My Sister's Prayer (23 page)

“No, it's complicated,” Celeste said. “I'm still…bound to my contract. I'll explain it all later.”

Berta nodded and closed her eyes, obviously too ill to press for details.

A few minutes later, the captain appeared on the deck of the boat that would be taking them up the river. Soon a few more passengers arrived. Several loads of goods were wheeled by in carts. Mr. Horn appeared, leading two African women. Both were younger than Celeste and dressed in tattered clothes.

The man nodded as he passed by. “Looks like I was wrong about which girl died,” he said to Celeste.

“Thankfully so,” she answered through gritted teeth. Did he not care at all about the pain he'd put her through? She grieved for the girl who had died and wondered if her family would ever know.

He led the two slaves onto the vessel, a cargo boat known as the
York,
which was piloted by a Captain Doane. The first mate motioned for the other passengers to board, and Spenser scooped Berta up again. Once they were on deck, they huddled near the bow of the boat, Berta between Spenser and Celeste. The fresh air would be much better for her than going below. For now, the sun warmed them.

As Celeste soaked in the moment, gratitude flowed through her. Berta was alive, her contract bought. Now they just needed to get back to Williamsburg and safety before Constable Wharton realized what his wife had done.

C
HAPTER
F
IFTEEN

Celeste

A
fter the
York
arrived at the landing, Berta was allowed to ride in one of the wagons on the road to Williamsburg while Spenser and Celeste walked alongside it. It hadn't rained that day, so there was less mud than before.

Smoke rose from an unseen cabin to the left, out of the trees. Celeste wasn't sure how anyone besides those who grew tobacco made a living in Virginia. The red soil didn't grow much. Watching Benjamin and Joe work in the garden showed her the effort it took to produce vegetables, let alone a crop. The chicken manure helped. That worked for a garden but would be hard to support an entire field.

The land didn't seem to have as many opportunities as Jonathan had implied. Then again, he could have misled her. Celeste shivered. No, she would try to continue to think positively. Yes, she was disappointed in him, but she had no reason to believe he'd deceived her. He'd truly believed she wasn't coming. That and the false promise of the land grant had unsettled him.

Spenser, as he walked along, stepped closer to the wagon and asked Berta if she was all right.

She nodded. She had her eyes open now, taking in the scenery. Spenser had tucked his coat around her even though the day was now hot and humid.

Celeste mulled over whom she could ask to care for Berta. Even if Mr. Edwards would allow her to stay above the kitchen with Celeste and Sary, she wouldn't be able to check on her sister throughout the day. And it would be hard to get Berta up and down the loft ladder.

Berta couldn't go with Spenser to the carpenter shop either. There would still be no one to care for her, plus it would be scandalous for Berta to live with three men. Perhaps a woman in town would be able to help. Celeste would ask the Frenchmen first to see if they had any ideas.

As the trees thinned and the village appeared, Berta raised her head a little more. “This is Williamsburg?”

Celeste nodded.

“I expected it to be bigger. It isn't anything like what I imagined.”

“Who described it to you?” Celeste asked, wondering if someone in the Wharton household had been up the James this far.

“Oh, I had a few ideas just from what people mentioned, is all.”

Celeste didn't press for more of an answer than that. The rat-a-tat of the snare drums soon filled the air, reminding Celeste of Jonathan and his rejection of her once again. After they passed the green—which she searched for Jonathan out of habit, to no avail—they continued on down the street.

She told the wagon's driver to head to the Petits' house, and then she explained to Spenser as they walked how she had met the French-speaking Monsieur Petit in the inn and had asked him and his companion if they knew of anyone who might be in a position to take Berta in.

“And did he?” Spenser asked.

Celeste hesitated. “Not exactly. But he did agree to ask around. Perhaps he's found someone by now and can tell me where we should take her.” She didn't add that her biggest hope was that if she showed up on his doorstep and pleaded her case, the man and his wife would agree to take in Berta themselves.

Not wanting to delay the wagon's driver for too long, she rushed to
the door, gave it a knock, and asked the maid who answered if monsieur or madame were home.

“Just a moment,” the girl replied. While she was gone, Celeste turned and gave the wagon's driver a wave, hoping he had a few minutes to spare. He nodded in return.

She was again facing the door, still waiting, when she heard someone behind her yell out, “Jonathan!”

With a gasp, she twisted around to see Jonathan's carriage approaching from the rear—and he wasn't alone. A young woman perched beside him on the bench. His Miss Vine, no doubt.

“Jonathan!” someone cried again, and Celeste realized that was Berta's voice—though she had no idea how the girl had been able to call out so loudly, sick as she was.

He'd obviously heard it too because he drew his carriage to a stop just behind the wagon and climbed down. And though Celeste desperately wanted to hear his exchange with her sister, she was interrupted by a crisp, “May I help you?”

Celeste spun back around to see a woman standing in the doorway.

She was tall and thin, with her silvery hair pulled back in a bun and partly covered with a frilly cap. “I am Madame Petit.”

Forcing herself to ignore the scene in the street, Celeste introduced herself and explained that she was looking for someone to care for her sister, who was ill, just until she recovered. “I met your husband recently at the inn, where I work. He was quite kind and said he would try to help me figure something out.”

The woman frowned.

“I can pay,” she quickly added.

“Why us?” the woman demanded.

Celeste explained that her parents were French. “Huguenots. I was led to believe perhaps you were too.”

