by Holly Kelly
“I didn’t want you to worry, child,” he said, his voice hollow.
“Let me see it,” she demanded.
Her father pursed his lips as he gave a nod.
She pulled his shirt up and gasped at the sight. Blood flowed from an inch-wide wound in his belly, mixing with bowel excrement. All the knowledge she’d gained, all the training she’d had, would not save him. Her father was dying. Tears sprang to her eyes and a sob rattled her chest.
“Oh, now what have I said about tears?” he asked.
“They help nothing,” she said and sniffed.
He nodded. “There is one thing I want you to do before I die.”
“Anything.”
“Eli André has asked for your hand. I will not die and leave you uncared for.”
“But Father—”
“No. Please, just listen to me.”
The desperation in his voice caused her to pause. Hope snapped her mouth closed and turned her gaze down on her hands, clasped in her lap.
“I’ve always tried to protect you from the realities of life,” he said. “Perhaps in doing so, I have been remiss in my responsibilities. Now, I must leave you and without me to care for you, you will be destitute, homeless, or at best, forced into servitude. As a father it is my duty to make sure you are provided for. Eli is a good man and he has means to care for you. The minister has vouched for his honorable intentions. He will treat you well. Please. Hope…, look at me.”
She raised her gaze to meet his and her heart broke at the tears swelling in his eyes. Her father never cried.
“Please, do not let me die and leave this undone,” he said. “My heart could not bear it.” One tear broke free and trailed down his cheek.
How could she put this burden on her father as he lay in his deathbed? She couldn’t possibly. As he wished to protect her, she would do the same for him, even if it meant stretching the truth a bit. “Okay, father. I’ll marry him.”
The relief on his face was overwhelming as guilt pressed down on her. She had no intention on following through on her word. Any kind of life, even that of servitude, would be better than being married to a monster. Still, lying went against everything she stood for. Lying to her father was even worse.
Eli sauntered in, a triumphant look in his eyes. He stepped forward and knelt beside her. “I will care for your daughter as I care for my own life. I swear it.”
“Thank you, son,” her father said.
“Are we ready to begin?” Pastor Davis’s familiar voice spoke at her back.
Hope whipped around as a gasp escaped her lips. “What? Now?”
Eli put his hand over hers. “Let’s put your father’s mind at ease.”
“That is very thoughtful.” Her father turned to her and said, “I only wish I could walk you down the aisle.”
Hope bit down on her bottom lip to stop the protest threatening to spill from her mouth. Her mind raced to figure out an escape from this nightmare. It was bad enough that her father would be joining his maker soon. How could she make vows to such an evil man? If it were just her, she could resign herself to a life of misery to please her father. But Eli would want children. How could she let such a wicked man raise her children?
To Hope’s horror, the pastor began to give the wedding ceremony. Before she could prepare, he asked her, “Do you take Eli André to be your lawful wedded husband?”
Hope sat for several long moments with her jaw hanging.
“Answer the minister,” her father said.
Hope mumbled, “I do.” She cleared her throat and added under her breath the word, “not.” She really hoped God heard it. He had to. He heard everything.
Her heart turned to lead in her chest when she heard the words, “I now pronounce you man and wife.”
Eli leaned down to kiss her. Hope had to force herself not to push him away. She endured the brief kiss and turned away, feeling nauseated.
No one congratulated her. It seemed everyone could tell this was not a day of celebration for her.
Hope felt physically sick. I’m not married. I said, “I do not.” She kept repeating the words in her mind. I am not married. Got knows I’m not, even if the rest of the world thinks I am.
“I’ll leave you with your father, to say your goodbyes, Mrs. André,” Eli said.
She swallowed bile. Perhaps she should let nature take its course and vomit on the vile man
Her attention stole away when her father took her hand. His cold fingers clutched her weakly. “Thank you, child.”
Hope nodded, tears once again falling. Eli left and the others followed, closing the tent flap behind them.
“You can’t die,” she said.
“Oh, now, you are an intelligent young woman. Much more intelligent than your addlebrained father. You know how this ends.”
A sob shook her chest. She crawled forward and laid her head on his shoulder. “I love you, Papa.”
“I love you too, child,” he said as he brushed his hand over her hair. His breathing labored as he continued to stroke her. “Would you sing for me? I wish to hear an angel’s voice in my last minutes on earth.”
Hope nodded, and began to sing softly, a bright hymn that her father loved. She sang for countless minutes. His breathing relaxed. Still, he continued to stroke her hair. She did her best to focus on the words and tune and not her father slipping from her. Eventually, his stroking hand dropped away, and his breathing stilled. She had no idea how much time had passed when she heard a voice.
“Mrs. André?”
Hope looked up to see young Gwenyth standing in the doorway.
“Mr. Andre has drawn a bath for you. He bids you come.”
“But, my father…” Hope said as she sat up and turned toward him.
His eyes were closed, his chest still. His lips were stained blue.
“He’s gone,” she said gently.
Hope gave a shaky nod as she sat, unable to look away.
“Mrs. André?”
Hope swallowed. Her eyes were dry. Her mind numb. Her father lay dead at her side. Still she didn’t move. She felt nothing. Not sad. Not happy. Not anything in between.
