Saving The Marquise's Granddaughter

by Carrie Fancett Pagels

  “Bring peace to this household as they await their master’s safe return. And, Lord…”

  Suzanne heard his sharp intake of breath.

  “Please help me, help Suzanne, to find our way. I ask this in Your own Son’s name. Amen.”

  Johan’s fervent prayer stirred her from head to toe, but what did he mean about the two of them?

  “I need to tell you something.” He cleared his throat. “I saw a man resembling the one who married us.”

  Her hands began to shake. “Oui?” Why did his brow furrow?

  “Suzanne, he may be a surveyor. Not a priest.” His voice was low.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I saw a man who greatly resembled him. And I was told he’s a surveyor in the Jerseys.”

  “But you don’t know for sure?” Why did he sound as though he was hedging about a wedding he’d insisted had happened?

  “If that is so, you may be free to choose another as your spouse. Someone more appropriate.”

  How? Her reputation would be ruined after staying at the inn with him for so long. Heat sped up her chest to her neck. Her only recourse would be to go far from here, to New York where she was supposed to have fled, and hope that story didn’t follow her. And that was the term he used in his writing—she wasn’t suitable for him.

  Conflicted emotions washed over Johan’s face. “If that’s what we discover, I’d want to make things right for you.”

  He doesn’t want me. He was tired of all the trouble she’d caused. The deaths of his cousins, these few remaining relatives, had finally been more than he could bear.

  She straightened, pursed her lips, and took a steadying breath.

  Johan’s visage became stern. “I’ll take care of Sarah’s needs as best I can.”

  Alone? Yes, he would. She blamed him not one whit for no longer wishing to provide for her. To be burdened by her.

  He gave her a curt nod. “I should go.”

  “Oui.” She couldn’t keep the edge from her voice.

  Johan stood and swatted his hat so hard against his thigh that he pushed the stiff felted wool through to the other side. “I’m not saying it right.”

  She couldn’t argue with that.

  His stomach gurgled and he placed a hand over it. “Not used to such heavy meals anymore.”

  A surveyor he now claims. This man had insisted they were married by a priest and had shared quarters with her for weeks. Her own gut churned.

  “I’m working long days but I’ll get to the truth.”

  She bit her tongue. Now she, too, spent long days watching his cousin and providing oversight for the kitchen and household staff. “I need to check on Sarah. Excuse me. Bon nuit.”

  Head lowered, Johan departed.

  Suzanne went to Sarah’s room to check on her. How the child must miss her family. Despite being much older, Suzanne still mourned Maman, yearned for her comfort. The child’s gentle whiffling breaths contrasted sharply with Suzanne’s imagination of the child’s family dying from the horrible disease that had almost claimed her. The seasoning, it was called, and Suzanne and Sarah both survived it.

  She knelt beside Sarah’s bed on the oval wool rug. Johan’s heartfelt prayer moved her in so many ways. She loved him. Even if she hadn’t begun to remember the many ways he’d cared for her, she’d have fallen in love with him again. But if they hadn’t been properly wed, could she accept his offer to make things right—to once again have him give up his dreams for her? No. Guy could take her some place where the facts of her passage to the colonies wouldn’t be known. She’d pray for all of them.

  “Father God, protect Mr. Christy and his son. Bring them home. Help me be a good mother to Sarah…” Tears filled her eyes. “And Lord, if you wish Johan to be free of his obligation to me, I wish for you to make that clear.” Sobs terminated her prayer.

  If I have drawn you together, what do your differences matter?

  Her flesh prickled as she looked around the room, almost expecting to see the Source of that message, as the lone candle glowed steady in the darkness.

  25

  Johan lifted the quill from the inkstand and carefully began his letter. Dear Mama and Papa, I have bad news. Noel’s family died enroute. Sarah alone survived the trip. She’s in good care. Please write and tell me how you are. Do you have food for the winter? Is there still game in the forest after the fire? Please send your messages to me here in care of Master Vann.

  He tapped his fingers on the letter, careful not to touch the drying ink. Would this news distress his parents? Would it upset them to the point that they would cross that ocean that almost claimed Suzanne’s life?

