His beloved? Did he mean Johan’s ignorant Frenchwoman?
Johan clasped Suzanne’s hand. He pulled her closer to him and tucked her arm in his.
Her heart seemed to have moved up into her throat, and she couldn’t speak to tell him to stop. His handsome face begged for a kiss. Yes, she was foolish, she’d fallen in love with a man who didn’t respect her. Who considered her beneath him. No proof of their marriage. Now that she was well and they were still sharing the same chamber—how terribly improper. And how uncomfortable for him to sleep on that pallet on the floor. Not that it stopped him from getting into the bed once he started sleepwalking.
“What brings you here, my doeling?”
“A goat? Again you call me a goat?” At least she now knew why.
“Suzanne, I mean it as sweetness, an endearment.”
Nothing endearing about being thought stupid. Now that she was recovering, she’d have to do something to bring this charade to an end. And get to New York.
~*~
Johan pulled Suzanne in closer and she squirmed. He needed to move into Vann’s quarters to end the temptation he nightly faced. His mouth grew dry. “I need a drink.” Releasing her and retrieving a mug, he strode to the well and pulled up a fresh bucket of water. He dipped in and then poured the water over his head. Needed to cool down.
He refilled the tankard and drank his fill, turning to see Suzanne staring at him with a mixture of longing and fear on her face. Why must she struggle so, always, with her feelings toward him? Somehow, it made him feel less of a man. But he’d prove himself worthy.
Suzanne suddenly bent over, her head low and her arms gripping her knees to steady herself.
He set the mug down and strode over to her, lifting her up as she sank into his arms. “This was too much effort for you. I’m going to carry you home.”
“You cannot!”
“I can and I will.” I’m your husband, woman, don’t you understand?
“Mr. Vann! Please tell him he cannot do this.”
Vann peered up from beneath his magnifying spectacles, his expression sour. “Madam, seeing as I cannot carry you, I suggest you allow Johan to do so. Or you may lie here on this cot.”
Suzanne raised her head from Johan’s shoulder, her dark hair brushing his cheek. The silky curls smelled of lilac water, eliciting a strong reaction within him. He wanted to kiss her and demand that she accept him as husband. He closed his eyes and prayed for release from his impulses.
“Madam, should you stay, you could thus gaze upon our customers and they upon you as you recline. Johan, I believe it might well increase our business.” Vann’s booming laugh apparently didn’t agree with Suzanne, for she gasped and slapped Johan lightly on the back.
“Let me down, Johan. I can walk home by myself. You cannot humiliate me by carrying me down the street.” She was right.
People passing on the sidewalk frowned, the women clucking their tongues.
“I’ll watch you walk, then.”
Setting her down, he tried to rearrange her curls, but his big fingers poked holes in the strands, causing a bigger mess.
“Stop.”
Her frown looked just like Mama’s. He chuckled.
“Am I funny?”
He shook his head. “No.”
She opened her mouth as if to protest then closed her eyes and shook her head. Shaking her tresses, she turned and walked away.
“No good-bye for me, Suzie?”
She made a noise of disapproval. Watching her wander onto the pebbled walk, he noticed the gentle sway of her dress. She wasn’t wobbling anymore, but her feminine curves and the way she moved caused his heartbeat to become erratic, his legs almost as unsteady as when they’d first boarded the ship. He wiped his wet forehead, already hot again. “Suzanne?”
She froze and then turned, her mouth set in a line. “What?”
“Vann has housing for only me here. Can you ask at the inn about their charges, please?” Johan felt his shoulders slump. “For only your room and board.”
Her pretty mouth hung open, her eyebrows knit together in disappointment. Then her features worked to feign nonchalance, something he’d seen her do many times when she was hiding something. “Oui. I’ll see to it. And you—see to finding that priest.”
~*~
According to everyone with whom Johan had spoken, no French priests were to be found within the vicinity of Philadelphia. Among the many people who strolled the street of the city and those before him on the grassy area near the wharf, he’d never set eyes upon such a cleric.
