Saving The Marquise's Granddaughter

by Carrie Fancett Pagels

  “What about our plans?”

  “If you can get to New York, I’ll find you there.” He grasped her shoulders.

  “Can’t you halt this—what the soldiers plan to do? Surely Rochambeau had no part in it.”

  “Certainement. He’s gone to rescue Jeanne from those supposed friends of ours who now occupy our grandparents’ estate.”

  “What?”

  Guy drew in a deep breath. “Jeanne is with child. Madame DeMint and her son believe Jeanne’s baby is mine and will inherit the estate. She fears they intend to do her harm.”

  Suzanne gasped. Never would she have believed her brother capable of compromising her friend.

  He raised one hand. “We have little time to discuss this. But know that Pierre LeFort is no threat to anyone any longer. He died a soldier’s death.”

  Her head began to swim. So was Pierre the baby’s father? “Please help these people.”

  “I am doing something. I’m here warning you. I’d planned to get you within the week and depart with you, but now…” He held his hands open. “The interim commander ordered this cruel attack. I owed you and this family at least a warning, which he allowed. I’ll be watched more closely now by my superiors. My plans to go to Montreal will need to be official ones. I’ll need Rochambeau to procure an army assignment for me. From there I’ll try to get to New York. Make contact with the Huguenot church there once you arrive.”

  “Guy—don’t make me do this alone.” Suzanne pressed her face into his chest and clung to him, grabbing his jacket with her fists.

  Her brother clasped her shoulders. His voice was strained. “You won’t be alone. You’ve never been alone. Look to God, Suzanne.”

  ~*~

  Johan observed as the scarred soldier talked with his Suzie, whose gestures and face expressed a multitude of conflicting emotions. He must be Suzanne’s brother. These French soldiers planned to burn their countryside. Dear Lord, no. Why now? After all this time. Mama and Papa—it would kill them. Johan reached up and wiped the sweat from his brow. All their harvest, ruined. And him—he was no farmer. What had he been thinking even considering remaining behind? Foolishness.

  If anyone could save the farm, could rebuild, it would be Nicholas, not him. But there would be no hope if they destroyed it all. Johan rested his head in his hands. He couldn’t manage a prayer. Couldn’t think. In such a time as this, he knew the Holy Spirit would intervene for him. And that would have to do. Why, God? Why?

  “Johan?” Greta slipped her hand through his arm.

  Behind her, Nicholas’s face was white with fury.

  Their wedding—could Greta and Nicholas post their banns with the village reeling under this invasion? He squeezed Greta’s fingers. “It will be all right.”

  She gave him a tremulous smile. “You must come stay with my family—take shelter in town.”

  Nick edged closer. “Suzanne cannot stay there. People will be too angry.”

  Greta tugged on his arm. “Come on. Let’s go tell my mother and father and yours, too. They are discussing our wedding plans now. We must warn them.”

  They wove through the crowd as quickly as they could manage. Some of the inhabitants he’d known all his life glared at Johan as he passed. They finally made it to Greta’s home and hurried inside, Nick lowering the wooden bar into place to secure the door.

  “Come to the back.” Greta waved them on as they ducked through into her home.

  They finally stopped at a fine oval table set just outside the kitchen. Chairs, rather than trestle seats, surrounded it.

  Papa raised his hand. “We heard the whole thing.”

  Johan peered down at his father and mother, both seated at Greta’s parents’ table.

  “We’ve made some decisions, son.”

  “Yes.” His father covered his mother’s hand. “Nicholas and Greta will take over the farm.”

  Johan exhaled in relief. “I’m taking Suzanne from here now. There’s no other way.”

  “Will you marry her?” Mama squeezed Papa’s hand.

  “Yes, if I need to do that to protect her.”

  “First you have to find her.” Nicholas filled his future in-laws’ kitchen doorway, crushing his hat in his hands. “Didn’t you see her ride off on that huge black stallion? She may be leaving with the army.”

  Johan stared at his brother. Suzanne had ridden with him on such a beast, Guillame’s, from France.

  Papa frowned at him. “Where would she go?”

