Saving The Marquise's Granddaughter (31 page)

Phillip sat in Vann’s office, a small room in the front, away from the heat of the forge. Bread crumbs clung to his upper lip and he set his sandwich aside.

Suzanne motioned her fingers up by her lip, and he scrunched his mouth and then brushed them off.

“Is Johan here? I didn’t see him.”

The edges of his eyes tipped downward. Phillip’s mouth opened but no words came out.

“What is it?” Fear began to gnaw at her.

“Hasn’t he told you?” Phillip cocked his head, eyebrows furrowed. “He doesn’t work here. Vann gave him his freedom.”

Her gut clenched. “He is released?”

Phillip grabbed her arm before she sank. “I thought he was with you, Suzanne.”

What a fool she was. They weren’t married—at least he’d confessed that. Unable to find her voice and struggling to keep her dignity, she tortured her handkerchief much as she would have liked to strangle Johan. She took her time returning to Christy’s home, stopping at the inn—just in case.

“Good day, mistress.” The inn keeper rose from his seat. “Good to see you appearing so well.”

“Merci.” She glanced around the room, praying Johan would appear.

“Your husband retrieved your letters for you. Sorry I didn’t send them on sooner, but my missus is ill.”

Letters? “I’m sorry to hear she’s sick.”

“She’ll be fine as a fiddle in no time.”

The buns set at a nearby table reminded her of Johan. Surely, he’d not have left without saying goodbye to her and to Sarah. Had he received word from someone? “Monsieur, do you recall anything about the letters?”

He scratched his bristly cheek. “One looked French. Maybe that fancy Frenchman who came looking for you sent that one.”

“Came here?”

The innkeeper puffed out his chest. “Had the nerve to ask to check my rooms. I booted him out. Sorry, if he was a friend of yours.”

“Not my brother?”

“No, miss, the crazy fellow claimed you were his bride-to-be.”

Etienne.
“I’m so sorry.”

“Not your fault. A madman that one. Said he sought some marquise’s granddaughter.”

She affected a laugh and pressed a hand to the modesty piece covering her chest. “Most unusual.”

Someone entered and she startled, hoping it wasn’t Etienne. Turning, she exhaled in relief as an older woman toted a basket of hard rolls to the counter.

“Merci, monsieur, I must get back.” Suzanne hurried out and then wandered through side streets. How would her encounter with her former beau go, if he was so impertinent with the innkeeper? Fear settled over her. She had no desire to reach for her grandmother’s rosary, nor her grandfather’s coins. Instead, when she finally arrived at the house, she went up to her room to read Christy’s Bible.

~*~

Pleasant Quaker folk surrounded Johan and Sarah as they walked. Strange that when he’d gone to get her, Christy’s son and she were hiding in the garden maze rather than napping. After telling William that they’d return before dinner, he took her hand and told her all about his good news. Now they sought out answers for his dilemma.

Only a few more blocks to Chestnut Street. Saint Joseph’s was right around the corner from the Quaker Alms House, straight ahead.

His little cousin tugged at Johan’s hand. “How can Aunt Suzanne have a fiancé?”

Johan frowned. “She can’t. We’re going to set things right.” His contract was redeemed, and he had the possibility of funds to release Suzanne if he’d manage Vann’s businesses for him. Now if only she’d reject her old fiancé.

“I like this church. It’s pretty.”

The rectangular Roman Catholic church possessed a small but lovely courtyard in front. Nothing clearly distinguished it as a church, however. No statuary in sight.

Johan pointed to the entrance door. “Let’s go inside.”

Sarah peered up at him with those clear blue eyes so much like her father’s. “Come sing for me, Uncle Johan, in here.” Sarah pulled him into the small sanctuary.

Rustic, nothing like Aachen Cathedral. But he wondered how the sound would be in the space. He looked around the empty building and when satisfied there was no one listening, he began his vocal exercises, the sounds vibrating in his throat and sending a warm feeling through his entire body. As he offered up his first song of praise, he closed his eyes. The words resonated in the cozy nave and came back to his ears.

The door to the sanctuary creaked open, revealing the Frenchman surveyor. “Are you ready to hear the truth?”

~*~

After an unusually quiet evening meal, each in their own thoughts, Sarah and William had gone upstairs to prepare for bed while Suzanne awaited her visitor.