  Grasping the edge of the paper, he brought it to the fire and dropped it in, the edges curling inward. He began again. Once he’d finished the missive, he placed it in an envelope and sealed it. Before he departed the inn, he left it with the keepers to post for him. Then he walked to work.

  The day began well with Johan quickly completing his assignments.

  His boss should be pleased. Vann joined him and settled on the bench adjacent. “Where are your admirers today, Johan?” the blacksmith teased.

  Seated next to the owner, Johan continued work on the leather goods brought from the tannery. He wanted to show Vann how an application of an ointment he’d concocted worked better as both a preservative and for appearance. The stuff stank terribly, but gave a lovely shine. “Who is that you mention, sir?”

  “The ladies who now frequent our shop.” Vann grinned. “Your beauty enriches my pocket.”

  “My beauty?” Tipping his head back, he laughed. “Nein, my brother is the handsome one.” He hoped Nicholas and Greta would get word to him soon. Might they come here?

  “Speaking of beauty, how are things working out for your wife?”

  His neck stiffened. “I don’t know.” She hasn’t sent for me. Suzanne required proof that she was married to him. In the absence of evidence, would she consider another suitor?

  “Is it true that Mister Scott put her and Sarah upstairs in that big house?”

  “Ja.” Johan swallowed. He hadn’t thought about how that might appear to others. “He has been most kind.” Overly so.

  “And Colonel Christy hasn’t returned from the fort?”

  “No.” A handsome single man, an impulsive one, there with his wife. A wealthy plantation owner. And Scott was leaving soon. Would he run off with her?

  He wanted to love Suzanne as God’s word commanded—to put her needs before his own. Should he release her to another? But what of her reputation, since they had presented themselves as man and wife? If she left Philadelphia, if her brother arrived and took her to New France, he could establish her in a fine home and with society of her own aristocratic background. Suzanne could find a husband who was her equal. A fine gentleman.

  As far as himself, his fondest wish was to own much property; a farm with a forge or a tannery, and to have a large family. How had he ever imagined Suzanne would want that, too? He swallowed. But his dreams fulfilled without her? They’d be nothing.

  “Tonight I’ll go see them.”

  Vann clapped him on the shoulder. “Leave early today. Go get cleaned up for her.”

  “Ja. That’s a good idea.” And he’d tell Suzie what he’d heard about land in the Shenandoah Valley.

  ~*~

  Sarah skipped into the parlor, where Johan waited. Fading purple and yellow fingerprints still marred the child’s pale face but couldn’t hide her wide grin. “Uncle Johan!” She stuck a finger in her mouth and looked up at Suzanne, who followed her into the cozy room.

  “Uncle Johan? Don’t you mean cousin?” By Suzanne’s silence, her lips pressed together into a thin line, he presumed this was her idea. “Do you want to call me Uncle Johan?”

  The little girl nodded. “Come sit at the game table with me and Aunt Suzanne.” Sarah led him to the cherry wood table. The dark wood in the room shone and smelled of lemon oil.

  He was afraid to
touch the shiny surface.

  Sarah, Suzanne, and he played cards for a while. His beloved kept her lips pursed and continued to cast him accusing looks. They switched to games of charade, Sarah’s antics making him laugh until he cried.

  Wyatt Scott joined them, bringing a steaming pot of hot chocolate and tiny ceramic cups to pour the liquid into and a tray of treats.

  Suzanne finally began to relax. “Merci, Monsieur Scott.” She tipped her head and gave Scott a slow smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

  The sun dipped low over the trees that bordered the property when the hall clock chimed.

  Johan took Sarah’s small hands in his. “Almost time for sleep.” He kissed her cheeks. She smelled of rich chocolate, sugar, and vanilla from the cookies.

  Wyatt Scott scooped the child up and made neighing noises as he bounded out of the room with her slung over one shoulder.

  Suzanne laughed. “He didn’t even wish us bonsoir!”

