My Sister's Prayer (18 page)

“How old are you now?” Celeste asked.

Sary shrugged. “I'm not sure. Maybe twenty-five.”

“Do you have children?”

Sary's face grew slack and she turned away.

“I'm sorry…”

Sary waved her hand as if it didn't matter, but Celeste could tell
it did. The woman began cracking eggs into a pan. Sometimes she hummed while she worked, but not today.

After they finished cleaning up the dinner things, the gardener brought in a large basket of small cucumbers. Sary sighed. Celeste guessed they needed to make pickles.

“Go get the master,” Sary said in French, probably needing him to unlock the spice cupboard for the salt.

Later, Celeste went out to the garden to see if there were more cucumbers to fill the small barrel Sary was using to make the pickles. The midsummer garden was far ahead of where the garden back home would be. Bush beans grew up a trellis. Cabbage and broccoli flourished, along with squash, parsnips, and greens. Tall stalks of what she'd been told was corn grew along the far end. She filled the basket with cucumbers and then stood, straightened her back, and wiped her brow with her apron as Mr. Edwards marched past to the chicken coop and then stopped. He turned back, saying he needed her to go down to the blacksmith to pick up an order.

Celeste put her hand on the small of her back, not used to the labor she'd been doing. “All right.”

“Take the handcart. It's behind the chicken coop.”

Celeste followed him, put the basket in the cart, and then pushed it around the coop. As she did, she heard Mr. Edwards talking to the gardener about manure. The garden was one of the best in the village that she'd seen, and Celeste could tell a lot of work went in to it. Every morning Benjamin and his father hauled water from the well to the orchard and garden for several hours. Their hard work paid off. Farmers brought meat, milk and cream, and some produce to the inn, but Mr. Edwards did well with what he grew on his own property.

Celeste left the cucumbers in the kitchen with Sary and told her she would return soon. By the time she reached the blacksmith shop, sweat dripped from her face. July had to be the worst of the hot weather, surely. She maneuvered the cart down the narrow pathway to the back of the smithy. Open shutters let in the air, but the heat was even worse than in the kitchen at the inn. An open brick furnace stood in the middle of the building, and a young boy operated billows, blowing air onto
the fire. Two blacksmiths were working. The younger one, most likely an apprentice, asked what she needed.

“Mr. Edwards's order,” she said.

As the younger man left the fire and turned toward a workbench, Celeste heard the older one ask if he'd finished the piece for Lieutenant Gray. Her head snapped up.

“Yes,” he answered. “He said he'd pick it up this afternoon.”

“Did he say when?” Celeste asked the young man as he approached her with a large iron pot.

He squinted at her. “What are you asking?”

“Did Lieutenant Gray say when he would stop by? I've been hoping to speak with him.”

He handed over the pot, which was heavy. “Who are you?”

“Miss Talbot. I know the lieutenant from back in England.”

“Aren't you Mr. Edwards's new kitchen maid?”

“For the time being.”

The man raised his eyebrows. “I heard he bought your contract.”

Celeste's face grew warm. Williamsburg was a small place. It wasn't surprising everyone knew her business.

“For the time being,” she answered again, barely adding a mumbled “Thank you” as she wheeled the cart away. Humiliation warmed every inch of her skin.

She had a difficult time pushing it down the narrow pathway toward the street and put all of her weight into it, only to topple it over, the pot clattering onto the hard earth. She quickly righted the cart and wrestled the pot back in, dropping it the last few inches. Thankfully, Mr. Edwards wasn't nearby to see how she treated his property. Tears stung her eyes. Essentially, she was his property too, at least for the time being.

Once she reached the street, the cart moved more smoothly, and she forced her sad thoughts away. Ahead, a group of soldiers stood in the middle of the street. One, with his back to her, had blond hair. Celeste pushed the cart faster.

As she approached, another soldier elbowed the blond. He turned.

It was Jonathan.

He quickly stepped away toward the cobbler's shop.

“Jonathan! Wait!” Celeste called out.

The soldiers began to laugh. “You're a rascal!” one of them yelled.

Celeste was beginning to agree.

“Please stop,” she begged, overcome with embarrassment at airing her problems in public.

He turned slowly. “I only have a minute.”

She pushed the cart to his side. Out of breath, she said, “I've heard rumors…that you've bought a carriage and…you've been courting someone else.”

“I'd given up on your coming, Celeste. You said you'd be on the next ship—I thought you'd changed your mind.”

“The next ship was full. I took passage on the one after that, but we hit rough weather and were delayed.” He'd begged her to come. Couldn't he have waited a few more months? “So it's…true…” she stammered.

He shrugged.

“Courting another?” the soldier said. “I thought you were to marry Miss Mary Vines soon, Gray.”

Jonathan frowned and stepped closer to Celeste. “I need to explain things to you. Her father owns a plantation between here and York. He's giving me land.”

“What about your land grant?”

He sighed. “That was part of the problem. There's been a delay, and it could be a few years. If I'm ever going to acquire land in my family's name, I'll have to marry for it.”

“What am I to do?” Celeste asked, despair coursing through her. “And now I have my sister to care for too. I only left Berta because I was sure that if I could only get to you, you would help us.”

