Chapter 12 #2
Titus grinned as Brielle took a last, fleeting look at the place that had made a lasting memory.
Atop Windigo, Bleu led out again and her view narrowed to her roan’s velvety ears and just beyond it.
She was becoming used to all the lines and contours of him astride.
Back straight, his dark hair caught in a leather tie that fell between squared shoulders, he rode almost effortlessly, a striking blend of balance and command.
She felt clumsy in comparison though the saddle was extraordinarily well made, even comfortable, and Titus made no complaint riding behind her.
Somehow they sensed they needed to be quiet.
Talking was reserved for mornings and evenings out of the saddle.
Caution became their watchword. Thankfully, the further east they traveled the less the danger, Bleu had told them.
As they rode through deep green woods and flowering thickets, past high-as-the-heavens waterfalls spilling over clifftops, and up and down steep ridges teeming with creatures large and small, she had no cause for complaint.
It put them further from the Rose and Crown and the diminished life they’d led there.
That night once they’d washed at a rushing creek and partaken of a cold supper, Titus fell asleep atop his blanket roll. Across from her, Bleu leaned back against the trunk of an oak, Mohawk pipe in hand, the fragrant tobacco whitening the air between them.
Though drowsy, she’d rather savor her surroundings and his company than sleep. In the last of the light she sat and mended Titus’s torn breeches with the sewing kit she’d brought. “So, now that you know my story,” she began quietly, “when will you tell me yours?”
“My story?” Though she didn’t look up she sensed he smiled. “Perhaps it’s better left untold.”
“I would hear every bit of it, even the hard parts,” she said, her stitches hurried as darkness rushed in.
“We have much in common. Is that not enough?” he replied. “We are both homeless. Unwed. Without work. Attached to a child not our own.”
“There is much more to you than that.”
He chuckled and took another draw on his pipe. “I will give you the short of it as you said.”
Would he? What she wanted was the long of it, too. Looking up, she saw stars winking, the moon a mere crescent as it rose. She continued her mending though she was tempted to stop what she was doing and focus fully on him. Modesty kept her from it. Perhaps it was easier to speak freely unobserved?
“I was born in Acadie, as you know,” he began.
“My French father, Gabriel Galant, was head of our clan there. My Mi’kmaq mother died before I could walk, and he remarried an Acadian woman.
I spent a great deal of time with my mother’s people and learned their ways well.
I also spent time with my half-sisters and half-brothers—Sylvie, Pascal, Lucien, and Marie-Madeleine—until the great upheaval happened. ”
“The expulsion when the British invaded and took your lands.”
“Oui, le Grand Dérangement.” He paused and she held her breath.
Was the subject too sore?
“I recall displaced Acadians arriving in Philadelphia and living on Pine Street.” She set her sewing aside. “My mother and I attended St. Joseph’s Church on William’s Alley where some of them worshipped and even wed.”
“More than a few landed in Philadelphia, oui, while the Galants and their kin were scattered to the winds. Only Sylvie and I survived—or so we believe. Our brothers tried to flee and avoid exile. We don’t know their fate. My Acadian mother and father and young sister were lost at sea.”
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.”