Saving The Marquise's Granddaughter (21 page)

Scalped? Johan associated this English word with the savages.

The captain took Scott’s elbow and led him away, the two of them arguing in English, something about just what it was that Christy did have need of. A gentle breeze wafted the scents of bread baking, fish frying, and the delicate aroma of strawberries. Johan’s stomach rumbled. Sometime soon, he required nourishment, and he must get some food into Suzanne when she awoke.

A man of middling years with a pleasant, round face, dressed in Dutch clothing, approached Johan, eyeing him critically. “I’m the agent for Vann’s Blacksmith and Carriage Shoppe. Do you understand?”

“Ja.”

“Good. We’ve need of two strong men.”

His evaluation made Johan feel like a draft horse at auction, and his gut clenched as he held his Suzie tighter. The man’s questions were rattled off so fast he had to think for a moment. “Ja, I know some blacksmithing. A little about wheelwright work but not much. I can work hard. Enough for two, even.” He glanced meaningfully at Suzanne.

The merchant frowned at this last comment, stroking his pointed beard. “Let me see what I’m able to do.” He turned around and strode back, seeking out the bursar.

Johan exhaled. Perhaps this would be his new master.

A deck hand shoved a trunk down behind Johan and indicated for him to sit with Suzanne. He lowered himself onto the hard wood, the raised leather straps chafing against the back of his legs.

“Danke.”

His wife groaned and rubbed her soft cheek against his own.

Closing his eyes, he tried to block out the sense of being in a market where instead of animals or produce, the human cargo was being examined and purchased. On the way to this new country, he hadn’t imagined this process to be so demeaning.

Blessedly the clouds now covered the sun, and he focused on the sounds of the waves lapping against the wooden wharf in time with his beloved’s gentle breathing. He still felt as though he were moving and rocking. And Suzanne, when would she awake?

When he opened his eyes, a gentleman dressed in fine attire was pointing at them, asking the ship’s owner something. Aware of his own dirty and rumpled clothing, which was of an inferior quality to begin with, Johan was suddenly ashamed. How could he have thought he was worthy of Suzanne? When she revived and realized her folly, would she forever rue that she hadn’t married a man like the one before him now? Everything about the merchant bespoke of affluence, from the gold cravat at his throat to the ornate silver buckles on his shoes.

The captain returned and stopped beside them. “It’s been arranged for you. Report to Vann’s Carriage shop in three days. He puts his new workers up at the inn at the end of the dock, and there’ll be a room and three meals a day there.”

But this beautiful woman he held in his arms? This lady from a noble family—to be a servant to such a man. To be bought. He shuddered that he might not have been able to care for his own wife, that she could have been purchased at a reduced price because of her sickness. Such couldn’t be God’s will.

~*~

Vann’s Blacksmith & Carriage Makers Shoppe

Johan descended the inn’s narrow stairs with ease now that he’d rediscovered his land legs. Scents of vanilla, strong coffee, and cinnamon greeted him at the bottom of the staircase in front of the proprietor’s desk.

“Good morning to ye.” Polly, the innkeeper’s wife, held out a trio of cakes atop a pewter plate.

Johan plucked one covered with sugar. “Danke.”

“Nay, they’re fer ye. Take ’em all.” She jiggled the plate. “Vann won’t be callin’ me stingy.”

“Thank you.”

“Sit yerself over at that round table, and I’ll pour ye some coffee afore ye head out.”

Johan tried to fit his legs under the table but finally turned sideways so that he could stretch them out. He didn’t want to break the furniture.

“Yer master is good, hard-working, and honest. But leave his daughter be,” the innkeeper’s wife had cautioned him. “She’ll bring yer meals and ale in the afternoon. Don’t be lookin’ at her or Vann’ll cuff ye. And his son will work alongside ye. Vann shows no favoritism to the boy over the workers.”

Shouldn’t
Vann’s own blood kin be treated differently—better? Johan hoped this meant that his master treated them all well—like sons. “Danke. I’ll come back later to check on my wife.”

“We’ll watch yer wee wife. Don’t worry yerself, eh?”

“Ja. Danke.”

Johan exhaled as he stepped out into the cobblestone street. His steps lightened as he headed to his new job. Vann was a good master and Suzanne would be watched over. Watching for carts and riders on horseback, Johan crossed the street to his new workplace.

