“But suppose a whole new world awaits you there?”
Their eyes met again, his bearing a challenge, hers clouded with doubt.
“There’s much to consider.” She reached out and squeezed his hand in friendship, but her expression remained clouded. “For now my newfound freedom is enough.”
18
William Blackburn returned and everyone along the Rivanna seemed to rejoice, Sylvie foremost. He came over the rise to the settlement with his chain men and markers and Noir, the black hound who’d replaced the irreplaceable Bonami after old age took him.
Weary and muddied by a recent rain, Will was clearly in high spirits to be home.Home.Once again, Bleu mulled the word. Where was home to him?
Where was Brielle’s?
Bleu stood at a distance as Will’s brood rushed forward like they’d done him at his return. A loving father, he scooped Jolie up into his arms and carried her toward the big house as the rest of his children cavorted around him. Sylvie stood on the porch, her joy palpable.
As Bleu watched all the Blackburns enter Orchard Rest, Titus came up behind him. “Is that the British Ranger everybody here talks about?”
“William Blackburn,oui. A celebrated Scots soldier who fought against France but has since come to his senses.Revenir à la raison.”
“I don’t want to be a soldier.” Titus’s intensity reminded Bleu his father had died in the last war. “I want to live along the Rivanna forever. I just wish my sister was here, too.”
“I understand, but she is in a far better, more beautiful place.”
Titus nodded, still downcast as Bleu gestured west.
“Would you care to see my land? It lies in back of the orchard.”
“The unfinished house on the hill?”
“Oui.” Bleu began walking through the apple trees as Titus trotted alongside him, nearly matching his long stride. “One day you’ll own your own land if you continue working here in the settlement.”
“How did you come by yours?”
“A gift from my sister and Blackburn.”
A generous ploy to ensnare me which never held much appeal till now.
Titus ran ahead of him, past rustling trees with dense shade to the sloping rise that offered a territorial view of bluish-tinted hills and valleys.
“Is this all yours?” Titus called as he circled one stalwart brick wall.
“Oui”—Bleu eyed the unfinished structure with renewed determination—“though it is far from done.”
“May I go inside?” Titus was already up the steps, hovering on the unfinished porch.
“Of course—but watch out for roosting pigeons.”
Titus disappeared from sight, leaving Bleu alone. All that needed doing seemed to shout at him. A front door begged hanging. Glass windows belonged in gaping frames. Rooms needed furniture. Carpenter he was not, though there were several fine Acadian woodworkers in the settlement. He came to a stop beneath an old oak, one of several surrounding the house like sentinels.
Titus reappeared, leaning out a window. “You should show Brielle.”
Bleu crossed his arms. “Why so?”
“She lived in a brick house like this when she was young and happy.”
Young and happy.
A potent combination. The remark reminded him of his own childhood, much the same. And what had he to show for it since? Years of fighting that had come to naught. Selling his services to the enemy in a bid for peace. And now? Nothing but this unfinishedmaison, an echo of his indecision.
