Saving The Marquise's Granddaughter (22 page)

A ball of soap lay atop a stack of cloths. She slowly poured a modest amount of the cool water into the bowl. Then, lifting a rough square of fabric, she saturated it in the cool water before wrapping it around the fragrant bayberry soap. She washed her face slowly, deliberately, enjoying the feel of cleansing her gritty skin.

Dear God, I’m alive. Alive
!

All of her needed a good washing, but not in front of this stranger. A sudden movement in her periphery startled her. The cloth and soap plopped into the receptacle, water splashing on her bodice. Suzanne backed away from the stand, wiping at her chest, the flesh bony and hard. Turning toward her left, she caught the reflected movement in a silvered mirror on the wall above a burlwood bombe chest. In the mirror, she viewed a woman whose dark hair hung lank around a white face, punctuated by dark circles under her eyes. Hollows in her cheeks made her appear much older than her years. Suzanne’s hands flew up to her face. She looked dreadful indeed.
Très miserable
.

But she was alive. Still here. Pressing a hand above the beating of her heart, she closed her eyes and tried to steady herself as her legs began to tremble, unaccustomed to bearing her weight.

What kind of man would have wanted a wife such as this? So dirty. She must bathe. The basin water was cool. She’d request hot water for a bath.

“Good morning!” A man’s deep voice boomed from behind her.

Suzanne’s heart seemed to drop into her stomach. Raising her eyes to the mirror, a smooth-faced young man reflected back at her. Blue-green eyes twinkled. Could it be? Was it the young man from the forest near Grand-mère’s—only older? Her breath caught in her chest. The portrait had come to life. How? Rooted to the spot, she stared at him as he sat up in the bed. The coverlet fell, revealing his wide muscled shoulders and a slim torso dark from the sun. He smiled broadly at her, revealing large white teeth. Reaching behind her, she felt for the chair and lowered herself into it.

She averted her gaze from the mirror, her back to the woodsman’s nephew, when she realized he could be naked. “
Arrêtez.
Stop. Stay right there. I won’t look.” Little good this sheer chemise would do her, but it was something.

“Ja, all right, but I have my sleeping pants on.”

Suzanne couldn’t help looking up at his bare back in the mirror. She barely noticed her own body, but now quickly ran her hands over herself.
Mince,
too thin. A wave of dizziness washed over her. She rested her head on her hands. How had they come to be together? With her eyes closed, she saw his face covered with a short beard. His face was fuller and his body bulkier. Johan—he’d ridden with her through the forest. “You’re Johan. Oui?”

Silence. Another face flashed through her mind, similar to this one. The kind brother had a beard. The other one looked more like this man.
Please, Lord, don’t let him say his name is Nicholas.

“You don’t know me?” His strained voice was the same as the one she’d heard in the horrible place she’d been.

He’d been with her there. Through it all. But no. She didn’t remember. Even so, she had clarity that the One who also accompanied them was with her now. She wanted to keep Him always near. She was a new creation and belonged to Him.

“No, monsieur. I’m very sorry. I cannot say for certain.”

An ache began on the top of her head and continued down through her neck. No, things were not the same at all.

~*~

“Ja, I’m Johan.” His wife didn’t know him. God was surely having a good joke on him. Why had the Lord turned his back on him? Was he being punished for being so foolish to think he might have a life together with Suzanne? He’d work as many extra jobs as he could to pay off her contract. He’d talk with Vann again today.

“Johan.” She exhaled his name as though relieved.

“Let me help you back to bed.”

“No!”

He couldn’t help smiling. She must be getting better to already be resisting his suggestion. As he walked to her, he explained, “Suzie, you need to get your strength back. It’s been weeks since you’ve walked.”

“Weeks?”

Before she could protest, he slid an arm around her back and the other under her legs.

Her eyes searched his face.

“No beard. Do you like it better?”

“I…” She dropped her head back against his neck.

Wetness from her eyes dripped down his tunic’s collar. He’d upset her. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to make you cry. I didn’t want you to fall and hurt yourself.”

“Merci.” Her voice was a fragile as a robin’s egg.

“The doctor will come see you tonight. He wanted to talk with you once you were awake again.”

But she was already asleep in his arms.