Vann’s blacksmith and bustling carriage shop occupied almost an entire city block near the wharf. Johan ran a hand through his hair, surveying the impressive operation—not a country forge. What would the expectations be? He located the office, centered between the blacksmith and wheelwright shops. Inside, a big man, hat askew on his grizzled dark head, perched on a stool behind a high desk.

Vann’s muscular upper body suggested that, unlike some shop owners, he still engaged in his craft. He stood and ambled to the entryway, attired in a stained leather apron whose pockets bulged with tools. With skin the rich color of Suzanne’s café au lait, his master’s Dutch features combined with African, resulting in a happy blend.

The blacksmith extended his hand to Johan. “You must be my new servant, Johan?”

Johan clasped the man’s hand with both of his and bowed slightly.

His master gave him an odd look.

Johan’s stomach squeezed. He’d done something wrong already, his first day.

The older man chuckled and Johan’s face grew hot with humiliation. “I’m not laughing. I’m cheered a man from the continent would show such respect.” He lowered his voice and set his mouth in a firm line. “We have trouble here sometimes, because of my skin color.”

Johan frowned. “Why trouble? You cannot change how God made you.”

Vann’s large, dark eyes fixed on him, and Johan squirmed under his gaze. “I wish all felt as you do. Watch for any gangs of men, Johan. Tell me if more than three men are gathered out front. Learn our regular customers’ faces.”

“Ja.” Johan exhaled. He felt himself itching for a fight, an urge he’d hoped he’d left behind in the Palatinate, with Nicholas. Now his fists pulsed with blood flow, readying for action.

Why? Anger toward God, despairing Suzanne might forever bear this passage in ill effects upon her body and her mind. But not her soul. If anything, she possessed a new peace about her that he’d never sensed before.

“Tell me about yourself. All I know is that you’re robust and willing to work hard and learn new skills.”

“I want to learn many things. I hope to go to the frontier—to have my own land and a business.” A family, he thought, but didn’t say. “One day, that is.”

Vann smiled in approval. “Are you Dutch?”

“I’m from the Palatinate.”

“Not too far from there,” Vann noted. “My mother was from Amsterdam. She bought me this property after she sold her land in what is now New York colony.”

Which was where Suzanne was supposed to meet her brother.

Smoke and the smell of melting iron drifted in their direction. Metal clanged on metal.

“Come on. I’ll show you where the servants keep their belongings.” Vann strolled out front and led him around the ironworks area, the men lifting their eyes only briefly from the hot metal they melted in the forge.

Johan watched in fascination as one of the men deftly bent the metal into a fine large hook and then quickly twisted the other end, making it decorative.

“I’ll work hard for you, Master Vann.” Now wasn’t the time to ask him about how much longer he’d need to work to redeem Suzanne’s passage. But he needed to thank him.

Vann turned his head and smiled, his eyes agreeing with Johan’s statement. “I have quarters here for single men.” Vann placed his hands on his hips. “Do I understand you have a wife?”

“Ja.” Surely the blacksmith knew, since he was paying their room and board at the inn. “Ja, danke for allowing me to work longer so I may redeem her as well.”

Vann hesitated at the end of a long, low building. “My apologies, but I don’t know what you speak of.”

Thankfully, Vann had turned away and didn’t see Johan’s consternation and confusion.

“Come in and see the men’s living quarters.”

What about Suzanne? He’d have to broach the subject again.

Vann gestured down the long interior. “A hammock for each man, blanket, pillow, and trunk. The necessary is out back. We provide hot water daily. Most men bathe once or twice a week because of sweat. We offer wash water morning, noon, and night. Clean towel given daily.”

“Very generous.” He was surprised.

“A happy worker is a good worker, and a clean one is a healthy one.”

Johan nodded. “My mother also had this saying.”

Vann adjusted a trunk askew beneath a creamy rope hammock.

“Your married men—where do they stay?”

Vann straightened. “Never had one before.”

Johan tapped his hat against his thigh. “There’s no place here for us?”

“Afraid not. But let me see.”

Birds chirped and flew into a cherry tree nearby, the pair small, likely only hatched earlier that spring. Didn’t seem possible he’d known Suzanne only a short while. There must be a way for them to be together.