Soon, Christy’s ancient servant found her in the parlor. “Etienne LeFort here to see you, miss.”

“Merci.”

“Colonel Christy got him in his office.”

After following him out into the hallway, and walking the first few steps to the office, Suzanne paused and sent up a short prayer.
Fear not.
But she did fear this moment.

Inside the room, Etienne stood with his back to her in front of the fireplace, his attire perfection in French tailoring, the fabric extravagant. When he turned, what would his face reveal? For an instant, she recalled him in such array, for their imagined wedding, and for just a moment, she was hopeful that he’d be her wonderful childhood friend. He swiveled, and her heart squeezed in her chest. Onboard ship, during the marriage ceremony, she’d thought the groom had been Etienne, attired as he was now, but then he’d been erased, replaced by a taller, more virile man—one with golden-brown hair and sea-blue eyes.

Palms damp, she took another step toward him, glad she’d worn a modest gown, recalling a crushing kiss that she hadn’t been able to break free from.

His face revealed none of the joy she’d hoped to see there. A frown formed between his dark eyebrows, and his lips twisted in distaste.

No matter whether she was adorned in fine silk or covered in pig slop, Johan’s eyes had always caressed her with love—unlike Etienne’s judging eyes.

Johan would never abandon me—he’s here somewhere.
He must think she wished this meeting with Etienne. How hurt he must have been to realize she’d sent her old fiancé a letter.

Etienne’s handsome face no longer stirred her. She pulled herself up, almost rising upon her toes. “We need to talk, my old friend.”

“Indeed we do, if you think my fiancée will be attired in inferior clothing such as this.” Reaching into the inner pocket of his blue wool coat, he retrieved a narrow box. He unsnapped it and removed the contents. Crooking a finger at her, he motioned her forward. “Your grandmother’s necklace. At least let’s put these jewels upon that fair neck of yours.”

A cold pudding could have been dumped into her stomach. The topaz necklace had been left at the DeMints’ chateau. She sank into an upholstered chair and brought her hand up to touch the cool stones as he draped them around her. Maman had done so the last time she had worn them. Tears trickled down her face.

“Where did you locate the necklace?”

“Paul DeMint gave it to me before I was sent packing to Martinique. Days after you’d abandoned me. Said it was all I’d ever have of you.” His fingertips brushed against the back of her neck, and he lifted up a tendril of hair, twisting it between his fingers. “Said you were to belong to my brother, not me. That was why you ran, wasn’t it?”

She allowed this to sink in. Why hadn’t Etienne come after her, tried to help her? She knew why. He was a coward, always had been.

He laid a sheet of paper on the table. “Your mother left a letter saying you were to stay with Madame DeMint and that she consented to our marriage. I have it here.”

Maman’s
handwriting…

Tears streamed down her face. She missed her mother so much. But Maman had told her to come on to the colonies, not to return to Etienne.

Etienne’s hard as diamond eyes averted. “But when I went to find you, no one could tell me where you were.” His was the face of an actor. “I tried to shake it out of Jeanne, but she refused to tell me, that little…”

“She didn’t know,” Suzanne whispered.

It sounded as if Etienne expected to enforce Maman’s permission to marry, as though it was an order. And if he believed that, then to what lengths would he go to accomplish his aims?

“I expect you to pack your belongings and be ready to sail home within two days.”

What if she didn’t want to? They spent an hour talking stiffly but politely, as though she’d never known him.

Etienne dismissed most of her questions about the plantation in the Caribbean, not that she wished to go there anymore. Tomorrow, she’d take action.

32

A sundial in a courtyard she passed revealed that Suzanne made good time on her walk. The din and hum of building so prevalent in this New World city dissipated the further she journeyed up Third Street. The echo of work activities at the busy Quaker Almshouse replaced the construction noise. In the shadow of its tallest brick building, the rectangular structure of St. Joseph’s Church hid. She pushed the heavy entry door open.

Holy incense surrounded her, bathing her in its spicy aroma. Adjusting to the dim light, Suzanne moved forward into the sanctuary. About eighteen feet wide, the interior resembled the Huguenot church in the countryside near Grand-mère’s. She moved forward and settled herself on the plain wooden bench and bent her head over her hands.
Lord, what do I do now?

