Captured by Love (Michigan Brides #3)(95)

He reached down and picked it up. It wasn’t just any stick. It was carved and oiled and rounded at the top, obviously fashioned with great care by someone.

He tucked the stick under his arm and ran. His chest ached with too much pain to think about anything but losing Angelique again. His chest was an open wound, as if a Menominee warrior had chopped through his skin and bones, dug inside, and wrenched out his heart.





Chapter

27



Angelique twisted the last strand of curls up into the loop she’d fashioned at the back of her head, then stood back and examined herself in Miriam’s tarnished silver mirror. Her hair didn’t look quite as fancy as it had the night Lavinia had styled it for the dance, but it would have to do.

She swished the skirt of the shiny gown Lavinia had given her. She’d long ago repaired the rips and stains gained during the canoe voyage last fall and had packed it away carefully inside a trunk.

“Thank you,” she said, handing the mirror back to Miriam. She took a deep breath, letting in the scent of lilacs from the bouquet she’d arranged that morning and placed on the table.

The faded yellow curtains fluttered in the open window, bringing in a hint of smoke from the Indian campfires on the beach and the faint sound of drums, the signal that spring had finally arrived. This year, unlike the last, the walls on either side of the table were bare. The paddle and fishing pole were both gone, and Angelique knew now they’d never return. It was time for something new to go in those spots, something that belonged to Jean.

Angelique had done the best she could to be the beautiful bride that Jean deserved. If Lavinia could have seen her, she would have been pleased with the outcome.

“It’s time.” She reached for Miriam’s arm and hooked it through hers.

Strangely, over the past hour of preparations, a sense of peace had settled over Angelique, replacing her need for Pierre. She had a calmness for what she was about to do. She wasn’t sure if the peace came from knowing Pierre was alive and well or if perhaps it was God’s way of assuring her that she was being faithful. She’d resisted temptation, and she’d come out stronger as a result.

Miriam shuffled toward the door, feeling her way forward. She’d changed into her best skirt for the wedding and looked as lovely as the blooming lilacs.

Angelique started to open the door, but Miriam stopped her with a gentle tug. “Wait, Angel.”

She turned to Miriam. She’d expected her dear friend to be happier now that both her sons were home. Of course she’d been overjoyed at the first sight of Pierre, had shed tears when she’d hugged him, but her gentle features were grave now. Was she sad that he had to leave again so soon? He’d declared his intent to sneak off the island before noon, even though Miriam had pleaded with him to stay for the whole day.

Angelique could see that he wanted to be gone by the time she stood next to Jean at St. Anne’s. As it was, Pierre lingered outside near the barn, waiting to talk with Jean.

“You know I’ve loved you like you were my own daughter,” Miriam said.

“And you’ve been a mother to me more than my own mother ever was.”

“I haven’t wanted to meddle in all that’s gone on with you and Pierre and Jean. I’ve done the best thing for you that I could, and that is to pray God would direct each of you into His plans for you.”

Angelique wasn’t surprised Miriam had guessed their struggles. She may be blind, yet she still saw many things clearly.

“I promise I won’t start meddling today,” Miriam continued, “but I couldn’t help noticing you’re preparing to marry a man you don’t love.”

“I’m just trying to do the right thing.”

“I can’t imagine the right thing is marrying someone because you feel obligated to him while throwing away your chance to spend your life with the man you love.”

Miriam’s words were quiet, but the power of them knocked into Angelique with a strength that took her breath away.

Miriam squeezed her arm. “Like I said, I don’t want to meddle, so I promise I won’t say anything else.”

Angelique didn’t know how to respond. She’d already decided she must marry Jean and help him with the farm. Pierre had agreed she was doing the right thing. What should she do with Miriam’s advice now?

Fighting a wave of confusion, she opened the door and stepped outside the cabin. Instantly the May sunshine and warmth enveloped her.

Next to the barn, Red Fox and Yellow Beaver shifted their attention to her from where they stood talking with Pierre, who was busy cleaning his musket. Yellow Beaver grinned, and Red Fox stopped mid-sentence.

Pierre didn’t look up but instead continued polishing the rifle. Several wayward curls clung to his forehead. He’d changed into a pair of clean trousers and a dry shirt since she’d seen him at the swimming hole.

Even across the span of the yard he looked as ruggedly appealing and handsome as always. The mere sight of him sent her pulse racing and chased away the last remnants of peace.

She was marrying Jean. She needed a glimpse of him, his joy, and his desire for her. That would restore her peace.

Red Fox shoved Pierre and grunted something harsh. But Pierre kept his eyes focused on the rifle barrel in his hands.

“Where’s Jean?” Angelique glanced around the farmyard that Yellow Beaver had kept in immaculate condition. “We’re done readying ourselves.”