  Nicholas glared at Johan. “Back to France. Probably to the army camp. They can protect her now. She’s their problem, not ours.”

  “She wouldn’t go to them.” Yet he wondered.

  Greta pushed Nick. “Let me past.” She placed her hands on her hips.

  Mama’s face blanched.

  Greta frowned. “We must get your animals to safety and remove anything that might burn in the house. Let’s bring what we can into town. That’s why they built that fortifying wall long ago. Let’s make good use of it.”

  “I’m going after Suzanne.” Johan was firm.

  Greta took Maria’s hands. “My father and other men are assembling to go to your farm and two others outside the village. We can bring the animals into the square or make room in the barn. Trunks can be stacked in the shop.”

  Tears rolled down Mama’s cheeks. “Danke, Greta.”

  His father stood. “Johan, watch for the other soldiers. More may follow behind this group. One never knows.” Papa hugged him tight and then Mama did, too.

  Nick clapped him on the shoulder and Johan pulled him into his arms.

  “Don’t get yourself killed, brother,” Nick murmured in his ear.

  Would he ever see his family again? Perhaps not in this lifetime. Johan swallowed and tried to shrug off the stone’s weight that had settled upon his shoulders.

  “God go with you!” Greta called out, and the others repeated the blessing.

  Johan strode out in pursuit of his future.

  ~*~

  Clinging to Fury’s mane, her head bent low, Suzanne galloped up the road to the farm. She’d leave immediately. Guy explained how to meet the bargeman and where. She’d be on her way to Amsterdam that very day. Clumps of dirt flew up, dirtying her skirt. Fury hadn’t been ridden hard and should have no trouble getting her to the river, where Guy would retrieve him.

  In her room, she grabbed her valise. Would Johan ever forgive her if his fields and his home were destroyed? He couldn’t. She wouldn’t forgive herself for not leaving sooner. I’m a stupid girl.

  Suzanne peered around the room. Thoughts of Johan holding her tight made her shiver. She would never feel those warm arms around her again. Yet he’d never said he loved her. Perhaps he only pitied her.

  Guy could promise her nothing. He told her to pray that some Divine intervention would stop this fiasco. He’d do his best to get to New France as quickly as he could.

  Pouring out Grand-père’s gold and silver pieces onto the bedcover, she counted out one set of coins for Nick and Greta, another for Maria and Adam, and a third for Johan. She tucked her note under the last set. If they were left with nothing, they’d at least have some money to help them.

  Fury neighed outside, as though to hurry her. Should she stay and try to help them get their animals to safety? Wiping away a tear and choking back a sob, Suzanne steeled herself for what she must do. She’d get on the horse, get to the river where Guy told her a barge waited, and free these fine people from any encumbrances with her.

  Her head ached with sorrow. Johan—oh, God, bless him with a wife who deserves him. One who will bring him joy.

  Scooping up her tattered bag from the floor, she charged out of the house and across the yard, straight to Fury.

  16

  Rhine River

  “Be good. Wait for Guy.” Suzanne patted Fury’s forelock.

  Early summer air wafted cooler near the river. If only rain would quench the fires that the French army planned to inflict upo
n Johan’s family and their neighbors. If only she were drenched in the cooling waters of God’s forgiveness. Although Guy claimed a junior officer’s ambitions brought on the disaster, Suzanne feared the torching stemmed from her own mistakes.

  A beefy bargeman leaned on a pole by the bank, a family with three small children reclined against each other on a cloth on the nearby grass, eating fruit. Memories of eating al fresco in the countryside with her family floated through her mind. Thank God she still had her brother. Part of the rip in her heart had been mended. For now, that would have to be enough.

  After paying her passage, she led Fury to a trough by the stable where her brother’s horse was to be left. One more goodbye. She stayed with Fury, currying him and talking to him as though he’d tell Guy everything she’d said.

  The stable boy brushed his feet through the sandy soil as he approached her. “They’ll be leaving soon, miss.”

  “Merci. Take good care of him.” She pressed a coin into his hand.

  After several hours’ wait, the group was prepared to depart. The mother in the small family tried to corral her children, who were running in circles around their father. The handful of other travelers gathered in a queue on the bank.