But if Suzanne could be shown some proof, then surely she would come to her senses. She acted as though he’d fabricated the wedding and the administration of the sacraments of Last Rites. He wasn’t that imaginative. Suzanne should at least remember that fact, if she recalled nothing else. Solid, hardy, a rock—those were descriptions his family and friends might give him, but not prone to making up fairy tales.
Phillip pointed out a level spot where they could sit on the Delaware River’s bank. His friend blessed their midday meal and began to eat the fine cheese and bread that Vann had provided.
A group of people assembled to depart on one of the small clippers that crossed to the Jerseys on the other side.
One slight, dark-haired man peered toward him, his hand shielding his eyes, before pivoting and boarding the small vessel.
Johan eyed him. “Phillip? Have you ever seen that man before?”
The stranger resembled the priest who’d performed the marriage ceremony.
“Told Vann he’s a new surveyor.” Phillip grabbed a hunk of golden cheese and bit down.
“Surveyor?” Not a priest. Johan’s appetite departed along with the boat as the small party sailed into the river.
“He comes into the shop now and then.”
“Next time he comes, would you get me? I want to meet him.” He squeezed the roll in his hand until it crumbled, and a bold seagull landed beside him, then proceeded to devour the bread.
Had the Frenchman on board the ship simply wanted to bring him comfort? What if he was this surveyor? If the man wasn’t a priest, then the marriage wouldn’t be valid in Suzanne’s mind nor his own.
Johan finished his repast and returned to his work, grateful to be kept busy. He’d just finished a project when he was called to see the owner.
Vann’s prominent features gathered in a frown as he gestured for Johan to enter the office area. A young man in rumpled linen clothing, cut loose in the German style, sat atop an empty barrel across from the carriage maker. The stranger averted his pale blue eyes when Johan joined them.
“Do you know this man?” Vann’s expression seemed doubtful.
Sparse beard covered the young man’s chin. “Sir, he doesn’t know me.” He twisted his soft cap in his hands. “You’re Johan Rousch, aren’t you?” He spoke in the Palatinate dialect.
“Ja. Who are you?”
“Albert Shacht. I work in a stable not far from here. I was a friend of your cousin, Noel.”
“Ja?” He’d heard nothing from the group that he and Suzanne were to have joined in coming to the American colonies.
“Sarah, his little girl, said they lived in the same village as you. They came with some of the money you left your parents.”
“Came here?” Mama and Papa—they gave the funds to Noel? His heart sank. “I don’t understand.”
The younger man stretched his fingers open, palms up in appeal. In an anguished voice, he told him, “Noel’s family. They all died from the ship fever. Except Sarah. She asks me to find you.”
“Only Sarah?” All her family gone? Johan ran his tongue over his dry lips. “The baby, also?” Noel’s infant had only just been baptized. Dear God, no. Johan lowered himself onto one knee and pushed a hand back through his hair. His queue unloosed and he bent forward, his hair flailing his cheeks. Turning to Albert, Johan asked, “Where’s Sarah?” She was his responsibility now. How he’d care for her—he didn’t k
now.
23
Johan returned to Vann’s after a quick visit with Sarah at the Schacht’s small rented house.
The young man from the docks rode up on a sleek horse and dismounted. He passed his reins to Johan. “Wyatt Scott here to check the progress on my carriage.”
Vann motioned to Johan as he secured the magnificent gelding to a hitching post. “Can you help him?”
“Ja. Come with me.” He tipped his head toward the wall, where a fancy carriage wheel hung.
Alert hazel eyes, set high in a handsome, even-featured face, examined the wheel before Scott reached to touch it. “Your craftsmanship is astonishingly good for a newcomer.” Scott’s voice held a touch more English accent than many of the colonials Johan had met. His smile was infectious.
Johan grinned back at him. “Danke.”
Vann joined them. “Johan’s the best craftsman I’ve had yet.”
Scott turned toward the proprietor and shifted his weight so that one hip jutted against his closely cut waistcoat. “Shall I be able to leave for Virginia within a fortnight?”
