Remembered (50 page)

A faint smile shone through Sampson’s beard. “Having riches can change a man. Can change the people around him too—and not for the better. Makes it hard to tell the true friends from the false.” Sampson shifted his weight and looked over at him. “Learnin’ to be content was a costly lesson for me, and what I gained wasn’t worth what I lost.”

Shadows crept over Sampson’s face, and even without knowing what loss the man was referring to, Jack felt the keenness of it.

Sampson cleared his throat. “But the Almighty has a way of bringin’ good from the worst. And I believe a man will have to give account for what he’s done with what God’s given him.”

Jack nodded. “I agree.”

A gleam lit the older man’s eyes. “Are you familiar with the phrase ‘giving without lettin’ your left hand know what your right hand is doing,’ Brennan?”

Jack stared as the mystery of this man fell away in gradual shades. He laughed softly. “Yes, sir, I’m familiar with that Scripture.” Miss Maudie motioned to him again, and he acknowledged her with a wave.

Sampson clapped him on the back. “Well, good, then . . . I believe that’s enough said. You go on now, son. You’ve got a celebration to get underway.”

————

Véronique followed the crowd of guests down the slope to the pasture, the well-lit path illumined by the soft glow of lanterns. She searched for Jack. The last time she’d seen him, he’d been speaking with Miss Maudie.

Oddly, she didn’t feel uncomfortable walking by herself. Maybe the obscurity of darkness helped, but despite having seen several of the vendors to whom she owed money, she felt as if she was among friends this evening. Undoubtedly, Mrs. Hochstetler’s lack of attendance bolstered that feeling.

Blankets were spread on the ground in a large circle, the circumference bordered by six-foot torches that bathed the ground in golden light.

Finding a place, she settled back, stretched her legs out in front of her, and arranged her skirt. The sun, now hidden behind the mountains, left a sliver of orange glow cradled in the cleft of the highest summit. Fistfuls of stars God had flung into the heavens at the beginning of time shone with a brightness she could not remember seeing before.

She heard laughter behind her and glanced over her shoulder. Miss Maudie was being carried down the slope . . . by Bertram Colby! And they were headed straight for her!

Monsieur Colby gently situated Miss Maudie on the blanket beside her.

“Bless you, Mr. Colby.” Miss Maudie smoothed her dress. “That was most kind of you, sir. And let me tell you—it was far more excitin’ than that wheelchair Doc Hadley would have me careenin’ down the hill in.”

He removed his hat. “It was my pleasure, ma’am. And I’d be happy to carry you back up after we’re done, seein’ as you couldn’t find your cane.”

Miss Maudie gazed up at him with all the vim of a young schoolgirl. “Be careful, Mr. Colby. You do that and I’ll start to think I’ve died and gone to heaven.”

“Well, ma’am, seein’ as I already consider myself there, I guess I’m one step ahead of you.” Smiling, Monsieur Colby tipped his hat and excused himself.

Slack-jawed, Véronique watched the smooth-tongued
racaille
walk away, then giggled when Miss Maudie grinned at her.

The older woman leaned close. “How can I be thankin’ you enough, Véronique, for introducin’ me to that handsome man? Though I’m a wee bit peeved to think you traveled with him all the way from New York City and didn’t breathe a word about him to me till now.”

Véronique laughed. “If it helps to reinstate me to your good graces . . . Monsieur Colby requested an introduction to you as soon as you rose to speak tonight.” She raised her brow. “He was quite taken with you from the very first.”

Miss Maudie patted her arm. “You’re forgiven of everything, my dear. And don’t be tellin’ anyone, but my cane is hidden beneath the shrubs by the kitchen.”

The clang of a bell drew their attention, and Véronique spotted Jack walking through the crowd to the front of the gathering. He held a
torche
in his hand, and a flush of pride swept through her again. She sat a little straighter, wondering what he was going to do.

“Ladies and gentlemen . . .”

She smiled at the formal tone he’d adopted.

“On behalf of Miss Maudie, I welcome you again to Casaroja this evening and want to share a few words before we continue our celebration.”

Véronique wasn’t certain, but from the way he kept looking in her direction, she wondered if he knew where she was seated.