  Suzanne dusted her skirt off and bent over to retrieve her bag as a rider rapidly approached the stable. A tall man, whose sea-blue eyes held no reproach, dismounted. “Just in time. Ja?”

  How had Johan known where to find her? She didn’t care. She wanted only to throw herself into his arms and tell him a million times that she loved him. Instead, she gaped at him.

  “I’ll be right back.” He ducked into the stables.

  Johan returned smiling, took her hand, and brought it to his warm lips. “I’ll watch over you the best I can. Get you safe to where you’re going.”

  She snatched her hand away and placed it against her cheek. So he means only to be my protector. He didn’t love her. Johan had never said the words. She sighed. A duty, a responsibility. That’s what I am. Her hand moved to soothe the sudden ache in her stomach.

  Johan searched her face. “All will be fine. You’ll see.”

  “Oui. But first, we must pay your passage.” She moistened her lips and led him toward the dock. “How did you find me?”

  “I encountered three cavalrymen on my way. I prayed for God to help me.” He gave her a cockeyed grin. “Your friend, Rochambeau, he directed me. And I have papers.”

  After they paid and boarded, she gazed upriver to what lay ahead. Their destinies would part when they reached the New World.

  But Johan would guard her transit.

  Would that be enough?

  ~*~

  Amsterdam wasn’t as Suzanne remembered. Her strongest recollection was of her mother’s delight at this port city. Maman had purchased delftware for their apartments at Versailles and artwork and new tiles for Grand-mère’s fireplace in the dining room. But Maman was gone.

  On impulse, Suzanne pulled Johan into a portrait shop she recognized. “This is where I first became fascinated with painting.” She recalled the long hours seated in a chair by the window, the shadowy shapes of the picture taking form over time until at last she could see a picture of herself, captured on the canvas.

  “I didn’t know you were an artist, Suzie.”

  Dare she tell him of the painting she’d done of him? No. That would be too humiliating. He’d decided he was her bodyguard. Her protector. Until her brother came for her.

  “Mademoiselle, how might I help you?” The proprietor, Monsieur Daan, used to tell her that her eyes were golden like a lioness’s. He stared. “Suzanne Richelieu?”

  “Oui.” She squeezed Johan’s hand and felt warm satisfaction flowing through her. Here was a man who’d known her and all her family. Under his tutelage, she’d mastered many aspects of oil painting.

  Flipping his hand over, Monsieur Daan exposed paint-streaked palms. “What a strange coincidence! Someone brought me a small portrait recently. I recognized it from the sketches of the young man that you’d completed here in this studio.”

  He’d given her help with Johan’s likeness. But how could it have gotten here?

  The proprietor’s broad smile made him appear younger. “And the picture had that strange little signature you used.”

  Heat crept up her neck.

  Please don’t say it! She shot a look at Johan.

  “The tiny lioness chewing up an insect. Wasn’t that what you said it was?” Monsieur Daan laughed. “Such a strange sense of humor you had!”

  Johan was looking at something over the artist’s shoulder. “That looks like me.”

  The man narrowed his eyes at Johan, examining his face before turning around. He held the small gold-framed portrait out for them to see.

  Suzanne tried to find her voice. “How…who?”

  “Mademoiselle Richelieu captured your eyes and bone structure well. But otherwise you seem quite altered.” The artist rubbed his short, graying beard while studying Johan. “You’re a man now, not a youth.”

  If Guy had the painting brought here, he’d have told her. So either Pierre had done so before he died or possibly Madame DeMint or her son. Cold prickles surged up her spine.

  Johan rubbed his beard with the back of his hand. “Perhaps I should shave.”

  If he did, Johan would be more easily matched to the picture.

  “No!” Suzanne shouted and then covered her mouth. “Forgive me, it’s just that…who brought you this painting?”

  Johan’s image had been left at Versailles. Someone deliberately brought the painting to this city. Someone who knew where she’d learned to paint, for the person to select this shop. Her chest squeezed tight.

  “You painted me, Suzie? Why?” Johan’s eyes had taken on a gleam.

