The Meeting Place (34 page)

Jean Ricard shook Andrew as hard as his own waning strength allowed. “There is no other way for us to know where we've been sent or how we can regather!”

The sergeant hauled the vicar roughly to his feet. “Enough of that! Get along down the pier or I'll show you the business end of my pike!”

Andrew rose because he had to and stepped to the vicar's other side. “A conduit?” he managed under his breath.

“Let us write to you, please, I beg you. I will pass the word to any I find, all who can be found, all who will pass on the word as well. It will risk your career, but I beg you—”

“I have no career. As of this morning I am no longer a part of the British army.”

The vicar accepted this news with only a nod. There was nothing to be said. Nothing at all. “Will you help?”

“I will.” They reached the end of the pier. Andrew offered a hand, then as the vicar stood in the boat, Andrew found himself unable to release his grip. “Elspeth is with Louise and Henri. If you—”

“Enough of this, sir!” The sergeant shoved him roughly back. “All right, that's the lot!”

“I will tell them. Of course I will tell them.” The priest's voice drifted across the water. “I think I overheard that my ship is going to Charleston. It is a port south of here. Do you know it?”

“The name only.” Andrew kept his hand outstretched, as though to lower it would cut off his last remaining thread of contact to his child. “Charleston!”

“Tell any who contact you …” The priest stopped then, as though he too was crushed by the weight of loss. “Tell them to pray! To remember to pray for us all!”

Andrew stood long after the soldiers had left the pier. He watched the longboats deposit their final charges. Then the smaller boats were drawn around to the stern and lashed in tandem behind the larger vessel's rudder. He watched the sails unfurl and the anchor be hauled in and the ship begin to make its way toward the bay's mouth, toward the broader reaches of the Bay of Fundy and points south.

And then it began to rain.

Chapter 30

Catherine lifted a weary hand and shaded her eyes from the blaze of the afternoon sun. The late summer day was very hot and dreadfully muggy. The rains that had passed through the day before had saturated the countryside, turning the red clay to a deep boggy mire. Shivers of steam drifted heavenward and slowed the wagon's already laboring team. Catherine felt dizzy from the heat, the long jarring ride, and the effort of cradling the baby from the worst of the jolts. The wagon bumped and jostled as the slowly plodding mules and big mud-covered wheels churned the clay trail into gumbo with their passing.

With the rise to the top of each new hill, Catherine strained forward, hoping to catch the first glimpse of something familiar. Some indicator that would confirm they were finally back in their own territory. The homeward journey had seemed to take even longer than the trip out. She pined for home. Back in her own cool cabin. Out of the boiling sun that made her heavy clothes stick to her sides.

Her eyes lifted to the straining team. Sweat rolled from the mules' heaving sides. Foam flecked every spot where the harness rubbed. She was sorry for their discomfort along with her own.

And then she saw the large hemlock that was a familiar landmark. She sat up as high as she could manage, eyes searching the descending hillside. There came a sudden opening in the trees, and down below she spotted the gateway to one French farm. Louise had spoken of the family. The mother had died during the birth of a child. She had been sick with fever, and when the time had come for delivery she did not have the strength to bring another baby into the world. It had happened the previous summer, and Louise's mother had kept the infant for a few weeks until the father was able to make arrangements with relatives.

Catherine settled back with a contented sigh. They would soon be home. Just a few more miles. Surely she could bear that much.

She shifted in her seat, trying again to find a more restful position. At least the baby seemed to be sleeping comfortably. Catherine bent her head and lifted back the blanket for a peak. The baby was flushed and moist but sleeping well, her breathing much more even and strong. It seemed that the doctor's medicine was working. Catherine smiled to herself, thinking of Louise. She would be so pleased. Their prayers had indeed been answered.

