, heading away from town. “What’s down there?” Celeste asked a sailor walking past her.

  “The slave auction. It’s not open until tomorrow, but it doesn’t hurt to look beforehand.”

  When Jonathan reached the end of the wharf, Captain Bancroft joined him, and they kept walking, conversing as they did.

  A wave of nausea swept over Celeste. She hurried to the end of the wharf and went the same direction. She called out Jonathan’s name, but he didn’t turn back. Perhaps the wind had whipped her voice away.

  “Jonathan, wait!” she cried out again. She lifted her skirt and ran after him.

  Slowly, he turned toward her, shielding his eyes from the lowering sun.

  “Don’t go,” she said, rushing toward him. “Please don’t buy slaves. Perhaps we can open an inn in Charles Town. We can hire local help. I’ll make it work, I promise.”

  Jonathan shot Bancroft a look. The captain chuckled and shrugged his shoulders.

  Jonathan directed his attention back to Celeste. “This is none of your concern.”

  “I beg to differ. If we are to be partners in marriage, we must be in agreement.”

  Jonathan pursed his lips together. The captain took a few long steps forward as if to allow them some privacy.

  “Please don’t buy slaves.” Celeste tried to keep her voice steady. “I can’t bear it.”

  “I can’t manage the land without them. You and I will never make a living in Carolina without cheap labor.”

  “Cheap? It’s free labor.”

  “No, Celeste. Clothing, housing, and food aren’t free.”

  “Not paying wages means the labor is free!”

  He shook his head. “It’s more complicated than that. Besides, I’ll take good care of my property, I promise.”

  Property. Again she felt as if she might be ill.

  “Do you want to plant, tend, and harvest hundreds of thousands of tobacco plants on your own?” he asked.

  She didn’t want any tobacco plants. Celeste didn’t answer him.

  “I didn’t think so. We need scores of laborers to make a profit.” He reached out for her hand as a plan began to form in her mind.

  She jerked away. He just laughed. “You’ll get over this, I promise. And in time you’ll ask your family to help us. We’ll need them to make a living here. I hadn’t realized the true wealth your father had until Emmanuel showed up, flaunting his money.” He glanced toward Captain Bancroft again, and Celeste couldn’t help but think of what he had said about his assessment of her family’s means after visiting them. It seemed likely he’d had an influence on Jonathan on this matter too. Jonathan’s voice grew louder. “After what I’ve done for you, you’ll owe me their help. That’s how we’ll truly be partners.”

  And there it was, the moment Sary had just been warning her about. Thank the good Lord this man had shown his true colors before it was too late.

  Celeste tried to smile. There was no point arguing with him or trying to convince him that her family wasn’t as wealthy as he thought. Or that her parents would never agree to send money so Jonathan could purchase human beings. “Do you have a little money now?” she asked. “So I can buy some food for tonight, for when you get back?”

  He took a few coins from his pouch, more than she needed, and gave them to her, seemingly relieved to have her thinking about something else. “Put all worries from your mind, my love. We’ll be in Charles Town in no time. We’ll marry and get situated on our land—and then I’ll take care of everything. I promise.”

  Celeste felt as if a half s
mile had frozen on her face.

  “I know slavery still seems foreign to you,” he said, “but it’s how things work here. Even among the Huguenots.”

  Celeste simply took the money from his hand, thanked him, and then told both men goodbye. If Celeste ignored what Sary had said about Jonathan and also what Berta had claimed, what else would she have to ignore in the future? She’d be coerced into asking her parents for money but not telling them what it was for. She’d end up tricking them into going against their beliefs because her husband felt she owed it to him. If she thought she’d lost her faith in God before, in the future she would be absolutely stripped of any hint of faith if she agreed to lead such a deceptive life. She wouldn’t be able to live with herself at all. She would end up dead in a churchyard like the maid before her, stripped of all dignity and hope.

  Aiming for the other end of the wharf, she held her head high—only to see Berta coming toward her.

  “Sister,” Celeste called out. “I was wrong.”

  Both quickened their steps, and when they met, Celeste wrapped her arms around Berta. “I believe you now. I’m so sorry I didn’t before.”

  Berta pulled away. “Don’t go with him.”

  Tears flooded Celeste’s eyes. “When is the boat to Williamsburg scheduled to leave?”

  “Soon.”

  “I need to go get Sary. I’ll meet you on the wharf. Don’t let the York leave without us.”

  Celeste raced back up the gangplank of the Royal Mary. Sary sat with her eyes closed and Celeste simply took her hand, whispering, “I’ll explain in a bit.”

  Sary’s eyes flew open.

  Loudly Celeste said, “We need to go buy food before Lieutenant Gray returns.”

  Celeste had to force herself to walk, not run, along the deck of the Royal Mary. When they reached the wharf, she could hear Spenser and Emmanuel talking about the ring. While Spenser sounded adamant that they simply had to get it back before leaving, Emmanuel insisted it was impossible, that Wharton wasn’t going to budge.