After placing her back in bed, Johan departed for work, trudging toward Vann’s. This wasn’t good. But God would want him to be patient. He went about his work, surprised at the number of young ladies who frequented the blacksmith’s shop. And all so friendly.

When he returned from work, Suzanne sat by the desk, which doubled as a vanity, and brushed her hair. Her hand shook as she laid it down.

He closed the short distance between them and resisted the urge to kiss her forehead. “Good to see you up. How are you feeling?” He reached to push a stray lock of her dark hair from her forehead, but she pulled away.

“I was able to dress.” She frowned as she spread her skirt around her. “Whose clothes are these?”

She’d worn this outfit in the Palatinate. “My mother remade her dress for you.”

“I see. It isn’t comfortable and it’s much too big.” She held her arms out. The bodice almost flapped open and she pinched it together.

Johan felt his face flush. “Maybe pin it together for now.”

“Can you pull the laces tighter on the back? That would help.” She stood by the desk, turned, and rested her hands on the wood surface.

Yes, he could, but his fingers fumbled as he tried to unknot the lacing. Starting from the top, he pulled them in until he got to the bottom. He hesitated, taking care to not brush his fingers against the small of her back. He didn’t want any more tears today. She seemed frightened of him. And a good puff of Philadelphia breeze would blow her back out to sea. “You have to eat your meal tonight.”

She turned and narrowed her eyes at him. “You shoveled gruel into my mouth, didn’t you?”

He’d rather have her angry than wetting his shirt again. “Ja,
I made you eat.”

She shrugged her bony shoulders. “I want good food. Not pig slop.”

Oh, no.
He swallowed. Was he supposed to provide food like she ate at court? Impossible. “Tell me what you want.”

“Strudel and roast pork.” Her pale hands flew to her pretty mouth.

He laughed. “Ja, that’s good. You remember Mama’s cooking.”

To his relief she laughed, too.

Her shoulders rose and then fell. “I remember my efforts, too!”

He stroked his chin and chuckled. “Unforgettable.”

She slapped at his arm. “I thought you were a kind man. That wasn’t nice.” She affected a charming pout.

He could kiss those pouting lips, feel her arms wrap around his neck. Carry his wife to the bed. He pulled away and cleared his throat. “No, I’m always getting in trouble with you for teasing.”

Her brows worked together. “My head aches, Johan, when I try to think. I want to remember, though.”

“You will, in time.” He hoped.

She stared hard into his eyes. “Do you have any proof of our wedding? Something?”

He opened his mouth but had no answer. “I wasn’t thinking of that at the time.”

“The priest’s name—can we find him here in Philadelphia and speak with him?”

“Father Francois.” He pulled at a loose thread on his vest.

She tilted her head. “Father Francois, that’s all?”

He shrugged.

“Johan, you told me the ship was mostly Lutheran Germans immigrating together.”

He nodded.

“Why would a priest be on board?”

His breath caught in his throat. “I don’t know. I didn’t ask.” He clenched his hands.

She pressed her eyes tightly. “Why not?”

“I had more important concerns at the time!” He shouted. He’d never raised his voice to her before and he felt his cheeks heat in embarrassment.

Suzanne’s eyes flew open and pulled away from him. “Are you preparing to hit me?”

“No! Never.” He exhaled in frustration.

“You punched your brother.”

Johan dropped his head. “Ja. He insulted you.” Implied she was a harlot.

Amber eyes pierced his in accusation. “Get me the evidence of this wedding.” She turned away, but not before two glistening teardrops fell.

He’d failed again. Made her cry and had shouted at her. “Suzie, I’m sorry. Please forgive me.” He left to get the doctor, closing the door behind him. The lock was quickly bolted on the other side. Would she let him back in?

Soon he returned with Dr. Gill, a Welshman, who spoke in such a thick accent that Johan could barely understand him. But it sounded as if he said that in time Suzanne may recover her memory. And that she should get her strength back.

But it almost sounded as if he’d asked if she was with child.

Johan had been tempted to reply that it would only be possible if there had been some miracle. But he thought better of making such a jest. How miraculous that she was alive. And if she never regained her memory and if she wished to be free of him, then he’d need to seek advice.

He’d sent word to her brother and to his own family of where they were. Perhaps they could help him sort this all out.