“Though it’s the first time I’ve done this at Casaroja, this celebration is something I’ve enjoyed hosting for the past thirteen years. And I wasn’t about to let go of the tradition. My thanks to Jake Sampson, Patrick and Bobby Carlson, Bertram Colby, and Callum Roberts for their able assistance in setting things up.”

At the mention of Callum Roberts, Véronique craned her neck to search the crowd for the pauper she’d met in town. Sure enough, there he was, sitting with the Dunstons a few blankets over.

“As Miss Maudie shared earlier, our country is ninety-five years old today, and—”

Applause and cheers rose from the crowd. Véronique found herself clapping along.

Once everyone quieted, Jack continued. “As we’ve enjoyed dinner and dancing tonight, and as we watch the festivities in a few minutes, I hope we’ll pause and remember men such as Carter Braxton of Virginia. Braxton was a wealthy planter and trader whose ships were attacked and destroyed by the British navy during the fight for independence. Braxton sold his home and his properties to help finance the war . . . and he died penniless.

“Before being captured by the British, Richard Stockton of Princeton, New Jersey, managed to get his family to safety. But he was held prisoner for several years, separated from his wife and family, and lost all of his property during the British invasion.”

Véronique sensed empathy and a common unity being woven through the crowd, and she wondered who of those gathered were related to messieurs Braxton and Stockton.

As Jack continued to speak, she couldn’t help but notice how he commanded everyone’s attention. Never demanding it, never coercing, and yet he held the crowd’s unwavering focus.

“These men were among the fifty-six signers of our Declaration of Independence. They weren’t wild-eyed, rabble-rousing ruffians. They were soft-spoken men of means and education. They had security, but they valued their liberty, and ours, more.”

With little effort, she envisioned Jack Brennan guiding families across this country, and she imagined those families following him eagerly. What was it about him that inspired such trust? That made a person want to follow him?

And made her so grateful to be with him?

Miss Maudie reached over and took her hand, and Véronique realized Jack was leading them in prayer. She bowed her head.

“Father, would you make us more grateful for what you’ve given us in this country, and for the sacrifices of those who’ve spilled their blood. Would you make our government strong and keep us rooted in the faith of our forefathers. Help us to see our lives through eternal eyes and to realize that this life—though priceless—is but a vapor. And finally we ask . . . make us more like Christ, Father. No matter the cost.”

An echo of amens trickled through the crowd, and Véronique added hers in a soft whisper. When she looked up, she couldn’t see Jack any longer. The torches had been extinguished.

A resounding boom echoed and, instinctively, she looked skyward.

The night sky exploded with bursts of
rouge
and
blanc
. Another pop sounded and a streak of
bleu
shot straight up into the darkness, then blossomed into a plume and rained down toward the plains.

Miss Maudie joined others in clapping. “Isn’t it beautiful!”

Gasps and cheers punctuated the explosions, followed by resounding applause.

Véronique had witnessed displays of fireworks before, but this experience captured something that none of the others had. Perhaps it stemmed from being in a new place, or from being overtired, or maybe anxious about what her future held. But with every burst of color that lit up the dark night sky, the slight ache in her throat grew more pronounced.

But it wasn’t sadness she felt. Quite the contrary.

She’d never had less in her life in a material sense, she’d never had so little security in terms of her future, she’d never before seen herself so clearly, with all her faults and shortcomings—and yet she’d never been more content in all her life.

————

“Mr. Brennan!”

Jack turned to see Pastor Carlson walking toward him, with his daughter, Lilly, in his arms. Mrs. Carlson and Bobby trailed behind. Jack quickly scanned the area to see if Véronique was around. He thought he’d seen her and Miss Maudie head into the house shortly after the fireworks display. He knew she wanted to talk to the Carlsons tonight but wondered if waiting might be better.

Most of the guests had already left, or were preparing to leave.

“That was some show you put on. Our family really enjoyed it.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” With a nod, Jack acknowledged his appreciation, noting the fatigue on Lilly’s face. “I enjoy doing it.”

Carlson set his daughter down. “You okay, honey?”

“I’m fine, Papa.” Lilly glanced at Jack before lowering her gaze.

“Brennan” —Pastor Carlson’s smile was fleeting—“I’m wondering if you might know where Mademoiselle Girard is. We need to speak with her about . . . a new development.”