It had been a difficult trip—but well worth it. And there had been no questions. For that Catherine was thankful. It was such a shame that the infant might never fully recover, that lovely little Antoinette might remain frail her life long. But at least the child should survive. So long as Louise was careful to give her a good, calm upbringing. Which she surely would. Louise would do her best for this child—of that Catherine was certain.

She shot a glance at her father alongside her. John Price had remained utterly preoccupied with his work that entire journey. Even now he scarcely seemed aware that she was seated beside him.

Thoughts of her own healthy baby brought another smile to her lips. Her little Elspeth. How she longed for her. And Andrew. Soon, very soon now she would be home with them once again.

Catherine replaced the blankets, hoping that the wool's insulation would keep the worst of the heat off the baby. She shifted her position so that her body made a shadow from the merciless sun.

The trees dropped away, and again her eyes turned toward the farmstead's gatepost. She thought of the motherless children. She hoped that by now the man had found another wife, a mother for all the young ones who had seemed to spill out from the door and hang out the windows to check on anyone passing. But she was unable to make out any sign of movement in the fields. She knew the house itself stood beyond a copse of elms, planted as protection against the bitter winter winds and grown tall and hardy over the past four generations. But there was no sign of life there either.

The wagon rumbled over a protruding tree root with a jolt that shook her already stiff and tired body. Automatically she shielded Antoinette, but in spite of her effort the baby stirred and Catherine feared she might begin to cry. At once she began to rock the child back and forth.

When she lifted her head again, they had cleared the edge of the planted windbreak. To Catherine's horror, none of the buildings remained standing. There was only a heap of darkened ashes where the house and barns should have been. Charred bits of log that had not totally burned jutted upward like blackened teeth.

Catherine's face paled.
All those children
. “Oh, God,” she breathed. “Please may no one have been in the house.”

Everything was burned to the ground. Catherine turned stricken eyes to her father. She saw that he too was carefully studying the devastation.

“A terrible fire,” she managed, her tongue suddenly dry. “Everything's gone. It's … it's awful.”

John Price merely nodded.

“Lightning, do you suppose? In the storm we had yesterday?” It happened, but not often. Usually a large tree was the first to catch the strike. But these trees had been planted well clear of the house, and though there was some smoke damage, none of them looked split or scarred.

“I think not,” her father replied slowly.

“Carelessness? But surely—” Was it perhaps one of the Acadian children? But little ones, from the time they could toddle, were taught the serious consequence of uncontrolled fire.

“I would say it was intended.” Her father's voice was very matter-of-fact.

His words shook Catherine to the core. “Intended? But the Indians have not been here in years.”

Her father was shaking his head.

And then it hit her. She could not have said how she knew, but suddenly she realized what had happened. A coldness washed over her entire body, making her shiver in spite of the scorching day. The army. The
British
army. They had done this. But why?

Her eyes swung back to her father. What would he think when the full truth struck him as well?

But he was standing now, legs far apart to brace himself upright. His eyes coolly observed the scene before him. There was no horror in his gaze. No puzzled expression. Even as she watched she saw him give just the hint of a nod, as though granting approval to the entire scene.

It took her a moment before the truth dawned, before she could allow herself to admit it. She whispered in horror, “You knew?”

Inwardly she prayed that he might deny it. She longed with all of her being to separate him from this terrible event.

But he did not dispute it. She thought she even detected an odd gleam in his eye, much like when he returned to the house with a good-sized salmon to be roasted slowly over the fireplace spit, or a fresh buck that meant meat for their cooking pot.

When he did answer, it was with an acknowledging nod of his head. “I knew it was coming.”

Catherine felt the fear wash over her body. She tightened her arms around the blankets bundling Antoinette. “Is this … is it to continue?”

John Price turned from the charred remains to look down at her. “Continue? No, I suspect it is all over.”

“All over?” What did he mean? What could he possibly mean? All over, like a deed entirely done. “You mean, this one French farmer … but why him? Was he some kind of threat?”

