Captured by Love (Michigan Brides #3)(4)

“Who did you see this morning?” Miriam persisted.

Angelique sighed. She should have known she wouldn’t be able to avoid Miriam’s probing.

What should she reveal? That she’d been attacked by the fort’s quartermaster? Or that she’d seen Pierre? Which would cause Miriam less distress?

Telling her about Pierre would be much too cruel. What mother could bear the news that her long-lost son had returned but neglected to visit her?

“It’s nothing to worry about.” Angelique added the pieces of wood chips to the embers. “I ran into one of the soldiers on my way here this morning, and he demanded that I give him my catch of fish.”

Miriam’s chair scraped against the wooden floor. Through the dim light beginning to filter in through the east window past the faded yellow calico curtains, Angelique could see her rise. “Did he hurt you?” Miriam’s voice was breathless.

Angelique pushed herself up and started across the room toward Miriam, wiping her dusty hands against her skirt. “Please don’t worry.”

Miriam grasped for Angelique. Her trembling fingers skimmed Angelique’s face, sliding over her cheeks, her nose, her eyes. In spite of her near blindness, Miriam found the chafed skin on her neck where Lieutenant Steele had nearly choked her. “He hurt you, didn’t he?”

“Only a little.” Angelique lifted her hand to Miriam’s cheek and caressed it with all the love she had for the woman who was more of a mother to her than her own had ever been.

In spite of Miriam’s age, her cheeks were still smooth and unlined beneath Angelique’s fingers, which were as scratchy as the sandstone cliffs along the shore.

Angelique blamed her rough skin on the daily ice fishing and the exposure to the frigid temperatures and icy water that often left the skin on her fingers cracked and bleeding.

“You must stop coming to me,” Miriam whispered, gently tracing the swollen skin around Angelique’s neck. “It’s too dangerous for you.”

“I’ll be more careful tomorrow.”

Miriam’s fingers fell away, and Angelique helped guide her friend to the table, to the eggs and the ashcake. “Have you given me your own breakfast again?”

“No. It’s for you.” The sight of the food gnawed at the lining of Angelique’s stomach. But she turned away from Miriam before the woman could sense the truth—that she had indeed given up her meager fare of coveted bread, part of her dinner from the previous evening.

“At least eat half of it, Angel,” Miriam said.

“I’ll have my breakfast once I return to the inn.” Angelique crossed the room and knelt in front of the hearth again. “Betty will have fried fish.”

At least she hoped Ebenezer’s new wife would give her something for her breakfast.

“Please eat it, Miriam.” Angelique bent near the embers, blew on them, and was rewarded with a glow of orange, a few sparks, and a waft of smoke.

Miriam never complained about her hunger or the scanty rationing. But the thin shoulders, bony arms, and loose bodice were testament to the constant struggle with starvation.

“I have a few acorn shells too,” Angelique said. “I’ll start the fire and then you can steep them for tea.” She hated to leave Miriam alone with the fire and any form of cooking. The blisters from the last burn on the back of Miriam’s hand had only recently healed.

“God is with us, Angel,” Miriam said. “Whatever problems may come, He’s our unchanging, solid rock. If we’re standing on Him, nothing will shake us.”

Angelique wanted to believe Miriam. But unchanging and solid were foreign words to her. There had never been anything even remotely solid about her life.

“We’ll just keep praying the war will be over this summer and that Jean will be able to return to us soon. That you’ll be able to marry him finally. And be safe.”

Jean—kind, considerate, steady Jean. He might be Pierre’s brother, but he was nothing like him. And even if Jean was away fighting with the Americans, they knew without a doubt he would return when he could.

A renewed stab of frustration sliced through Angelique. Why hadn’t Pierre stopped to visit his mother? If he had, he would have seen how poor she’d become, how little she had without Jean there to take care of her, and how desperately she needed help.

But as much as she wanted to believe that Pierre would have stayed to help his mother if only he were aware of her hardships, she also knew Pierre was wild at heart and forever dreaming of adventure.

He would never be the steady source of help either of them needed.

Yes, it was for the best that Pierre had not visited Miriam, that he’d not gotten their hopes up.

In fact, it was probably better for all of their sakes if Pierre didn’t come back at all.





Chapter

2



Pierre squinted at his reflection in the clear puddle and scraped the long razor across his cheek again.

“Ah, looking good, monsieur.” He sat up straighter and flashed himself a grin so that he could see the full effect of his personal ministrations. “Looking real good.”

He’d spent more time taking care of his appearance in the past two hours than he had all winter. Like the rest of his brigade, he’d scrubbed the bear grease from his face and had lathered himself with soap to rid himself of all the dirt and vermin he’d accumulated during the past months of travel. He’d even attempted to launder his clothes, although the first chance he had, he was trading for a pair of corduroy trousers and a cotton shirt.