  She swallowed her building panic as she addressed the proprietor. “Were they looking for me? Or for the man in this picture?”

  “Yes, some men from your grandmother’s estate are looking for you.” Monsieur Daan raised his eyebrows. “They want to bring you back. Said your godmother was waiting for you. She’d give you shelter. ‘Knows you worship in the one true faith’ is the phrase they used.”

  A lie. The DeMints meant to kill her as Guy told her they’d tried to do to Jeanne before Rochambeau rescued her from them.

  Johan took her hand in his. “Do you wish to go back there, Suzie?”

  Jerking her hand away, she turned to him. “No! You don’t understand. They don’t want me back there. They’re looking to harm me.”

  “Surely not! Her own son came here to accompany you in safety.” The proprietor tucked his chin in stiffly, his white neck cloth brushing his jowls.

  “No, monsieur.” Suzanne shook her head so hard she became dizzy and sagged against Johan.

  The artist pulled up a chair. “Sit down.”

  Johan lowered her into the high-backed wooden seat. “Did they say where they might be staying? Where to contact them?”

  “They’re in the Renaissance Inn, and I was to send word to them.”

  Johan cleared his throat. “What inn is farthest from the one where they stay?”

  An hour later, after explaining to Johan about the DeMints, Suzanne dropped into the ladder-back chair inside their room. “Can you get the tickets? It would be better in case Paul DeMint has any of his spies about.”

  Johan set his small trunk down and locked the whitewashed door. “I’ll make a pallet on the floor.”

  Surveying the tiny room they’d share, she bit back the urge to tell him she was sorry. Sorry about everything. But in her heart, she couldn’t have borne it if he’d left her. She grasped his arms and looked up, feeling anything but sorry that he’d come with her.

  ~*~

  After departing the inn the next morning, Suzanne scanned faces in the crowd. Strong scents of West Indies coffee and hot chocolate tempted her from the small coffeehouses lining the street.

  Johan squeezed her hand and gave her a tight smile. “This city is a busy
place. So many people.” He eyed the sweet pastries displayed in the windows. They went inside and purchased two slices of sweet cinnamon bread. Johan produced a battered tin cup and had it filled with café au lait, which they shared.

  They marched on.

  “Very pretty.” Johan pointed to the blue and white tiles that surrounded many of the door frames.

  Keeping a lookout for anyone suspicious, Suzanne tugged her head scarf lower on her forehead. As they got closer to the docks, seagulls squawked overhead before swooping down to feast on chunks of dark Dutch bread; the refuse of those travelers enjoying a last bite to settle their stomachs before departure.

  Her own insides churned like the foam they’d soon witness on the seas. I’m really doing this. I’m leaving.

  Mothers fussed over their children before charging on down the boardwalks, squeezing tiny hands to keep little ones nearby. My mother isn’t with me. As remorse welled up in her, Suzanne sniffed and held back tears. Perhaps it was true that God was gracious in taking her mother so quickly and sparing her this journey.

  Maman would have been terrified, looking much like the tall woman with the glazed eyes standing next to them. The brunette stared at the ships in the harbor, a daughter next to her, clutching her arm.

  In Suzanne’s imaginings of this day, her brother stood nearby. She looked up at Johan, the sun’s rays illuminating bronze strands in his hair. This wasn’t Guillame, but her brother would join her soon. With Jeanne, if all went well.

  “Where’s our ship, Johan?” Suzanne peered around the teeming wharf as carters pushed past, crates stacked high.

  A loudly coughing man bumped into her, and she shuddered.

  “The ticket master told me to wait for him by that wooden building down there. Said they verify our passage tickets, and then we board.” Johan’s voice held hesitation. He regarded the whitewashed structure.

  “Looks like a storage shed to me.” Boxes were strewn around it and bags randomly piled as though discarded.

  His strong hand folded around hers and he drew her toward the building. Once they reached the shed, an elderly woman, the tails of her cap flapping in the breeze wailed, “My belongings—gone!” She covered her face with her hands. White hair escaping from his cap, her husband bent down and opened a battered trunk, its contents gone.