  Johan stood and pulled her into his arms, hoping Scott didn’t return. “He’s high spirited.” Did she wish he were more like that crazy-acting man? Maybe so. He wanted to show her what a passionate man he was, but this wasn’t the time or place. When they straightened out their vows, when she understood they were a married couple. Then.

  Fleeting pain skittered over her features and disappeared. “He’s been good to me. I’m not treated like a servant at all.”

  Was she coming to care for Scott? “I think many of the people who wish to settle in the mountains of Virginia are bold like him.” He pulled her a little closer.

  Her eyes were wide. “Did you mean what you said to Sarah—that you intend to take us to this Shenandoah Valley?”

  He licked his lips. If he leaned in, he could kiss her silly. “Ja.”

  “It’s a wilderness. Not a safe place.”

  They’d talked about this on the journey over from Amsterdam. Her mouth narrowed into a line, and her lowered eyebrows accused him. She shook her arms and he released his hold. She wishes to break free from me. To marry a fine gentleman. Did she still seek to find the Frenchman she was intended to marry?

  He stepped back. “Suzanne, when we first arrived here, the innkeeper told me you sent a letter out right away.”

  Her face was pained, guilty. “Yes.” Her hands trembled. “I…in France, I was promised to someone. I remembered that.” She looked down at her hands and squeezed her lips together in that way she did when she was about to cry.

  Had she heard from him? His mouth was dry as the sand he’d sprinkled atop the letter sent to his parents. The woman he’d pledged his life to had summoned her old lover. He needed to keep too busy to be tormented by what he might do if her fiancé showed up. “I’ve accepted more work. I’ll come when I can.”

  “I work here, too, you know. I perform the chores the colonel’s wife would, if she were here.”

  With the colonel’s wife apparently missing, would Suzie’s presence put her at risk of being misused in this household? He’d have to trust what the others said, that Christy possessed an unsullied reputation.

  “I’ll be busy, but…”

  Suzanne backed away from him, catching herself as she almost stumbled on her skirts. “I understand perfectly.”

  26

  Brilliant autumn leaves drifted down outside onto the lawn and the brick herringbone walkway beneath Suzanne’s window. “Sarah! Let’s go for a walk.”

  “By ourselves?” Sarah brushed her hair in front of the silvered mirror, smiling at her reflection.

  “Perhaps Mister Scott will accompany us.”

  Sarah snorted. “If he’s up. He sleeps until noon. I don’t know how he thinks he’ll run a plantation.”

  “Well, yes…” Suzanne bit her lip. It wasn’t her place to comment on Wyatt Scott’s habits, especially since he’d purchased her contract, albeit because he claimed Colonel Christy would wish it. He’d said Christy had paid for several other redemptioners who’d been near death, even some who died, so they’d be buried properly.

  Wyatt had dryly told her, “At least we didn’t have to bury you.”

  “Do you think we’ll be able to stomach the food today?” Sarah grimaced and set her brush down.

  The regular cook and her husband were preparing to depart to Virginia with Wyatt and had taken a long holiday. Their temporary replacements, two redemptioners from Scotland, kept producing an oatmeal gruel with only a dab of butter and a pinch of sugar to sweeten it.

  Suzanne had decided that beginning tonight she’d assist with the meals. “Let’s not break our fast just yet,” she suggested.

  Sarah smiled. “Could we walk to the baker’s shop?”

  “Splendid idea!” Wyatt stood in the doorway, fully dressed—attired in his previous evening’s clothing, now rumpled. Red streaked the whites of his eyes. “Shall I accompany you?”

  Sarah made a sour face at him. “Have you been drinking ale all night?”

  “Sarah!” Suzanne closed her mouth before she said something harsh.

  Scott guffawed. “Quite right, Miss Sarah, but I’m fully capable of accompanying two beautiful ladies down the street. If you’ll each take an arm, that is.”

  A fine gentleman all right. That was what Johan called him. If he only knew. But the plantation owner wasn’t unkind.