“No more than any of the others.” His eyes drifted back to where the barn had stood. Little whiffs of smoke still curled upward. Catherine could smell it now. The acrid, sickening smell that all settlers feared as much as the plague. Her father was shaking his head, and his expression told her what he thought of women and their questions. He spoke down to her, “I knew you would be concerned. That was why I agreed to have you accompany me to Halifax.”

“You mean … might others be affected?” She could scarcely shape the words.

“Really, Catherine, you women simply do not understand the workings of conflict. Of military acuteness. Of what is required to insure that the Crown retains what is rightfully ours.”

Elspeth
. She had to get to her baby. And Louise. Had anyone been there to warn her? Catherine would have jumped from the lumbering wagon and plunged headlong through the heavy mud had not reason told her that it would be more than foolhardy. Antoinette stirred in her arms, reminding her that she had a responsibility to this little one as well. Her arms tightened until the baby squirmed with the restriction.

“Why?” Catherine flung at her father, her voice wild with demand. “What conflict was there?”

John Price gave her a solid impatient look, but his face now showed weariness. His usually straight shoulders sagged slightly as he lowered himself back onto the seat. When he spoke, even his voice sounded tired. “Need you ask? The whole situation was precarious. No way to know who were one's allies, and who the enemy. Unwilling to submit, they were. Oh, not openly rebellious. No, too clever for that. The French wanted to pretend neutrality.”

“But—”

“Yes. But if push had come to shove, it soon would have been evident whose side they were really on. Upon meeting an Unreliable on the road, one never knew whether to expect a surly nod or a knife at the throat.”

“I never heard of knives, or any other such nonsense, except from British soldiers.” Her voice was sharpened by her anxiety. She had never spoken to her father in such a tone before.

“Nonsense, is it? Perhaps they were simply not brave enough.” There was a spark to his eyes again. “Leave it to the Indians and the troops to wear us down, then swoop in for the final slaughter.”

“The French villagers have lived here in peace for years and years,” Catherine hurled back, her spine stiffening with the unfair accusation. “And no one has ever proven that the French have attacked us alongside the Indians.”

Another wave of fear swept through her, causing her fingers to bury themselves within Antoinette's wool shawl. She had to get to Louise. “What have they done?”

“Look, my dear.” Her father noticed her clenched fists and softened his tone. “I know your tender heart makes it difficult for you to understand the deeds of men at war.”

“There is no war, not here! Andrew has always said the war—”

“Ah, yes. Andrew. Methinks you have not realized the difficult situation you have placed your husband in. His whole military career has been placed in jeopardy by this absurdly soft side he has been showing toward Minas.”

Catherine's fears turned in another direction. “Whatever are you talking about?”

“You shouldn't be running around making friends with the enemy, Catherine. It just isn't done at such a time.”

“Making friends …”

“Captain Stevenage has had reason to plant some doubts among General Whetlock's staff. His wife has also informed them that you have been seen in the company of some Acadian woman. She even claimed you were over visiting the Frenchy village.”

Catherine felt her face grow hot, but this time it was not the work of the scorching sun. Anger burned through her. “And what has that to do with Andrew?”

“Stevenage has hinted—more than hinted, actually—there might be some reason to suspect Andrew would fail to perform his duties as an English officer. The plans were kept from him. Even I was not informed of the details of the maneuver until we arrived in Halifax. Andrew would probably have suspected as much had he not been so determined to ignore what was plain to everyone else.”

“That is absurd! Andrew has never given reason for anyone to think he would commit treason! That is the most … most offensive charge I have ever heard. Not perform his duties as an officer? I have never heard such an outrage.”

“It has gone far beyond protests, I fear. Again, I am not privy to everything, as the boy is my son-in-law. And I must admit, at such a time, I do feel a certain—”

“Stop it! Stop it right now! I will not hear another word!”

“Calm yourself, no need to get yourself further heated. You'll have yourself in a swoon if you're not careful.”