Captured by Love (Michigan Brides #3)(91)

Yellow Beaver’s presence on the farm that winter had kept Ebenezer far away. She’d spoken with Betty only once at St. Anne’s for Christmas Mass and had learned that Ebenezer didn’t care where she lived with her new Indian husband so long as he had his money. She hadn’t corrected Betty’s assumption about Yellow Beaver being her husband. She’d figured that if it kept her safe, then that was all that mattered.

Yellow Beaver had become like a grandfather to her, teaching her many things over the winter, and she would miss him when he left.

When Angelique reached the edge of the meadow, she stopped. The door of the cabin stood wide open and a haversack like the one Pierre carried had been discarded beside it. Standing by the barn next to Yellow Beaver was another Indian with a black Mohawk much like the one Red Fox wore.

She couldn’t see the Indian’s face, but she knew it was Red Fox. It had to be. And if Red Fox had come back, maybe he’d brought Pierre. Her heart gave a lurch, and her feet sped into action. She ran as fast as she could across the long grass, her legs snagging in the bright calico skirt she’d recently finished. She stumbled and caught herself, eagerness urging her forward until finally she reached the door, breathless, frantic expectation tightening every muscle.

But as she ducked inside and squinted into the dim interior, her breathing came to a halt at the sight of Miriam embracing . . . Jean.

Of course it was Jean. Pierre was dead.

At the abruptness of her entrance, he pulled back from Miriam and brushed a hand against his cheek, wiping away the wetness there. His skin was shaven, the scraggly beard that he’d had during the battle gone. His fair hair had the neatness of a recent trim, and his face had a healthy glow.

“Angelique?” The joy in his voice, the beauty of his smile, the longing in his gentle expression made her tremble.

As much as she wanted to smile, she couldn’t. Her lips quivered. The disappointment was too great to hide.

The light in his eyes dimmed, and wariness sprang to life in its place.

“Jean?” She forced cheerfulness to her tone. “Welcome home.”

“Isn’t this wonderful?” Miriam asked, tears streaking her cheeks the same way they had last spring when she’d been reunited with Pierre. “Jean’s home. God be praised.”

“It is wonderful.” Angelique meant it. She only wanted the best for Jean. He was a noble, kind, and dear man.

“I came as soon as I could,” he said. “I only wish I could have returned in December after the peace treaty was signed.”

“We didn’t even know the war was over until a couple of weeks ago,” Miriam said, holding on to Jean’s arm. “God has been good to us. He sent Yellow Beaver to help us over the winter. We never once went hungry.”

Jean nodded to the old Indian, who had come into the cabin behind Angelique. “I can’t thank you enough for helping them through the winter.”

Yellow Beaver nodded in return. “Angel is a daughter to me.”

He’d picked up more English during their time together and had begun to teach her the Chippewa language. If Pierre had been there, he would have been proud of her. Angelique strained to see behind Yellow Beaver, hoping for a glimpse of Red Fox. But he was nowhere in sight.

Disappointment surged through her again. She’d wanted to speak with him, to see if he had any more news of Pierre’s death, anything that could put her at ease.

Smiling hopefully, Jean said, “I was most anxious to return so that I could finally marry Angelique.”

She was afraid he would cross the room, take her in his arms, and kiss her. She wasn’t sure she would be able to bear it. She’d probably burst out into sobs.

“I missed you, Angelique,” he said softly. “And I’ve dreamed of this day for the past three years, the day when I could come home and make you my wife. Some days, thoughts of you were all that kept me alive.”

Her throat constricted. What should she say? What reason did she have for saying no to him now?

He took a step forward, and for the first time she noticed he was holding a cane. She glanced to his leg, the one that had taken a bullet during the battle for the island. He looked down too. “The surgeon saved my leg, but just barely. It was his daughter who nursed me back to health these past months.”

“I saw her come ashore this morning. She’s beautiful.”

“We’ll have to thank her,” Miriam interjected. “And thank her father too. They must have cared about you a great deal to give you so much attention.”

Jean shrugged. “They were both kind to me.”

“I’d like to meet her,” Miriam insisted, her expression serious. Her lips stalled. She wanted to say more but didn’t know what.

Jean took another halting step, and his cane thumped against the wood floor. “I’m grateful for their help in keeping me alive, and I’m thankful to still have my leg. But the fact is I’m a cripple. And I’ll always be a cripple.”

“You’re a good man,” Angelique said, “and the condition of your body doesn’t change that.”

“Then you’re still willing to marry me? Even though I’m less of a man now?”

“You’re not less of a man,” she said at the same time Miriam gave a murmur of protest. “You could never be less of a man.”