She pursed her lips. “Stay here. I'll speak with my husband.” The woman left, and Celeste returned her attention to the street.

Jonathan's companion was now sitting alone on the carriage bench, lips pursed and brow furrowed as she waited for him. He was standing
near the back of the wagon talking with Berta, though it looked as if their conversation was wrapping up.

He turned abruptly and climbed up into the carriage, took the reins, and gave them a snap, never once glancing toward Celeste as he rode off. She looked to Berta, who fell back along the wagon bench as if heartbroken—and Celeste was stabbed with yet another pang of guilt. She should have been the one to tell her sister what had happened. Instead, the poor girl had obviously learned it from Jonathan himself. Clearly Berta was devastated for Celeste—and for her own future as well.

Without a man to pay for their contracts or to look out for them, the sisters were vulnerable. Berta didn't know how lucky she was to have Spenser's care. True, he could only do so much, but he'd saved them from harm over and over already.

A rustling sound drew Celeste's attention back to the cottage doorway. “Is your sister in some sort of trouble?” It was Monsieur Petit, standing beside his wife.

Celeste shook her head. “No, sir. She's merely ill.” Celeste was the one in trouble, but she wouldn't tell them that.

“Why did you come to us?” he asked.

“I thought you might be
sympathique
.” Celeste shrugged her shoulders and then turned away. No matter how desperate she was, she wasn't going to beg—at least not anymore than she had already.

“Wait,” the woman said. Then quietly, “Husband…”

Celeste froze. She couldn't hear the rest of the Petits' conversation.

Finally madame said, “We'll care for her for a few days until you can figure something else out. It's our Christian duty, I suppose.”

Celeste turned toward them, choking back her tears. “
Merci
,” she whispered.

The Petits' home was well furnished, and they employed not just the maid but a cook as well. Spenser, carrying Berta, followed Madame Petit down a hallway to the back of the house to the sickroom. A cotlike
bed with fresh linen nearly filled the room, along with a small table with a pitcher and basin. The accommodations were a castle compared to the horror of the shed she'd been holed up in. The maid stepped into the room with a clean petticoat and chemise.

“Strip off her clothes,” Madame Petit said. Spenser followed the woman out, and as Celeste undressed her sister, the maid returned with water in the pitcher and a fresh cloth. Celeste bathed Berta, dressed her in the clean clothes, and then tucked her into the clean bed.

“Cook is heating some broth,” the maid said. “I'm Judith, by the way.”

“Thank you.”

“The Petits are good folks,” Judith said. “I'll be back with the broth in a few minutes.”

Celeste had so much she wanted to say to Berta. She knelt beside the bed. “I'm sorry for all that's happened.” Berta would be healthy and living in London if Celeste hadn't snuck down to the ship, causing her sister to follow her. True, Berta had made the choice to follow, but Celeste's sin of disobedience to their parents had led to unintended consequences for them both. “I'll do all I can to make sure you have a chance to get well.”

“Thank you.” Berta's voice was barely audible. “For all you've done for me. Caring for me on the ship, rescuing me from the Whartons. Bringing me here…”

Celeste's heart warmed at her sister's words. “Did Jonathan tell you what happened? When you spoke to him out on the street?”

Berta shook her head. “No. But I gather he betrayed you. Betrayed us.” Berta's eyes filled with tears, though from whose pain Celeste wasn't sure.

“I'll figure something out. I promise.” She almost added that at least Berta had Spenser, thinking it might comfort her to be reminded that there was still one decent man they could count on, but she held her tongue. That conversation could wait until Berta was feeling better.

Judith returned with the broth, and Celeste told Berta that she had to go. “I'll come back tomorrow to check on you. You'll be fine here.”

In the salon, she thanked the Petits again and offered half the money
she had left to the French couple, hoping the amount would convince them to care for Celeste longer than just a few days.

“Not now,” Madame Petit replied, pushing Celeste's hand back and then walking her to the door. “We'll discuss the matter and let you know a fair amount.”

“Merci,”
Celeste said. “I'll have the physician come and take a look at Berta.”

“Very well.” Madame Petit saw her to the door and then told her goodbye.

Spenser was waiting for Celeste outside, and together they walked toward the street.

“I couldn't have rescued Berta without you, Spenser,” she told him. “Once again, I'm indebted to you—”

He held up a hand to stop her. “I'm pleased to help, Celeste. I hope you know that.”

She nodded. She did. Thank goodness he'd been taken with Berta during their voyage and had befriended Celeste as well.

Spenser frowned. “I'm sorry, I really am, about Jonathan. But don't you think it's for the best? A cad like that doesn't deserve you.” His mouth turned up a little. “Things will work out for you.” He appeared so caring and kind that, for a moment, a sense of warmth filled her heart.

But then he had to be on his way, and once again she was alone. Celeste watched him hurry up Queen Street. Berta had no idea how fortunate she was to have Spenser interested in her. On the ship, Celeste's thinking had been so misguided. In her mind, she kept comparing him to Jonathan, telling herself that while both men were kind and caring, Spenser was not the type to speak to the captain with authority on their behalf. He was of a class of men who had no power, who could not get things done. If Jonathan had been there, on the other hand, he would have set the record straight right away, she'd told herself. He would have convinced the captain of their true predicament and gotten that ridiculous contract torn up and tossed overboard.