Captured by Love (Michigan Brides #3)(9)
Angelique’s head shot up.
Indians.
Had they returned to the island? Is that why Ebenezer had left the inn?
She dropped the bucket of muck to the ground and stood on her tiptoes, trying to peer over the cedar fence that surrounded the tavern plot. But the boards were too tall and blocked the view of the beach and the harbor.
“Have the ships come?” she asked.
Betty nodded. “Ebenezer just left for the beach. Now’s your chance to eat.”
“You have the bread. I insist.”
Angelique had given up hope of forming a friendship with Betty when she’d first come to the island as Ebenezer’s new bride. From the start, Betty had regarded her with suspicion and most of the time had met her attempts at conversation with silence. Even after Ebenezer had explained that Angelique was his adopted daughter, that he’d sworn to her mother to take care of her until she was married, Betty had still eyed Angelique with mistrust.
During the winter, when they’d both been hungry most of the time, Angelique had done her best to keep Betty’s growing belly full. And in return, Betty had often tried to sneak Angelique food, even when she’d had to miss, like that morning when Ebenezer had taken away her bread for arriving home a few minutes late.
But today, Angelique wouldn’t need the food, not with the ships arriving. Tonight the islanders would feast on the beach with the Indians. There would finally be enough food to sate their shriveled stomachs.
Unable to contain a smile, Angelique raced toward the back gate, dodging the hens, breathless anticipation giving her feet a new lightness.
As she stepped through the gate and rounded the tavern to Main Street, the air was charged with excitement. Homes and shop doors stood open and men poured out of the distillery and fur warehouse. The workday had come to a complete stop.
The road, which was nothing more than a dirt path along the shoreline, was bustling with townspeople rushing toward the docks, too anxious to take the time to prepare themselves properly. Splattered aprons, smudged cheeks, hatless, and even half dressed, the entire village spilled out onto the wide sandy shore to welcome the arrival of the British supply ships.
A few straggling soldiers were hurrying from the fort on the rise above the town. They tugged on their bedraggled coats and hats as they ran down the sloping path to join the others who’d gathered to greet the first arrivals and give a hand in unloading the long-awaited barrels and bags of provisions.
Angelique stood back a distance, especially when the doctor’s wife frowned and pinched her nose as she passed. Angelique knew she should have bathed first and rid herself of the horrid odor that permeated her clothes after spending half the day cleaning the hen house. But she couldn’t resist the pull to watch the new arrivals.
Two schooners docked in the bay, their large white sails billowing in the breeze. The sunlight glinted off the water, turning the sails into diamonds and the ships to royal jewels, making them sparkle against the cloudless blue sky.
Behind the schooners, the voyageurs were drawing closer in their canoes, wearing their bright red sashes and caps, wielding their colorful paddles that dipped into the water in unison. Their boisterous songs were faint but grew louder with each stroke.
Angelique’s smile widened. She could picture Pierre with his handsome smile and voice raised in a song, as he’d done so often in the past when they’d fished or swam together.
What were the chances Pierre was in one of the canoes?
Every spring she’d watched the canoes, searching for his familiar face, though she’d despised herself for doing so, for missing him, for wishing he’d return.
But how could she keep from missing him when he’d been such a good friend, like the brother she’d never had? Even if he had hurt her—hurt them all—with his leaving, there was no denying the gap his absence had left.
Jean had tried hard to fill the holes left from Pierre’s absence. He’d been extra sweet and had done all he could to help her forget about Pierre. It hadn’t taken her long to realize that Jean loved her, had probably always adored her in a way Pierre never had.
It had come as no surprise when Jean had finally asked her to marry him. He’d told her he would never leave her. He’d promised to stay on the island with her forever and assured her that she’d fall in love with him someday too.
Eventually she’d known she couldn’t resist his attention and his effort to win her any longer. And when he’d asked her to marry him for the fourth time, she’d told him yes.
She squinted against the glare and peered carefully at each canoe. The voyageurs were still too far away for her to distinguish any of them. But after the encounter with Pierre only yesterday, there was the very real chance that this year he’d actually be among the men returning to the island. And if he returned, this time she would make sure he knew who she was.
No. She ripped her attention away from the canoes and tried to focus instead on the silver waves slapping against the beach and the first gulls of spring that had gathered on the rocks, their sharp cries rising above the din of the gathered crowd.
What did she care if Pierre was among the voyageurs?
She’d much rather see what supplies the ships were bringing and get her first glimpse of the civilized visitors that would stay on the island for the summer.
Rowboats began to near the shore, bearing the first of those coming to the island from the schooners. The officer in charge of the fort, Captain Bullock, stood ahead of the other soldiers onshore, still managing to look smart in his uniform despite its hanging too loosely on his skeletal frame.