A new church, beautiful in its rustic simplicity, yet nothing like the cathedrals of France. Was her life in these colonies to be the same way?
Lord, could I have a simple but lovely life with Johan?
She pressed her eyes closed and waited.

You chose.
Tears welled in her eyes as God gently spoke to her heart. As though painting a canvas in her mind, God showed her that onboard that ship as she lay dying, He’d allowed the vision of the sea waiting to swallow her up.
You chose life.
A new beginning. One where she lived with her own faith and relationship with God.
You chose your life partner.

A man’s soft English voice carried to her ears. He approached, arrayed in Jesuit raiment, from the back of the sanctuary. The young priest held sacraments. “Might I help you?”

“I have questions.” She swallowed back her nervousness.

“Let me set these down. We have a couple renewing their wedding vows this evening.” His voice was soothing but his words sent a tremor through her.

How she wished she and Johan were doing the same. “I’ve come to ask about marriage between a Catholic and a Protestant.” She tensed, anticipating the scathing look Grand-mère’s priest would have given her.

Instead, only concern lit his kind face. “What’s your opinion? If a man and woman both have Christ as Savior and ask a fellow believer to witness their vows—is it a valid union?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Search your heart. I think you know.” His eyes seemed to pierce hers and to look to her very soul. “But if you ask whether a Protestant and Catholic may marry, we have many such marriages here. If a man and a woman both have Christ as their Savior, then this can be granted…at least from the Jesuits’ perspective.”

Smoothing the folds of her skirt, Suzanne took a deep breath. Her father would have agreed and welcomed Johan as son. More than anything, she wished for him to be her husband.

The priest raised his eyebrows. “I caution you that those marriage vows might not be recognized should you return to France.”

She planned never to cross that ocean again.

~*~

Suzanne turned to the cherry sideboard in the Christy’s dining room and touched the bouquet. Oversized late roses and early fall camellias clustered in the tall Chinese porcelain vase and lent their fragrance to the beeswax candles. Servants had pressed the finest linen tablecloth and laid it out earlier in the afternoon. Two sterling candelabras flanked the flowers, their candlelight glistening on the shiny cherry surface of the table.

Now if only William would stop the dreadful scraping on his violin for Christy’s friend, Colonel McCready, who sat watching in rapt attention.

Suzanne’s nerves were strung tighter than William’s violin strings. This dinner and what she hoped was her final meeting with Etienne need to be over with—done.

“Bravo!” The auburn-haired man clapped as William ceased his racket.

Suzanne caught the boy’s arm before he left the wood-paneled room. She whispered, “Why do you pretend to be so bad a musician?”

The boy’s dark eyes seared her as he shrugged away her touch and disappeared from the room.

She’d stifled her gift of art because she hadn’t been able to bring to life the young man from the woods near Grand-mère’s—Johan. In actuality, he was a much better man than she could have imagined or painted. Yet she’d driven him from her by her own idiocy. Where was he? Must she endure the evening ahead alone?

When would Etienne and that woman arrive? She no longer cared if the islander was his mistress. But poor Wyatt—he’d chattered incessantly the night before about the woman’s incomparable beauty. He couldn’t answer a single question about his impression of Etienne other than commenting that he was “not worthy of Evangeline.” There was heartbreak ahead for Monsieur Scott.

~*~

Johan returned, as he’d been instructed to do and watched as the Frenchman lit the candles on the altar of St. Joseph’s. “You’re a Jesuit priest?”

“Oui, Father Francois. That’s why I asked you to promise me onboard ship. That you would keep secret that I was a priest.”

Circumstances were as Vann had suggested. “So although there’s acceptance of many faiths in Pennsylvania, there’s fear of Catholicism?”

“Oui, and a little fear of the French, also.” He gave a wry smile. “Some fear we’ll force conversion. But here in this parish, we minister to all God’s children, German Lutherans or French Catholics. I’ve been very busy since I arrived, even though I must do much of my work in secret for Catholics are barely tolerated in this area, although some would say otherwise. And your wife’s needs, monsieur, were my first official act. I wasn’t supposed to risk anything onboard but…God spoke to my heart. And I obeyed Him. Fortunately my superior is a tolerant man.”