My Sister's Prayer (32 page)

Celeste couldn't help but smile back.

After he was gone, she scooted close to the window, wrapped the pork in the cloth, and tucked it away. Then she bit into the biscuit. Warm butter filled her mouth. “God, please bless Sary,” Celeste whispered. Tears stung her eyes. She'd prayed without realizing it. She wiggled her toes in her boots. Mr. Edwards had known it would grow cold and wet and muddy. He'd cared for her too. “Thank You for Mr. Edwards and for the boots.”

She thought of her parents teaching her that all good things came
from God. She believed that. Then she thought of her catechism lessons, of what it meant to honor God.
To call upon Him in all our necessities, seeking salvation and every good thing that can be desired in Him
.

Honoring him was a simple thing, and yet all these months she hadn't been able to. She'd sinned against God, but she sensed He still wanted her to call upon Him for her necessities. For Berta's safety. For justice. For salvation. For life itself. But first for something else.

“Forgive me,” she prayed. “I sinned against You and my parents.” She would write to them again as soon as she could.

“Please help me,” she whispered. “Please help
us
.”

She had no right to ask for anything good from God—but she would anyway, especially when it came to the safety of her sister. “Please keep her safe. Please get me out of here and show me what to do.”

She took another bite of biscuit and thanked God for that small blessing. Sary cared about her. So did Mr. Edwards. So did Spenser.

So did God.

She was not alone.

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY
-O
NE

Celeste

C
eleste woke later that afternoon to the rat-a-tat of the drums. As she stretched, voices came up through the window from the courtyard below. She crawled to where she could see through the bars, pulled out her little cloth packet, and nibbled on the pork as she watched what was happening below.

Mr. Edwards spoke with Constable Jones. “Don't make me hire a solicitor, who'll take the case before the governor.”

“You know Wharton will have my job if he comes back and she's not here.”

“He won't be back,” Mr. Edwards said. “He has the ring and his servant. Wharton can try her in the General Court, probably in the spring session instead of this next one, if he has enough evidence. Making her stay in jail until then is pointless. She'll die from the cold when she could be helping me run my inn. Do you want her demise on your hungry conscience?”

“I don't see how I can let her go—”

“I don't see how you can't,” Mr. Edwards countered. “Otherwise, no one is getting any food out of my kitchen, and a ship is docking in a few hours.”
Celeste had heard a ship was on its way with a big load of supplies. It wasn't that more ships wouldn't come during the winter, but sometimes they were delayed.

“Well, that would be a problem.” Jones patted his belly. The sound of knocking distracted him, and he stepped from view. A few moments later he said, “I didn't think any food was coming from your kitchen.”

“This is just for Celeste.” It was Spenser's voice, and a moment later he stepped into view. “Sary sent it. It's some sort of soufflé.”

“What?” Jones stepped back into view too. “No breakfast, and now no dinner either?”

Spenser shrugged. “I'm just following orders.” Celeste couldn't see his eyes, but she could imagine the twinkle in them.

“You may have the soufflé if you let Celeste out,” Mr. Edwards said.

“I can't do that.” Jones sounded angry—and defeated.

“I'll just take this up to her,” Spenser said, stepping out of view.

“Wait a minute!” Jones turned back toward Mr. Edwards. “You could pay bail.”

“I'd rather do that than watch my business fall apart.”

“It still might get me in trouble with Wharton…” Jones scratched the side of his head. “Do you trust her?”

“Yes, I do,” Mr. Edwards said. “I already told you that last night.”

Spenser rejoined the other men. “She won't go anywhere.”

“How about back to Norfolk, to try to protect her sister?” Jones asked. “She seems awfully devoted to her. I've seen her going back and forth to Monsieur Petit's house and all.”

“Sure, she would want to if she could,” Spenser answered. “But she won't have any money to get down there. She'll stay here. Besides, she wouldn't betray Mr. Edwards and go without his permission. Not after all he's done for her.”

Celeste scooted a little closer to the window.

“How about if Spenser lets her out while you and I talk through the bail amount? Then you can eat the soufflé.”

Celeste guessed the two men had planned this encounter with Constable Jones, making sure it happened at dinnertime. That must be why
the pork had been included with breakfast, so she wouldn't go hungry now.

Spenser handed Mr. Edwards the soufflé.

Constable Jones hesitated and then shrugged. “You'll lose the bail if she leaves the village.”

“She won't,” Mr. Edwards said. “I can assure you.”

Finally, the constable handed Spenser the key. A few moments later, as she popped the last bite into her mouth, Celeste could hear him scurrying up the ladder, and then the trap door flipped open.

“The constable's letting you out on bail,” Spenser said.

“I heard.” Turning, she pulled the shutter closed, wanting the loft to be drier for the next woman forced to stay in it. She hoped it wouldn't be her again. Then she folded the blanket and placed it away from the window.

“Ready to go, then?”

“Yes!” Relief swept through Celeste as she followed Spenser down the ladder, blinking in the brightness. God was using him and Mr. Edwards to meet her needs.

As she stepped out into the courtyard, her employer told her to go on back to the inn, get herself cleaned up, and then get right to work. “Remind Sary we'll have extra people to feed this evening. Tell her to roast the ducks the hunter dropped by this morning and bake the squash. And also to make a compote.”

“I will.”

Spenser walked with her for the first block but then they parted ways. “Thank you so much,” she called over her shoulder as he veered off. “And don't worry. We'll get Berta back here as soon as we can.”

