My Sister's Prayer (29 page)

Berta's face reddened. “You weren't spending as much time with Jonathan.”

“He was getting ready to leave the country.”

“I hoped you no longer cared for him.”

Celeste shuddered. “Did you think to ask me if I did?”

“Honestly, I was so taken with him that I wasn't thinking much about you.” Berta placed a hand on Celeste's wrist. Her sister's touch burned Celeste's skin.

“I was so flattered by his attention…” Berta leaned closer. “God knows the truth, and I've confessed my sins to Him and He's forgiven me. But I still need your forgiveness.”

Celeste yanked her arm away. “I wouldn't know where to start.”

Berta sighed, closing her eyes for a moment. “Let's start with when you found me on the ship. Believe me, I was as shocked to see you as you were to see me.”

Celeste pursed her lips, silent.

Berta continued. “I was so ill by then that I could hardly speak.”

“And so you let me speak for you, let me make all the wrong assumptions. Why?”

“Because I had no choice! I needed you to care for me. How would you have felt if I'd told you the truth, that the man you thought you were going to marry had betrayed you for me? Would you have stayed by my side and nursed me across the Atlantic?”

“Of course I would have,” Celeste whispered, even as Berta's words echoed in her mind.
He betrayed you for me.

For me.

It couldn't be true. Berta had to be lying. Celeste stood, wanting to say more but having no idea what.

“I have to go,” she murmured, grabbing her cloak and fleeing the cottage.

Outside, the wind blew, whipping the brown leaves from the trees. Dirt and debris pelted Celeste. The first storm of autumn was brewing
as she ran down the front steps, her head bent, anger welling in her chest.

“Easy…”

She jerked her head up just before she collided with Spenser. He reached out and steadied her, his hands on her shoulders. “What's the matter?”

Only Spenser's strength could anchor her.

“I spoke with Jonathan yesterday. And then with Berta just now.”

Spenser's face fell. “Does this have anything to do with what she said to him the day she arrived?”

She nodded, mute.

“I'm sorry, Celeste.”

“Do you think she's lying?”

He grimaced but didn't respond.

“She's lied before, so this isn't that surprising. She was so ill, and I was so desperate to save her that I forgot what she could be like.”

“Celeste,” Spenser said, gently. “She seemed quite genuine when she confronted him. And heartbroken.”

“And how did he seem?”

“Caught off guard. Surprised she was in Williamsburg. Flustered.”

Celeste shook her head. “Well, of course. But he was honest with me about what Berta said, wanting to prepare me. She could be lying.”

It was Spenser's turn to shake his head. “I don't think she is.”

Celeste stepped away from him. Of course he didn't want to believe that the woman he loved was a liar. “I don't blame you for siding with her. You care about her.”

“I care about both of the Talbot sisters.”

She swallowed the tears welling in the back of her throat. “I need to get back to the inn.”

“Can you pray about it?”

“Pray?”

“Yes. For the truth to be revealed.”

She couldn't tell Spenser she hadn't prayed in the last half year. She stumbled past him.

“Celeste!” he called out, but the word was muffled by the wind
howling through the village. Ignoring him, she braced herself, marching down the street, the wind pushing her sideways. She held onto her cap and increased her speed as much as she could. She'd forgiven Jonathan for not waiting for her. Could she forgive Berta for lying?

If Berta hadn't come, Celeste would still have the ruby. Perhaps she could have bought her own freedom and then worked for her return passage to London. Now it would be four years until she was free. Then more years until she could save any money to return home. And then, even if that all went smoothly, they couldn't risk Berta's health with another voyage.

Celeste was destined to stay in this New World, penniless, with no hope of marriage and no family of her own. And with a sister she most likely couldn't trust.

That evening, after dinner was served and Celeste was scrubbing a pot with her calloused hands, Sary asked her in French what was wrong. Celeste could have tried to ignore her. Rain battered the window, and the wind howled too, scraping a branch from the hickory tree against the eaves.

But it was seldom that Sary asked Celeste anything, so she decided to respond while avoiding an actual answer.

Celeste lifted her head. “Just a spat with my sister. Is it that obvious?”

Sary nodded over her shoulder as she tended the fire. “Must have been a bad one.” Celeste merely concentrated on the pot. Sary stepped to Celeste's side of the table and gathered up the leftover rosemary. “You're fortunate to have a sister close by.”

Celeste murmured in agreement, remembering Sary mentioning her own sister. She paused for a moment and then asked, “Did you ever have conflict with yours?”

Sary's eyes grew misty as she put the herbs in a basket. “A few times. But she was older than me and stronger. She was always praying—for
all of us, but especially for me. She was very protective of me. In fact, that's how she ended up dying.”

Celeste gasped.

Sary nodded. “She put herself between me and a beating.”

“What happened?” Celeste wiped her hands on her apron, moving slowly, hoping Sary would keep talking.

The woman paused and looked toward the kitchen door, even though they were speaking in French. “My husband had died the month before from malaria.”

Celeste blinked, startled. This was the first time Sary had ever mentioned a husband.