He’d never felt so alone in his life.

21

Every noise, even Johan’s slow steps in their room, caused Suzanne’s head to pound. Although three days had passed, since she awoke, her recollection of the time since her mother died was like a mosaic that had shattered. Now she picked up the pieces and tried to force them back into a picture frame. Fragments, perhaps dreams, intruded that didn’t belong in the artwork.

Johan placed water on the side table and a plate of bread and cheese.

She pushed her head into the pillow as he bent to kiss her good-bye, his warm lips barely grazing hers, but sending a shiver through her nonetheless.

He opened his eyes and looked into hers as he pulled away, frowning.

The memory of standing at the altar with Etienne must have been an illusion. But she remembered him asking her to marry him. Gripping Johan’s arms, she pulled him closer. “I was promised to someone else. I don’t remember marrying you.”

He leaned in, his weskit brushing against her chemise, the heat from his neck warming hers. Johan whispered softly into her ear, “I promise you’ll remember in time.”

Suzanne gasped at this intimacy, taking in short quick breaths. When he was this close, she yearned to be well. To accept what he said were truths.

“You must eat what they bring up today,
frau
.”

“Oui,” she heard herself whisper as he drew away from her.

“Good!” He brushed his warm hand against her cheek.

She must look a fright. But why should she care if he saw her like this? As she drifted off to sleep, she had another recollection. He’d seen her worse—in pig slop. They’d lived on a farm together. And heavens! He’d come into her room at night. Why would she have allowed such a thing? And if she had…no, surely not. But had they been intimate? Was she with child? How could she ask him such a thing?

He seemed to be such a good man. From experience she knew things weren’t always as they seemed. Not recalling why, Etienne was the man she associated with that understanding. Not Johan.

Where was her betrothed now? As she drifted off to sleep, she pictured his plantation in the Caribbean—where they’d hoped to live. But in her dreams, he stood at a dock, with his arm around an island woman. When she awoke, the light filtering through the wooden shutters suggested that Johan should be home soon. Home? This place? She laughed. Still, she admitted, this room was better than that foul ship. That horror.

Suzanne gingerly rose from the bed. Forcing herself to avoid looking in the small mirror, she stepped to the basin and wet a cloth, lathered it with the new ball of fragrant soap, and began to wash. She inhaled its scent, recalling a warning onboard ship—“You’ll be housed in rough quarters.” Stiffening at the thought, she shook it away. What a blessing that she hadn’t been sent off to work in servitude. Staccato raps at the door startled her and she jumped.

“Who is it?” she called out.

“It’s Jemmy, miss, I mean missus, come to change your sheets, if you please.” The maid sounded on the verge of tears, her voice tremulous.

“One moment, please!” Suzanne slipped her feet into the delicate leather slippers that Johan had secured for her since they had arrived. They were soft and had molded perfectly to fit her feet. Still a little dizzy, Suzanne crossed the floor and pulled open the door.

Indeed, there were tears in the chambermaid’s eyes. She sniffed behind the pile of sheets she clutched in her arms.

“You’ll not complain because I’m late, are ye, miss? I mean missus? Or because I forgot to wake yer husband?”

“He isn’t…no, I…” She clamped her mouth shut.

The young woman looked her up and down and smiled in approval. “That did fit ye well, after all. T’was a struggle for Mother and me to get it on ye! And those undergarments yer man bought ye.”

Relief ebbed through her as she took a deep breath and then exhaled. Johan hadn’t dressed her. “Thank you for your kindness.”

Jemmy pursed her lips as though considering. “Yer master, miss, he’s in town for a bit…”

Master? Her knees sagged, but Jemmy dropped the sheets and caught Suzanne before she sank to the floor.
Oh, Lord, no.
That memory was real—they had redeemed their passage. And God hadn’t removed this cup from her.

“Oh, miss! The colonel is a good man. And generous, oh my, yes.” Jemmy released her. “Well, at least that handsome ward of his is—Wyatt Scott.” The young woman assisted Suzanne up and led her to the padded settee before the hearth.

“Merci. I had…” Suzanne couldn’t tell this young woman that she had no intention of serving as a slave to this man, no matter how good. Guy would redeem her shortly. And where was Etienne now? She should send word to him.