He kept his eyes on her. “I feel horrible about all of this, Celeste, but please understand how difficult this is for me too. I did wait, but after some time it seemed your promise to come hadn't meant anything. That was when I began seeing Miss Vine…” His voice trailed off.

“I came as soon as I could!” Yes, it was some months after they'd
planned, but it wasn't that long. “Jonathan, how…how could you do this to me?”

“Believe me, I wouldn't have if I'd had any idea you were on your way.”

He reached for her hand. She let him take it. His skin was warm against hers, reassuring for just a moment, but then it only reminded her of everything she'd lost. His love, most of all.

She pulled her hand away, afraid she might collapse in the middle of the street. “What now?”

“I'll try to sell the carriage to pay for your contract.”

That was honorable, at least.

“And then?”

His eyes fell beyond her. “That's it. I don't have anything to offer you. No land. No future.”

“All of that doesn't matter.” Celeste felt a measure of hope. “I came to be with
you
. To be your wife. We could survive in a cottage if we needed to—”

He shook his head. “It's not that simple. I can't support a family on my soldier's pay. You deserve more.”

Her heart fell again, and her knees nearly buckled.

“Celeste, I never intended for this to happen. You have to understand—”

She let go of the cart again, and the pot clattered to the ground, landing on a rock. As she struggled to get it back in, Jonathan bent down to help her. “I'm so sorry,” he said, his watery blue eyes meeting hers. “Can you ever forgive me?”

She let go of her side of the pot and stood quickly, ashamed that she still had feelings for him. She grabbed the handle of the cart as he settled the pot inside it.

He met her gaze. “Please, Celeste. I care too much about you to think you'll be angry with me the rest of your life. Doesn't your faith require forgiveness of you?”

She frowned. It wasn't as if she'd been practicing her faith much since she'd met him. But he was right. She'd been taught to forgive as God had forgiven her.

She swallowed hard and then said, “Yes, I forgive you.” But the words brought her no comfort. Just saying them started a flood of tears she couldn't stop.

Not wanting to make a fool of herself, she pushed forward with the cart, causing the other soldiers to scatter. She continued down the street, weaving from side to side, her sight bleary behind her tears. Jonathan didn't follow.

She stopped a moment and wiped her eyes before continuing on. She hoped he'd keep his word and buy her contract, and then she would do her best to buy Berta's with the ruby ring. But she had no idea what they would do next. They had no money to get back home—and no guarantee Berta would survive the trip even if they did.

“There's not much of a market for carriages around here, I'm afraid,” one of the soldiers said loudly. “He won't get what he paid for it.”

Celeste didn't look back or respond in any way. The less she said, the better.

She'd been jilted. It was as simple as that. And it hadn't ruined just her life but Berta's too.

Before Jonathan, she would have prayed for guidance. But now she couldn't. Had she prayed at all since she met him that day in her parents' garden? She couldn't recall doing so. She'd been so set on pleasing him, on attaining what she wanted. She'd recited prayers she knew, but she hadn't prayed directly to the Lord, hadn't asked for His help.

And now she didn't feel as if she could, not after what she'd done. The thought of her sister, all alone in Norfolk, made her sick. So did the thought of both of them in Norfolk, with no means of support. But at least they would have each other. No matter what had happened with Jonathan, she had to get back to Berta.

As Celeste served ham slices and corn bread to a room full of soldiers that evening, she couldn't help but notice that Jonathan wasn't among them. Was he off courting the plantation owner's daughter?
Miss Mary Vines.
Celeste felt a wave of anger toward the woman. But
then she sighed. None of this was her fault. She wouldn't hold a grudge against her. Perhaps Celeste wasn't able to pray, but she needed to do all she could not to make her situation even worse.

Her thoughts returned to Jonathan. It was raining. Had his precious carriage become stuck in the mud?

She chided herself again. Bitterness toward Jonathan wouldn't help either.

She concentrated on her work as best she could. In the first dining room, several important-looking men sat around one of three tables. Celeste recognized Constable Jones from the jail, shoveling bluefish in a cream sauce into his mouth. He didn't acknowledge her. Then again, she'd seen him an hour earlier when she delivered the evening meal. She imagined he'd shoveled that into his mouth too.

Everyone, including Mr. Edwards, seemed to think that Sary's cooking was better since Celeste arrived. A variety of meals were coming out of the kitchen, all delicious. Business had picked up because of it. Celeste wasn't sure Sary would consider Celeste a friend, but it seemed she was trusting her more and more. For her part, Celeste was grateful for Sary's presence in her life. She'd gained some measure of comfort in spending so much time with the woman.

The diners were discussing a new slave code and how it would impact the need for indentured servants. They all seemed to defer to the man at the head of the table, who wore a long, dark wig and appeared to be not much older than her father.

“We'll definitely see a decrease in the number of indentured servants,” the man said. Celeste wanted to listen to the rest of the answer, but just then Mr. Edwards motioned to her from the door.

Once she was in the passageway, he whispered, “Tell Sary to finish up the bread pudding. The governor is looking forward to it.”

“The governor?” Celeste glanced back into the room. “The one with the black wig?”