He nodded, waved, and disappeared into the trees.

She pulled her cloak tight and hurried on toward the inn, keeping to the edge of the street to avoid the worst of the mud. Dark clouds hung heavy in the sky, threatening more rain. Leaves drifted down from the trees, littering the ground with patches of orange, yellow, and red. She brushed a strand of hair from her face. As Mr. Edwards had said, she would take a moment to wash up and repin her hair. She felt as if she'd spent a week in the jail—not just a night.

After dinner was finished, she would write a letter to her parents, asking for their forgiveness. She hoped one of the sailors on the ship that would soon be docking would deliver it to London for her.

She went through the back gate of the property, through the orchard, and then toward the garden. As she passed the grape vines, she thought about what it meant to abide in Christ and vowed to pray and ask for His help each day.

As she came around the chicken coop, she heard voices yelling. First a man and then Sary. Even if Mr. Edwards were in the kitchen—and she knew he wasn't—he wouldn't have been so harsh. Celeste hurried to the door and flung it open. Benjamin cowered under the table, while Mr. Horn confronted Sary, his hand raised.

“What's going on?” Celeste cried.

Horn spoke without looking her way. “It's time someone taught her a lesson. Edwards has ruined her. She hasn't done a thing all day.” He shifted just enough for Celeste to see the whip in his hand.

“Mr. Horn, I'm back now.” She tried to stay calm as she stepped into the room. “Everything will be fine.”

“That's right,” Horn said. “And it will be better than fine after I'm done with her. I never should have leased her to Edwards. He's only made her worse. I'll never get what she could have been worth now.”

As he pulled his arm back, Celeste rushed forward, throwing herself between the man and Sary. When the whip came down, it lashed across Celeste's face, along her cheekbone. Sary screamed. The whip came down again, this time on Sary's shoulder, sending her toward the fire. She banged her hand against the pot suspended over the flames, sending hot water across her skin.

Celeste started to pull Sary to the table to get a better look at her hand, but Mr. Horn raised the whip again. Celeste jerked up her free arm, blocking the man and sending him off balance. He stumbled and then fell toward the fireplace, screaming as he landed. He struggled in the flames, trying to get out. Celeste let go of Sary and reached for Mr. Horn. He grabbed her hands but then slipped away in a panic and fell back into the flames. Celeste stepped forward, reaching down again and grabbing him under his arms this time, yanking with all of
her might. He wasn't a big man, but the angle was awkward, and he didn't seem to be cooperating.

Then he shifted his weight, and she dragged him onto the hearth, yelling at Benjamin to go get the doctor for Sary.

“Get the constable first!” Mr. Horn shouted. “This maid tried to kill me.”

“Don't be ridiculous! I just saved you.”

“
After
you pushed me into the fire!”

Sary began to shake.

“Mr. Horn, please wait outside,” Celeste said firmly.

He grabbed his whip from where it had fallen on the floor. Celeste's hand went to her face, afraid for a moment that he planned to use it on her again, but his fiery gaze fell on Sary. Celeste stepped in front of her friend, spreading her arms wide. Mr. Horn glared at her before stumbling toward the door, his back bent. His outward appearance matched what Celeste imagined the inner life of a person who traded people would be like.

She turned her attention to the cook. She feared Sary's thumb and index finger might fuse together, so she dipped a rag into cold water and wrapped it around the thumb to keep it separate. If only the cupboard were unlocked and she could get to the honey. She grabbed a jar of linseed oil from a shelf and poured some onto the burn instead, and then she dipped another rag in water and wrapped it around the entire hand. Sary pointed to Celeste's face. It stung, but she didn't think it was bleeding much. Then Sary pointed to Celeste's hands. Both were red, singed while saving Horn, but her injuries were nothing compared to Sary's burn.

Celeste shook her head and said in French, “I'm all right. It's you I'm worried about.”

Tears filled Sary's eyes as she stared at the cloth wrapped around her hand, but she didn't say a word, not even in French. How could Mr. Horn believe treating a person that way would change their behavior instead of scaring them to death, or at least into speechlessness?

Celeste knelt in front of her friend. “Has he beaten you before?”

The tears began to roll down Sary's face. She nodded.

“When?” Celeste
asked, but Sary just shook her head and with her good hand wiped her tears.

A moment later Mr. Edwards banged through the door. “Mr. Horn said you pushed him into the fire!”

“I was trying to stop him from whipping Sary, but I certainly did
not
push him. I may have inadvertently contributed to him losing his balance, though.” She turned toward Mr. Edwards.

He gasped. “You're bleeding.”

“From the whip.” Celeste lowered her voice. “Sary's badly burned, and she's not speaking. Not even in French. It seems he has beaten her before.”

A look of anger quickly passed over Mr. Edwards's face. “I don't doubt it. She was in bad shape when he first brought her here.” He shook his head. “Why can't these men leave us alone to run this inn? It's one thing after another.” Keeping his distance, he asked, “How bad is Sary's burn?”

“Very bad,” Celeste answered. “And it's her right hand. I sent Benjamin for the doctor.”

Mr. Horn opened the door. “I sent him for the constable.”

Mr. Edwards's face grew white as he turned his back to the man and addressed Celeste, “Am I to lose both of you in the same day? And my bail?”

Celeste shook her head. “I didn't do anything.”

“You certainly did.” Mr. Horn turned to show his singed shirt and pants.

“That's ridiculous.” Despite Celeste's protest, a sudden feeling of helplessness threatened to overwhelm her. “You fell into the fire.”