“We tried to save him, but he never had a chance. Of course, I was distraught. Neither my sister, Orrinda, nor I wanted to leave what had been our home our entire lives. Our mother was ill with malaria too, and we asked to stay with her for just a few more days. I wasn't
not
cooperating—not intentionally. I just couldn't seem to move. Not only did Orrinda get whipped, but she was pushed and hit her head…”

“Sary.” Celeste put her arm around her, pulling her close. Sary leaned against her but didn't say anything more.

“I'm so sorry.” Celeste wanted to know exactly what happened, but the woman remained silent.

Celeste held her tighter, not letting go until Sary took a deep breath and pulled away, a dazed expression on her face. She seemed to have said all she was going to—at least for the moment.

Celeste hoped that someday Sary would feel safe enough to tell her the rest. Sary put the basket on the shelf and then stepped back to the fire, bending down. “I suppose whatever happened was your sister's fault.”

Surprised the woman had broached the subject of Berta again, Celeste simply replied, “I hope not, to be honest.” She couldn't bear to think that Berta had betrayed her. Hearing just a bit of Sary's story made her even more desperate to find a sense of harmony with her own sister. But no matter what, Berta had been willing to steal Jonathan away from her, or else she'd lied about having done such a thing. Either option was horribly cruel. Celeste didn't know if she could forgive her
for either, but she desperately wished there was a way to discern the truth.

“Can you make it right with her?” Sary asked.

Startled, Celeste glanced up from the pot. “Pardon?”

“Your sister. Can you make amends with her?”

Celeste pursed her lips together. Berta had asked for her forgiveness, but she wasn't going to tell Sary that. Instead, she answered, “Perhaps,” and tackled the pot again. She'd been able to forgive Jonathan, but this was different. Maman had always claimed Berta and Celeste would one day be best friends. Now that day would never come. What Berta had done was unconscionable.

That night as Celeste tried to fall asleep over the rhythmic beat of the rain pounding the roof, she thought of Sary, her husband, sister, and mother. Then she thought of Maman, and of Berta.

She missed her mother more than anyone. Maman was always gentle. Always quick to pray about a problem. Always ready to forgive. Now, an ocean away, she realized that her mother had been her best friend, but she'd never valued the relationship as she should have. If only she could have the same with her sister now.

Was Celeste the kind of woman who could forgive a man who had jilted her but not her sister for lying to her? Or, perhaps, betraying her? A sister who was one of a very few people she had any relationship with at all in this New World?

And what if she didn't forgive Berta? Already she felt the threat of bitterness.

Would she grow more resentful for being stuck in Virginia with no hope of freedom for four years? No hope of ever going home? She and Berta would have to work together to survive, if her sister was willing.

But what was Celeste willing to do to embrace her sister?

Spenser had suggested she pray. She tried to, but all she could manage was
Lord, please help me.

C
HAPTER
N
INETEEN

Celeste

C
eleste didn't return to the Petits' home for several days. She vacillated between wanting to distance herself from Berta to chastising herself for even considering such a thing. Could she really abandon the only family member who was on the same continent as she, the only one she could have a meaningful relationship with? That thought alone made Celeste feel as if she were on a ship without a sail.

At times she feared her grief might overwhelm her, but each day she rose from her pallet in the loft, washed her face and hands, and continued on with the life that she'd inadvertently chosen.

On the third day after she confronted Berta, Monsieur Petit came into the inn. Out of politeness, Celeste asked how Berta was doing.

“Very well. She seems to be recovering.” Lowering his voice, he added, “I asked her what her long-term plans were, but she doesn't seem to have any.”

“She'll have to find a position in the village. She'll need to work to pay her keep, like the rest of us.”

“And where will she live?”

“I'm not sure…” As Celeste cleared his plate, she thanked him for keeping her sister. “It's been such a relief for both of us.”

He sighed. “We're happy to have helped, believe me. I just don't want her getting used to being waited on.”

“Of course. She should be able to secure a position soon.” Perhaps one of the village families with children needed a governess. Berta had never been particularly good with little ones, but she was smart and well educated. Surely someone could use her services. Celeste couldn't imagine Berta working as a maid. She feared her sister would fall ill again under such a heavy load.

Perhaps Spenser would be in a position to marry Berta soon. She would be able to keep house for him, and maybe by the time any children came along, Berta would have grown strong enough and mature enough to be a good mother.

After thanking Monsieur Petit again, Celeste continued on with her work. She couldn't abandon her sister despite her betrayal. Berta was all she had now, though Celeste dreaded seeing her more than anything.

As the days grew cooler, Sary grew quieter. Several times she seemed lost in thought, staring into the fire when she should have been cooking. But a gentle reminder from Celeste, lest Mr. Edwards notice, seemed to bring her back. At least now Celeste had an inkling of what troubled her.

Celeste found a rhythm in doing her duties, and each day she seemed to gain more strength in carrying trays of food and dirty dishes, scrubbing pots, and helping Sary. Yesterday Joe and Benjamin had started picking the apples. The storm had knocked many to the ground, leaving them bruised. Sary and Celeste had spent the day making apple butter. Most of the others would be pressed into cider, except for enough to make apple tansy that evening for dessert. Celeste could practically taste the nutmeg and cream. It was a dish she'd had often back home in the fall when farmers peddled their apples in London.