“Where do you wish to start—smithing or wheelwork?”

“I want to learn it all.”

Vann laughed. “Most start with the easy jobs. But we have a large carriage wheel we must complete. Willing to try?”

“
Ja,
show me where to start.”

A youth, dressed in work clothes that hung on his slight frame, joined them.

“This is my son, Abram. He’ll take you to the master wheelwright.”

Vann’s son, a slighter version of his father, pressed his lips together in disapproval.

“How do you feel about belonging to a black man?” Abram’s voice held a challenge.

Johan clenched his jaw, unsure if he understood the odd comment.

Abram repeated it.

“I belong to God, and I don’t think He has a skin color.” Johan replied. “But if He did, it would be like all of ours mixed together, because we’re made in His image.”

“You like your Bible?” Vann’s jovial voice cut some of the tension. “You and Abram share faith then.” His employer trotted out with great quickness for a man his size.

The younger man watched as Johan emptied his haversack into a wooden box that Vann had pointed out for his use.

“You may attend church on Sundays, but during the week you do what Father says, when he says it. Understand?”

Johan’s neck muscles bunched. “Ja. I’ll work for him like a slave works for a master.”

The young man’s eyes widened and he took a step back. “I didn’t mean you’re our slave. But Father owns your time for the next few years.”

“Unless I can purchase my contract sooner.” He had to, if he was to be together with Suzanne.

20

Utter darkness. How long had Suzanne’s eyes remained closed? Her mind commanded her body to move, to revive, while another softer voice suggested that she lie still and listen. Long, slow breaths, eerily similar to winter’s wind, stirred the air nearby. Someone else lay in this room, in a deep sleep. Not a single candle pierced the darkness. Where she sensed there should be windows, she could perceive no light. Was this purgatory?

No, she’d been in purgatory and now she was released. Those horrendous sounds were missing, the passengers’ agony and their death rattles.
The cacophony
. A torment of groans that persisted for the longest time. The howls of Hades surrounding her. Groaning wood, people coughing, children crying, men arguing, women scolding, and the pious praying.

Now just a velvet darkness and silence other than a nearby companion’s even breathing.

She should pray. Suzanne searched under the covers for her grandmother’s rosary. Nothing. Must remain calm. No fever now, but she trembled. Someone in the soft bed rolled toward her. She lay back as a heavy, well-muscled arm wrapped around and clutched her waist. Had she not been so startled, she’d have screamed, but her very breath was sucked out of her. Stiffening herself into stillness, she heard the man’s even breathing resume and carefully snaked her hand out from under the coverlet. She inched away from him to the mattress’s edge.

Her eyes needed to adjust to the dark room, for she could distinguish nothing. Heart pounding, she took a deep, shaky breath. A vague recollection, of being thrown over someone’s shoulder like a sack of feed, seized her. Had she been bought by this man?

“I’ll be a good husband, I promise.” The man’s German words were sleepy, slurred, but his voice recognizable. But from where? The man rolled away, pulling the coverlet with him.

Was this her husband? When had a ceremony and the exchange of vows occurred? Her head ached as though someone had thumped it with a wooden bucket. But she was alive. Tugging at the quilts, she covered herself and lay there for what seemed like hours, drifting into and out of sleep.

At first light, Suzanne lowered herself from the high bed. With sunlight drifting through slatted shutters, lines illuminated a rag rug of vibrant colors that covered a large portion of the planked floor. She swayed and grabbed one of the elaborately carved bedposts, its grapes and vines similar to one she’d seen in Paris, a Caribbean import. The vague recollection of Etienne being sent to the islands came to her. They were to have married and gone there together. Hadn’t they? She rubbed her head.

The shaggy golden head on the pillow didn’t belong to Etienne LeFort. Glimpsing his broad back above the sheet, she saw no comparison with her beau. She patted her muslin nightgown. Had he dressed her? Undressed her? Heat sped up her chest.

Shaking, she went to the washstand, thankful when she spied water in the tall ceramic pitcher, its basin chipped but clean. Making her way, she almost stumbled, found her feet covered by a blanket and a pillow, as though someone had slept on the floor but had gotten up. Untangling herself, she continued to the wooden stand. Thank goodness, it was sturdy, for she needed to lean upon it for a moment to steady herself.