Dread moved through him. Jack knew that delaying the discussion wouldn’t make it any easier, but the Carlsons having heard about her situation secondhand would only make Véronique feel worse. “I believe she’s with Miss Maudie.”

He led the way inside. Miss Maudie was seated in the front room, her foot elevated on a table. Bertram Colby sat beside her and Véronique was nearby. Her hand went to her midsection when she saw the Carlsons.

“Miss Girard,” Pastor Carlson said as he slipped an arm around his daughter’s shoulders, “I know it’s late, but we’d like to speak with you about something.”

Véronique’s face went pale, and Jack read her thoughts. “Certainly.” She leaned down and whispered something to Miss Maudie.

Miss Maudie squeezed her hand and nodded.

“Pastor and Mrs. Carlson, and Lilly,” Véronique motioned to the study, “we could speak more privately through here, if you prefer.”

Jack knew this was hurting her. But it wasn’t wounded pride he saw in her soft brown eyes. It was loving remorse, and determination.

“Bobby!” Bertram Colby stood and pulled something from his pocket. “I’ve got some fangs off a rattler I killed a couple of weeks back. Thought you might want to see them.”

The boy’s eyes went wide.

“Jack, would you join us too, please?”

Jack turned to see Véronique paused in the doorway of the study, waiting. He lightly touched her hand as he passed, and could feel her dread as she latched the door behind her.

“Miss Girard, we appreciate your time.” Patrick Carlson stood with his wife by the sofa. Their expressions were gracious, especially considering the circumstances. Lilly sat on the sofa next to them. “I realize the hour is late, but Lilly didn’t feel like she could leave tonight without speaking to you about this.”

Véronique blinked, her throat worked. “I understand completely, Pastor. Please know that it was my intent to speak with your family this evening, before you learned this news from someone else. I should have come to you earlier, I realize, but . . . pride got in my way. And my dread at seeing your response once you learned the truth.”

Jack saw the look that passed between Pastor and Mrs. Carlson and Lilly before Véronique did—because her head was bowed.

“I do not know what you have been told, Pastor . . .” Véronique lifted her gaze. “But I would appreciate the opportunity to state what happened, so that there are no misunderstandings.”

“Miss Girard, I’m not quite sure what you’re referring to.” Pastor Carlson stepped closer. “We’ve asked to speak with you because Lilly has something she wants to say.” He smoothed a hand over his daughter’s dark hair. “She’s afraid that her decision will hurt you or, greater still, will cause you to be disappointed in her.”

Lilly bowed her head. Her shoulders gently shook.

Véronique glanced between them. “I fear it is I now who do not understand.”

Hannah Carlson took a place beside her daughter on the sofa. “Lilly,” she said softly, then whispered something Jack couldn’t hear.

Lilly raised her head. “Mademoiselle Girard, I’m so grateful for what you’ve offered to do for me.” Her lips trembled. “And please don’t think that I haven’t thought about this a lot, and prayed about it, because I have. But I’ve decided I don’t want to have the surgery.”

Confusion lined Veronique’s expression.

“I’ve read all the material from the surgeon, mademoiselle, and I’ve had time to think about it. I know that if I have the procedure there’s a good chance I may walk normally again. Or that I’ll at least be able to keep walking as I do now. But there’s also a chance I won’t.” Her hands shook as she spoke. “You’re so brave, Mademoiselle Girard. You left Paris to come here to search for your father, to a strange country where you didn’t know anybody.”

Jack snuck another look beside him, knowing the conditions under which Véronique left Paris. Tears streaked her cheeks.

Lilly pushed to standing and walked to where Véronique stood. “But the more I’ve thought about doing this, the more I feel inside” — she touched the place over her heart—“that I just shouldn’t. I can’t explain it. I only hope you’re not disappointed in me.”

Véronique tucked a strand of hair behind Lilly’s ear. “From the day I stepped foot into Willow Springs, I have admired your courage. I do not think it is possible for me to be disappointed in you, Mademoiselle Carlson.” She hugged Lilly tight.

They parted, and a shaky smile turned Lilly’s mouth. “I’ll just leave it up to God whether I ever get to have that dance or not.”

Véronique leaned close until their foreheads touched. “Oh, you will dance,
ma chérie
. Of that I am certain—in here.” She touched the place over her own heart.