So many losses. “And you?”
“I had been working for Hudson’s Bay Company till the war began but most of my time was spent as a Resistance fighter against the British and their allies.”
“I sensed you are a warrior most of all. Your scar tells me so.”
“A warrior? Those days are behind me, and I am not proud of all that I did.” Regret weighted his words. “In the fight I nearly took the life of the man who became my brother-in-law—a British officer.”
She paused, sensing more violence he’d left unsaid. “How did you come from Canada to the American back country? To Fort Pitt?”
“With the war full-blown I became an interpreter and guide, a liaison between the tribes and colonial governments and military. That has kept me engaged the past eight years. Now that the British have pushed back the French I might continue that work, but for the moment I am free to visit Virginia and my sister again.”
She felt a qualm for the first time as the repercussions of what he’d done set in. “With two strangers dogging your steps.”
“I never expected to fall into so fortunate a circumstance,non.” The amusement in his voice returned and she sensed they were on safer ground, a step away from any raw memories. “My sister will be delighted with your company. She can even sew us all new garments.”
More abundance. More gifts. Brielle looked to her skirt’s hem torn by brambles. Was Sylvie as generous as her brother?
“I don’t want to be beholden to her—or you.” Even now she was trying to think of ways to repay him in future though she had no work—no plan—
“I want no repayment if that is what you’re thinking. Your presence is payment enough.”
She looked up then but only saw the barest glimmer of him through the darkness, his pipe glowing like a star. “Why did you… rescue us?”
The silence between them lengthened, so fraught with feeling she held her breath.
“It was in my power to do something and so I did,” he finally said.
So simple an explanation for so grand and noble a gesture. She’d still not thanked him properly as words seemed woefully lacking…
Even now she felt a flicker of fear, half expecting something dire to happen and ruin his heroic deed. She was not used to kindness. To honor. She hardly knew how to behave in the face of it.
“I hope you know how very grateful I am, Bleu Galant. I speak for Titus, too.”
13
Soon they began to see fewer lone cabins in isolated clearings and more clusters of homes, grainfields and gristmills, even a small town or two. When they spent the night at an inn, the proprietor mistook them for a family.
“I have one empty room left for you and your wife and son, Mr. Galant.”
A little thrill passed through Brielle. Even Titus seemed proud when Bleu didn’t correct the assumption. Never mind that once Bleu had seen them safely to their lodging upstairs after a shared supper, he slept in the stable near their horses. Brielle lay down atop the unfamiliar mattress, a golden glow about her. It was enough to be thought of as Mrs. Galant for even a trice.
Week’s end brought them to the headwaters of the Rivanna River which, Bleu explained, ran from Charlottesville to the James River for almost fifty miles. Its watery journey from the foothills onto the Piedmont plain made her realize how vast Virginia was. Their mutual relief was palpable to have come so far unhindered. They’d weathered the wilderness and summer heat with its swarms of biting mosquitoes and black flies unscathed.
When Brielle thought she couldn’t go another step, Bleu pointed to a smudge of grey marring the horizon. “See the smoke from Orchard Rest’s chimneys?”
Could it be? They hastened toward it, their horses closing the distance, the high voices of children carrying over fields and woods. Next they passed into an immense orchard with more fruit trees than Brielle had ever seen in one place. Countless apples and pears, peaches and cherries, soon to be theirs for the taking. A handsome stone house on a hill came into view as well as other buildings resembling what seemed more a village than a plantation.
Bleu dismounted behind a one-story cottage near rows of apple trees. Charmed, Brielle wondered who lived there as he helped her from the saddle. Tired of riding, Titus was already running toward the distant childish voices with a zeal that made her eyes fill. He’d rarely been around other children. She hoped he’d meet lifelong friends.
Turning back to Bleu, she watched him hobble the horses. Through the trees lay the glint of a river. Suddenly self-conscious, she looked down at her worn, torn linen, one shoe missing a heel.
“As I said,” he reassured, obviously noting her dismay, “Sylvie will soon get-up new garments for us both.”
Taking her elbow, he started up the hill beneath the shade of full-grown oaks to Orchard Rest. A woman appeared in the doorway, joy etched across her face. Sylvie?
“Bonjour, frère!” she called, hurrying down the porch steps.
Smiling, Bleu quickened his pace and caught her up, swinging her round till her feet left the ground. Brielle looked down at the grass, not wanting to intrude on the tender moment.
