Saving The Marquise's Granddaughter (17 page)

“What’s wrong?” Light flickered in Johan’s wide eyes.

What should she tell him? The tears started then. She gasped as he pulled her up onto his lap and into a gentle embrace. Sobbing into his neck, she felt his fast pulse beat against her cheek.

Rochambeau would offer to get her safely home to Grand-mère’s estate, or he and his wife might take her−especially if he knew of Paul DeMint’s treachery. Did she truly want to go back? Dare she defy her mother’s request?

“Tell me.” He patted her back. His warm hand could stay there forever.

Suzanne rubbed her forehead against the side of his head. He smelled like fresh hay, oiled leather, and his own scent. This was wrong. She’d allowed herself to fall in love with him and would be leaving. Going so far away, she’d never see him again. A new round of sobs broke free.

He squeezed her tighter. “It will be all right, whatever it is. We’ll get through this together. You’ll see, my little
doeling
.”

She sniffed. Had he just called her a baby goat? Suzanne pulled away and wiped her face.

“Read it, Suzie.”

He held the candle steady as she tried to decipher the bold handwriting.

Teardrops fell from her face onto the paper bearing her brother’s handwriting but signed with their grandfather’s two middle names.

Her heart leapt.
Guillame was alive.
He was coming for her. Soon. He would take her on to the colonies. When would he arrive? Tomorrow, at the fair, she’d enjoy her last moments with Johan. This was what she wanted. Why then, did more tears stream down her cheeks?

15

Her packed bag stowed beneath her bed, Suzanne dressed for the village’s fair day with heaviness in her heart. What if Guy came to take her today? She went outside

Johan was readying the horse and cart. “Should be an exciting day.” Johan wrapped an arm around her and they rode on in silence, Suzanne mulling the letter.

Outside the village’s walls, farms encircled the town. Wheat fields extended to a forest line on the Rousch lands. An adjacent field yielded crops and beyond grazed a pasture full of livestock. As they came closer to the village, the scent of roasting pig meat became strong.

The carriage rolled on through the open gates.

Inside the ancient village walls, women in bright dresses clutched the arms of their escorts. Mothers holding children’s hands waved at them. Throngs of people lined the walkways. Musicians played nearby, and scents of cinnamon and sausage emanated from each street corner.

Soon Johan had secured the carriage and led her into the plaza. The fountain stuttered in its spray. Elevated on a pedestal was the statue of a German soldier astride a horse, sword held high.

Uniformed French soldiers rode into the square on horseback.

Her heart froze in her chest as Johan stepped in front of her as though he could protect her from them. She peeked out from around his broad shoulder.

In only moments, a French officer ascended the stairs, his black boots flashing. He stood atop the stage. That gesture—pushing back his hat and then his hair—just like her brother’s. His movements, stance, and proud posture were those of Guillame.

She pushed through the crowd. “Excuse me.”

“Suzanne, come back!” Fear laced Johan’s voice as he barked the order, but she ignored him.

The officer, his jacket dusty from travel, could have been in his early twenties, but the dark circles under his eyes he made him look much older than her brother. An ugly jagged scar ran down one side of his face. His battered nose contrasted with his beautiful lips.

Suzanne pushed through the crowd and past Noel, who gathered his family close.

Little Sarah’s eyes grew as big as saucers.

The French soldier’s familiar dark eyes locked on her. He stuttered and then looked away before he continued his speech.

Guy. She reached up to her throat as though Grand-mère’s jewels would reappear. This couldn’t be good. If he’d come only to retrieve her, the soldiers would have stopped at the farm.

Guillame cleared his throat twice; his nervous habit.

Suzanne stood close to him, stared up, and willed her hand not to reach out and touch the soldier she was sure was her brother.

A sheen of moisture glinted in his eyes as he turned to another man immediately behind him. “Make the announcement for me.”

The cavalier’s eyes darted from Suzanne to Guy and then back before he announced, “We’re under orders to burn this region.”

She gasped.

Voices raised in protest as Guy stepped down from the platform and came toward her, clasping her hands. “Suzanne?”

She nodded, swallowed. “Guy,” she tried to say, but no sound came out.

“We’re here to warn you so that you may make preparations.” The Frenchman’s voice rang out compassionate but firm.

Johan’s cousin, the miller, and his wife, glared at her. Angry eyes of other villagers accused her, and people shook their heads in dismay.

“Come with me; say nothing.” Guy grabbed her hand and pulled her through the assembled group and past the people who were streaming toward the square. It was him. Alive. But he brought a message of destruction.

It was her fault what was now happening to these people. “Can’t you stop them? Can’t you do something?” Pulling on his arm brought nothing but resistance.

They passed through a narrow alleyway. She was aware of the gazes following them, but no one challenged their progress.

Her brother stopped and held her at arm’s length. “Let me look at you.” Guy smiled, but only half of his mouth rose. “I know I look a mess.” There was a little tremor in his voice, and she stepped into his arms.

“Oh, Guy.” Suzanne pressed her wet face against the wool of his dusty coat but he pulled away, reaching into his pocket for a handkerchief.

“If you bemoan the loss of my handsome face, I say only praise be to God I am alive. Rochambeau rescued me and took me to his chateau to recover, claiming I was his aide and that Guillame Richelieu was killed.” Guy pressed the soft cloth against her face. “And now I use our grandfather’s names.”

“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 upon 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.