Vann rubbed his chin. “Master Scott, methinks you’d slap this lovely wheel on your carriage and leave on the morrow if it suited you.”
Scott laughed. “But I’m not yet ready.” His voice dropped. “And I fear leaving Colonel Christy’s home vacant when he’s about to return home.”
Vann frowned. “Imagine you’d want to say your goodbyes, too, if you’re leaving.”
“Of course,” Scott quickly agreed. “And I’ve his new indentured servant to get settled.” Scott seemed to be a lively fellow and wasn’t much older than Johan, but had lines around his eyes and the look of a man accustomed to being out of doors. Chestnut hair escaped from beneath his cap. His clothing, while looking costly, was disheveled, as though he were the type to rush about. Impulsive. Might make a decision without thinking it out.
How many young women’s hearts had this man broken?
Scott stroked his jaw as though mulling something over and then asked, “Is your wife able to work now?” His cheeks reddened.
Johan wasn’t sure what he meant. “Ja. She walked to the market this week.”
Scott averted his gaze. “We could use her help whenever she is ready. Our cook left us.”
“Your cook?” Johan blinked at the man. He must be confused. He laughed. “Do you have a strong stomach?”
Scott raised his eyebrows. “Yes, why do you ask?”
“I want to know the same thing. Why do you ask about my wife?”
“I, well…Colonel Christy holds her contract. I don’t wish to sound petty, but the innkeeper’s daughter told me she was recovering and may be able to work…”
The man might as well have slammed an iron rod against his chest. His wife…bought her as a servant. Oh, God, don’t fail me now. This will kill Suzanne. Please, please take this cup away.
~*~
Suzanne stared at the innkeeper, sure she’d misheard him. He shoved a chair beneath her as she sank. “Merci.”
“Colonel Christy is a good man and so is Mr. Scott. Don’t ye worry yerself none now.”
Purchased. “And he’s been paying for my room and board?” Although she had money left, it wouldn’t last long at the rate the innkeeper quoted her.
“Yes, mistress, that’s so. Well, ’tis Wyatt Scott what brings the money by, but it’s from the colonel.” He shook his head as though agreeing with himself.
How much longer would this stranger pay?
“Merci.” Her head began to pound. “I’ll begin my preparations.” With that, she departed, heading up the narrow stairwell as quickly as she could. But when she slipped inside, she secured the door, went to the bed, and collapsed.
Hours later, she heard Johan’s distinctive footfall draw near. “Johan?” Suzanne rose and opened the door. Pressure built in her chest; she wished to be held in his arms, but she stepped back and allowed him past.
He removed his hat. “What’s wrong?” Johan looked so tired, his face so sad and discouraged.
She couldn’t burden him further. She’d get to the bottom of this claim. “I…I am very hungry tonight. Can we go to the tavern—get some German food?”
This brought a slow smile. “Ja. I’d like that.”
She turned away from him, trying to fix her face into a calm expression. Tomorrow she would tell him. “Do you have your pouch?”
“Nein.” He crossed to the bureau and dug beneath his work clothes to retrieve his money.
The quick image of her grandfather’s money and Nicholas waving a pouch flashed through her mind. Frowning, she watched as Johan checked the coins. What had happened to the silver and the gold? An ache began at her temple. If only she could remember everything. With a heavy heart, she and Johan departed to the nearby tavern, a favorite of the Palatinaters.
“Smells good, doesn’t it?” Johan grinned as he opened the door to the establishment, releasing the scent of roast pork, cabbage, and apples.
A pretty serving girl nodded in their direction as she carried platters of steaming potatoes and meat to a large oak table, around which sat a dozen men almost as big as Johan and all laughing.
Beside her, Johan stiffened. He gestured to a small table for two on the opposite side of the room. “They look like troublemakers. Let’s find a quiet place where we can talk.”
The dizziness had returned and the next half hour passed in a blur.
Johan would begin sentences only to be cut off by the serving girl and the noisy diners. Finally, they’d finished their schnitzel dinner and were served a cup of spiced tea.