  Glancing quickly in the mirror before they left, Suzanne glimpsed a knowing look on Wyatt Scott’s face, also present on her own features, hardened by sadness. She caught him staring at her. Had he seen it too? She suspected this man understood her far more easily than Johan would at this point.

  ~*~

  Johan knocked at the entrance to the Christy mansion, clutching the bundle of flowers that Vann allowed him to cut from the gardens surrounding the men’s quarters.

  The elderly servant opened the door, sniffed, and then sneezed.

  “The ladies gone a-walking with Master Scott. Come back later.” The old man closed the door.

  Johan stood there, dismissed. So Suzanne and Sarah were warming up to Wyatt Scott. Burning anger suffused his chest. He’d go for his own walk.

  Instead of making his way back to the carriage maker’s shop, he strolled in the opposite direction, hoping he’d find them. Fuming, he marched on but soon found himself disoriented. Looking up from the narrow path along the street, he spotted several Quaker ministers heading in his direction. Johan stepped aside to allow them to pass.

  The shortest of the three beamed up at him. “Can we help you?”

  Should he admit he was lost? And that his sweetheart was off cavorting with another man?

  “Looking for the Alms House?” another asked. They thought he needed charity.

  Johan examined his shabby work clothes. In the Palatinate countryside, no one would have thought him poor. Scott likely wore elegant garments for his walk with Suzanne and Sarah. Shame sent a flush of heat to his neck. “No, but I should turn around.”

  A dark-haired man stepped forward from the back. Tough fingers seemed to grab Johan’s heart, jolting him in recognition.

  “Are you not Johan Rousch?” The Frenchman’s deep voice was forever sealed in Johan’s memory. “I remember you.”

  The priest who had married them on the ship—a Quaker clergyman? What of the surveyor?

  “I…ja…danke.” Disappointment drenched him, dousing his hopes. Aboard ship, Suzanne told him she’d agree only to a marriage performed by a priest in the cathedral. Granted, she was ill at the time. Would Suzanne recognize a marriage blessed by a Quaker as valid? Better than a surveyor, but in her mind no less valid a wedding

  He felt both ill and yet suddenly filled with a rush of energy. He had to get away. “Excuse me. I…” His legs took on a mind of their own, twisting him away from the group and propelling him onward toward Front Street. To what might be his home for the next three years without Suzanne ever in his arms again. A Quaker. He’d had no idea they called themselves priests.

  All the way back to his quarters, Johan argued with himself. He
couldn’t accept that the man who married them was a Quaker and not a priest. It didn’t make sense to him. He sought out his master, seated behind his scarred desk, adding figures.

  “Vann, your children, they were taught at the Quaker school, ja?”

  “That’s right.” Vann placed a thick finger at the bottom of a column of numbers.

  “What did they think of the Frenchman who is a minister?”

  “None is French.” Vann’s jaw jutted, suggesting a challenge.

  Johan frowned. “But I met one.”

  Vann sighed, his heavy lids sinking over his large eyes as if he planned to give Johan a set down. “I’d have expected a French priest at St. Joseph’s, but they’ve got an Englishman at the Catholic church—he keeps very busy. Imagine he could use more assistance, but I haven’t heard anything. But there’s no French Quaker minister.”

  “Where is this Catholic church?” Johan’s pulse quickened. But the priest was an Englisher. “Why does no one speak of it?”

  Vann clucked his tongue “They want to keep it quiet. Some people here are scared of the Catholics.”

  He’d take Suzanne to the priest. And he’d try to talk with him before then. And get his opinion. Were they married or not? First, he’d better find that minister. He should have talked to the Quakers instead of running away—wouldn’t do that again. When next they met, he would shake the information out of the man. With the way Johan was feeling lately, it might do him some good. He was itching for a good fight, and Nicholas was thousands of miles away.

  27

  “Working all the time”—that was Johan’s excuse, but Suzanne decided to take matters into her own hands.

  The coachman assisted her and Sarah from the carriage.

  “Merci.”

  Several young women crowded near the forge.

  Suzanne frowned at their elaborate attire.

  “Look.” Sarah tugged at her arm. “They’re all watching Uncle Johan work.”