A warm hand on her arm brought her back to her senses. She nodded and rose to her feet.
“Come on. It’s cold in here. Let’s get you that bath. Your husband was even kind enough to heat the water for you.”
“It’s cold in here?” Hope asked.
“Yes. But the bath is warm.”
“But my father. He might need another blanket.” She scrambled to find more bedding. She opened his trunk and pulled out an extra wool blanket. It was worn and threadbare, but it would help. She brought it over to add to his blankets.
“But, Mrs. André. Your father is—”
“Cold. He’s very cold.” She pulled the blankets over him, tucking them up under his neck.
“He’s dead.”
That word shot like a dagger through her heart as she shook her head. “He can’t be.”
“Truly, he is,” Gwenyth said as she tugged on Hope’s arm.
Hope followed. “No. He’ll be fine. He just needs to rest.”
“Come on,” Gwenyth said. “You need your husband.”
“But I’m not married.”
“Yes, you are.”
“I lied to the minister. God knows I’m not married.”
“Come. You’re not thinking right. A nice warm bath will help.”
Hope didn’t protest more. She followed obediently, bathing and dressing in a white sleeping gown as Gwenyth assisted her. Her eyes widened when they landed on an unfamiliar green dress hanging in her tent. Was this her tent? It looked different.
“Where am I?”
“This is your husband’s tent. Isn’t it nice? He was even able to get proper clothes for you to wear tomorrow.”
Hope looked around. The tent spread out wide, with several trunks next to a wide cot. How did he transport so much stuff?
Hope must have spoken out loud, b
ecause Gwenyth answered her question. “He has a large, sturdy wagon. Didn’t you notice? And several horses. You are a lucky woman to have a husband with means.”
Hope pursed her lips. He’s not my husband. She really needed to tell the minister. She couldn’t keep perpetuating the lie.
“Where are my clothes?”
“Well, he could only find the one dress and nightgown. He said you would be traveling to his home in Boston as soon as your father is buried. I’m sure you’ll get a whole new wardrobe there.”
“No, I’m mean, where are the dress and underclothes I wore earlier?”
“Those old things? But they were covered in your father’s blood.”
Hope frowned. “I can wash them.”
“Your husband had them burned.”
“He burned my clothes?” Hope’s voice rose.
Gwenyth nodded, obviously stunned at her anger.
Hope forced herself to calm down.
“Should I get your husband?”
“Why? Don’t you think he’s done enough damage for now?”
“He asked me to fetch him as soon as you were ready.”
“Ready for what?”
“Why, your wedding night, of course. You have wifely duties to attend to.”
Chapter 3
Hope’s jaw dropped. “But,” she stammered. “My father just died.”
“I understand,” Gwenyth said, “but life does not stop when others pass on.”
“This isn’t just any other person. It’s my father, my only kin.”
Gwenyth frowned.
“Couldn’t you tell him I have taken ill?”
“I don’t know.”
“Please, just tell him that I’ve been sick and am not fit for fulfilling my wifely duties.”
“But that would be lying.”
What’s a white lie in the face of fornication? Which was what Hope would be committing if she allowed a man who truly wasn’t her husband into her bed.
“Haven’t you ever lost a close family member?” Hope asked.
Gwenyth’s expression clouded. She nodded. “My twin sister. Two years ago.”
“How do you think you would feel in my situation?”
Gwenyth sighed. Hope obviously had gotten to her. “Okay, I’ll tell him. But please, don’t ask me to lie again.”
“I won’t. I promise.”
As soon as Gwenyth left, Hope put on the new dress and slipped on the shoes sitting beside it. They were a tad too big, but they’d have to do. She simply had to get things straightened out. Cracking open the tent door, she peeked out. No one seemed to be about. Now in which direction did the minister pitch his tent?
Hope slipped outside and kept to the shadows. She had no idea the hour, but it seemed late. She must have spent a long time in her father’s tent. Her heart ached at the thought. She should be mourning him, not sneaking about the camp. If her father could see her, he’d give her quite the lecture.
Finally, she found a tent with a brown cross sewn into the canvas—the minister’s tent. She crept up to the door. “Pastor Davis?” she whispered.
Hope heard someone moving about, and then the tent flap opened.
“Mrs. André?”
“I need to confess something. I did not really say I do. I said I do not. Apparently, you did not hear me properly. But, I know God did. I am not truly married.”
Pastor Davis shook his head. “I am the spokesperson for God. I am his eyes and ears in this camp. If I did not hear it, you did not say it. You are married, Mrs. André. Now I think your husband may be missing his wife.”
“But…,” Hope said, her heart pounding out of her chest. “I can’t be married to him. That man is wicked. He attempted to steal my virtue from me just earlier today.”
“That is concerning,” the pastor said. “But be grateful he didn’t succeed. Then he would have had a grievous sin on his conscience. And isn’t it a grand thing that your husband finds you so appealing?”
“No,” Hope said. “It isn’t a grand thing. Doesn’t the Bible say that for a man to look on a woman with lust in his eyes is committing adultery in his heart?”