“Danke,” Johan smiled up at the girl and she blushed all the way to her white mob cap.
Suzanne appraised the man across from her. Tanned, golden hair falling in waves to his shoulders, and handsome and fit. No wonder the girl’s face was flushed from his brief attention. She felt her own face grow warm as his hand covered hers.
The servant finally departed.
His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “Suzanne, there’s something I need to speak with you about.”
“Moi, aussi—I also need to speak but you go first.”
“First I want you to know I don’t blame you for things that happened at home.”
She frowned and watched as he rubbed his lower lip. What did he mean? She lifted the mug of fragrant tea to her lips and began to sip.
He drew in a deep breath. “There’s a girl I must tell you about…”
Choking, Suzanne almost dropped her mug to the table. She tried to regain her breath but she’d drawn the hot liquid into her air pipe.
Johan rose as all around looked in their direction. He patted her back and finally the fit passed.
The tavern keeper scurried over. “All is well?”
“Ja.” Johan paid for the meal and then assisted her up and out of the tavern, worry etched on his face.
A girl. He wanted to speak of a girl yet he claimed he was married to her. She was so weak that the effort of coughing had worn her out. Regardless of any other woman he pined after, she needed this man’s assistance now. Later she’d figure out what to do.
When they’d returned to the inn, she couldn’t manage the stairs by herself and Johan carried her up. Once inside the room, he lit the candle and then settled her on the bed. He removed her shoes and stockings, and pulled the covers up to her chin.
She was like a child. No wonder he’d be looking for another.
After washing, Johan blew out the candle, changed into his sleep clothes in the darkness, and settled on the pallet on the floor.
~*~
He’d mangled his attempt to discuss Sarah with Suzanne. But another day had begun and a beautiful pink sky illuminated his way to the carriage shop. Before long, he finished his first job and sat down for a break.
A fine horse trotted in so fast that several of the other customers, as well as Johan, were startled.
“Many pardons!” Wyatt Scott dismounted and secured his mo
unt. The young man removed his hat and bowed to two older men before purposefully striding past them in Johan’s direction. “How’re my wheels coming?”
“Just as you wished them, Mister Scott.” Johan gave a tight smile to the other customers who were glaring at them. “I made them sturdy—so they last.”
Vann ambled over. He scowled, his eyes fixed behind where they stood. “Sarah’s keeper is here.”
“Ja?” Johan turned.
Albert stood with Sarah, the child’s eyes wide in fright, the clear red imprint of a hand visible on her fair cheek.
“What’s this? Who struck you?” Johan rushed to the girl.
Breaking free from Albert, Sarah launched herself at him.
Johan lifted his cousin’s little one into his arms. “What happened?”
Sarah sobbed into his neck, her tiny hands clutching at his leather apron neck strings.
Customers gawked at the spectacle.
Johan conveyed her out of the sun to a private spot behind an elm.
Vann and Scott’s agitated voices clashed with Albert’s behind them.
“Please, Cousin Johan. Don’t make me go back there,” Sarah wailed.
Above Sarah’s plaintive cries, Albert’s loud voice carried. “My mother has no patience with the child’s constant questions. And Sarah breaks things every day.”
Vann and Scott exchanged more words with Albert.
Scott strode toward Johan. “I have a solution.”
Johan raised his eyebrows at Vann’s customer.
“Is your wife well?” Scott’s handsome face reflected concern.
“Better. Why?”
A furrow formed between Scott’s dark brows. “You do believe me that the colonel redeemed her contract?”
Johan nodded.
Scott splayed his hands open. “Your wife could bring the child to work with her.”
He appraised the other man. Scott was a handsome man, a gentleman. He owned a plantation in Virginia. If he and Suzanne didn’t have a valid marriage, might she be free to marry someone like him? His breath left him. If the man who called himself a priest was really a kind-hearted surveyor, what then?
The well-dressed young man smiled at Sarah. “The colonel was waiting until he returned to have me fetch her. Why not bring her and the girl to the house now?”
Saving The Marquise's Granddaughter Page 19
