Captured by Love (Michigan Brides #3)(35)
Miriam started. “I almost forgot to tell you, Angelique. We received a letter from Jean today.”
“We did?” Letters from anyone were rare—even more so from the men who’d been forced to leave the island. In the past she’d always been excited to get news from Jean. But now the thought of reading Jean’s letter in front of Pierre only made her nervous.
“Pierre, would you get the letter from the Bible?”
Pierre’s smile faded, and he hesitated.
“Then you can read it to Angelique,” Miriam persisted.
They all knew Angelique couldn’t read. Since Miriam had become blind, any time they’d gotten a letter from Jean, they’d had to rely on Father Fontaine of St. Anne’s Church to visit and read it for them.
Pierre ducked into the cabin and, a few moments later, returned with a rumpled sheet of paper. He opened it, cleared his throat, and then looked at her over the edge of the paper, as if reluctant to read the letter aloud.
“Please, Pierre,” Miriam said quietly.
Angelique nodded. If Jean’s letter was like his previous ones, he’d write a line or two for her at the end.
Pierre dragged his attention back to the letter, and he began to read slowly without any enthusiasm. The news was the same. Jean was careful not to reveal anything about the United States Army, knowing full well his letter could fall into the wrong hands.
Instead he spoke of all the things he’d done during the winter months, mostly studying the books he’d borrowed from one of the local parish priests. He gave the usual instructions about how to care for the animals and the farm in his absence, and he ended with his earnest prayers for them and his hope that they’d soon be together again.
“Give my deepest regards to Angelique,” Pierre read in closing, his voice growing taut. “Tell her that I long for our reunion. My absence from her has only solidified my conviction that we are right for each other. And I eagerly await the day when we can begin our life together as man and wife.”
Pierre looked at her again, probing her, searching for her reaction to the letter.
She was ashamed to admit Jean’s words didn’t stir her the same way they had in the past, and she lowered her lashes to hide her reaction from Pierre. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing maybe he was right in his assumption about her and Jean.
Maybe she wasn’t as fond of Jean as he was of her, but no matter what she felt, she would marry him. She’d made her pledge to him, and she wouldn’t break it, not for anything.
Jean offered her something steady and certain—something she’d never had before, or at least for a very long time, not since the years her mother and father had lived happily together. Her father claimed to love them, but that hadn’t stopped him from leaving every fall for his fur trading.
Which had he loved more, his family or the fur trading? The question had always haunted her.
With Jean, she would never have to wonder if she only had half his heart and devotion. She wouldn’t have to take second place to his work. He would be her solid rock, as strong and permanent as the island itself.
She straightened her shoulders. She had nothing to be embarrassed about. “I’m also eagerly awaiting the day when Jean and I can start our lives together,” she said with more force than she’d intended.
“Of course you are, Angel.” Miriam reached for her hand and squeezed it. “The two of you will be happy together.”
“Yes. Very happy.”
Pierre folded the letter and returned it to the Bible without a word.
On the walk back to Fort George, he was quieter than usual. He didn’t mention swimming again, and she tried to tell herself it didn’t matter. She didn’t need to worry about what Pierre thought. He was leaving soon. In fact, she’d heard rumors he was looking for a hired hand to do the work on the farm for the rest of the summer so he could be on his way.
The tapping of a drum grew louder as they drew closer to Fort Michilimackinac. When Pierre’s stride lengthened and he veered in the woods toward the North Sally Port, Angelique knew his curiosity was as great as hers to learn why the drummer was playing his music at midday.
The red-coated sentinel at the north entrance admitted Pierre with a nod, not questioning him or even stopping to search him.
They passed through the gate, surrounded by the pointed palisades, and entered into what was usually a bustling, crowded interior. Strangely there were no soldiers engaged in the target practice or drilling that had become common since Colonel McDouall’s arrival. Instead, the grounds and bunkhouse were silent, except for the steady tapping of the drum.
From the position of the fort on the cliff, they had a perfect view of the bay. The waters were calm and shimmered under the bright June sun. Other than the Indian and voyageur canoes along the shore, and the British sloops anchored in deeper water, the lake was empty of the American ships she’d been hoping would arrive.
Still, she couldn’t keep from praying that the drumming meant the Americans had been sighted somewhere.
Pierre led her down the hill past the soldiers’ barracks, a large two-story structure. When they rounded the building into the center green of the fort, he stopped abruptly and shoved her behind him. “Don’t look, Angelique.” His voice was harsh.
His arm held her against his back, but not before she’d caught a glimpse of the lines of British soldiers standing at attention on the green, their long red coats gleaming, their tall black hats standing proud upon their heads.