“Neither you nor Eli were married at the time. Adultery was not possible for either of you. Besides, it’s obvious his intention was to marry you. It’s only natural for him to have feelings for you.”
“I think you’re missing the point!”
“Mrs. André, do not raise your voice to me. It is apparent that you are in the wrong. Now, return to your husband, or I will have to drag you to him myself.”
Hope stood speechless. This pastor was completely out of line! But the last thing she needed was to be taken to her husband—no, he was not her husband. It didn’t matter what the pastor said. She absolutely was not married!
Still, if she did end up in the vile man’s tent, he would rob her of her virtue. Of that, she was certain. He was much larger and stronger than her. She wouldn’t stand a chance. It was obvious what she had to do next.
She had to leave.
“I’m sorry,” she said as a plan formed in her mind. “I guess I’m just a bit nervous. I probably have nothing to worry about.”
“I’m sure you don’t, Mrs. André. And it’s only natural for you to be nervous on your wedding night.”
Hope nodded and turned to leave.
“Oh, and Mrs. André,” the pastor said, “tell your husband thank you for the generous donation.”
Hope bit down a retort. “I will,” she said and smiled sweetly.
So, that’s why he was so unreasonable. Her pseudo-husband bribed the pastor. Hope lost all respect for the so-called man of God. A pastor who could be swayed with money was guilty of priest craft. He was in no place to judge her.
And she was not married!
Hope moved quietly about the camp. There was one stop she needed to make before she set out on her own.
Her father’s tent.
She crept around the side and peered around to the front. There didn’t appear to be anyone about. Silently she stepped forward and peeped in. The moon cast just enough light to see the silhouette of her father. It looked like someone had covered his face. She entered and pulled the flap shut behind her.
It would be difficult to find what she needed, but she had to do it. And quietly. No one could know she was there. She shuffled over to the old trunk and felt her way to the latch. Flipping it carefully, she cringed when it made a loud snap. Oh, please don’t let anyone hear.
She stood unmoving for a long time, waiting for someone to come and investigate, but no one did.Relaxing, she lifted the lid. It creaked, and she held her breath again. If this kept up, she’d be here forever. Carefully feeling her way in the trunk, she found her father’s bag and lifted it out. The next thing she searched out was the little wooden box that held her family heirlooms—her mother’s simple wedding ring, a lock of Hope’s baby hair, and love letters her mother and father had exchanged.
She blinked back a tear and glanced toward her father. At least he and her mother were together again. There was so much Hope wanted to tell him, but she needed to hurry. Anytime now she could be discovered missing.
She stuffed the box in the bag and then pulled out the patchwork quilt from the bottom of the trunk—a quilt that was too precious to actually use. It was made with fabrics that held great meaning for her mother: pieces of her wedding gown, her grandmother’s Sunday dresses, and even extra fabric she’d held back from Hope’s infant gowns. She stuffed the quilt in the bag and reached for another blanket—one as worn as the one she’d laid over her father less than an hour ago.
And then she found his coin purse. It held all the money her father had in the world. Which was not a lot by many standards, but it should be enough to get her started as she attempted to build a new life.
Finally, her bag was packed. She crept toward the door just as a light pierced the crack of the tent. Hope held her breath, hoping it would move on. Instead, the door ripped open and Eli’s face appeare
d, lit by a lantern in his hand. He looked composed, but there was a spark of anger in his eyes.
“I thought I might find you here.” He looked down at the bag she carried. “Are you going somewhere?”
Hope shook her head, her heart ramming against her chest. “I’m just collecting my belongings to bring back to our tent.”
He scowled. “You have no belongings, Mrs. André. All things once owned by your father are now mine. Though I doubt he had anything of real value.”
Hope forced back her reaction and nodded amiably.
Eli’s eyes wandered over her body. She suddenly felt exposed, as though she stood naked before him. She pulled the bag over her chest.
“That dress looks much better than the rags you were wearing before.”
“It’s beautiful. Thank you.”
His anger seemed to cool at her words. “It looks like you are feeling much better.”
Fear shot through her as she realized her excuse for postponing their wedding night had disintegrated. He would now expect her to come to his bed.
“My stomach is still a bit weak, I’m afraid.”
He chuckled. “Don’t think another rescuer will appear. I could have you charged with witchcraft, you know. Summoning the devil like you did.”
“What are you talking about?” she asked, feeling a bit light-headed. She had been sure her mind had been playing tricks on her.
“You know exactly what I’m talking about. Though I do not hold it against you. I have a bit of the devil in me too. We’ll make a perfect team.”
“I’m no witch.”
“Of course you aren’t,” he said and winked at her. He stepped toward her and pulled her up against him. His hand caressed her face, and then his eyes lowered to the swell of her breasts. “As for your weak stomach, I have the perfect cure, Mrs. André.”
Hope’s heart pounded against her chest. “Are you trying to seduce me while my father lies dead not three feet away?”
“Husbands do not seduce their wives. They take what belongs to them.”
“Then I guess it’s a good thing I’m not your wife.”
He narrowed his eyes as he frowned. “What are you talking about? We spoke our vows only today. Have you gone addlebrained?”
