My Sister's Prayer (37 page)

I closed my eyes, pressing a hand to my forehead. “He just left her there? To die?”

“Not completely. Turns out he was the one who made the anonymous call to 9-1-1 to report the accident from a gas station about half a mile away. He must have hitched a ride out of the area soon after that, though, because the police looked for someone on foot and never found him.”

“Does she know the police figured it out?”

“Oh, yeah. She had to revise her statement in the hospital. The only reason her original lie didn't count against her with the judge was because it had been said in the immediate aftermath of the accident. They had to allow some leeway, though I'm sure she knew exactly what she was saying.”

My mind was spinning. “I don't understand. Why did she lie about it in the first place?”

“He's a friend. She probably didn't want to get him in trouble.”

I let out a deep breath. “Wow. I can't believe this.”

“Well, I thought you might want to know that he's back out on the street just so you can keep an eye on things. You definitely don't want him sniffing around and getting Nicole into trouble, you know? She
seems to be doing really well. I'd hate to see all that hard work derailed by some dirtbag.”

That night I felt almost nauseated as I looked at my sister across the dinner table. When Ortiz and I finished our call, the detective had emailed me the man's mug shot so I would know whom to watch out for. I'd stared at the picture for a long time, memorizing his face. Hector Edgemont was in his twenties, skinny, with a scraggly black goatee. A real winner.

Sitting here now with Nicole, still astounded that she'd never mentioned him, a verse from Jeremiah kept coming to mind,
The heart is deceitful above all things and beyond cure. Who can understand it?

Definitely not I.

Trying to give her the benefit of the doubt, hoping she would tell me about this guy on her own, I brought up the accident in conversation, asking for more details about how it happened and if it was scary and what it had felt like. She seemed perfectly willing to talk about it, almost overly so, the way people do when they're lying.

“That must have been terrifying,” I said, “to go through something like that all by yourself.”

Without missing a beat, she replied, “It was, Maddee. Thank goodness some good Samaritan called the police, or I probably would have bled to death.”

For once, I was the one who wanted to go to bed early. My heart heavy as I went through our nightly routine, I never challenged her on her lie. I just let it sit there between us, like a dead animal rotting in the road.

Later, as I lay in bed unable to sleep, I told myself this was a sobering—and probably necessary—reminder of truths I'd already known:

Believe what addicts do, not what they say.

Addicts lie.

Never trust an addict.

Not even your own sister.

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY
-F
OUR

Celeste

W
hat did you do?” Emmanuel asked Celeste, stepping closer. She still couldn't see his face, but she was overwhelmed with humiliation.

“Are you Jonathan?” a second voice asked, and then her humiliation was complete. It was George Barré, her old sweetheart, the man she'd lost all interest in the moment she met her handsome soldier. He and Emmanuel must have come here together in search of her and Berta. Unbelievable.

“No, my name is Spenser Rawling.” He went on to explain that he'd met Celeste and Berta on the ship.

“He's been a good friend to us,” Celeste added. “Especially to Berta.”

“Nice to meet you then,” George said. “I'm a friend of the family.”

Celeste cringed at the thought of him standing there, witnessing her humiliation. He was another person she needed to ask forgiveness of.

“And I'm her brother,” Emmanuel said. “The oldest son in our family.”

“Right,” Spenser said. “Emmanuel. I've heard a lot about you.” As
they shook hands, George ducked down to look Celeste in the face. She couldn't read his brown eyes, but she was dumbfounded by his presence. Why had he come too? Did he still care for her even after what she'd done to him?

George stood up straight. “Where's this Jonathan you wrote your parents about? Have you married him already?”

“No,” Celeste answered as Emmanuel stepped closer. An unexpected sob shook her, followed by uncontrollable shivering. She was cold, yes, but her response was more of relief. Emmanuel had come after her, most likely sent by their parents.

“We need to get Celeste out of here.” Spenser knelt down again and spoke directly to her. “Perhaps now that family has arrived, Constable Jones will treat you better.”

Another sob shook her.

“There, there.” Kindness flooded his eyes along with a sadness she didn't expect. “I'll go get Jones and tell him to hurry along. You have an advocate now. Two, in fact.”

She'd already had two advocates—Spenser and Mr. Edwards. But maybe family would count for more with the authorities.

Spenser stood. For a moment, Celeste didn't want him to leave. Emmanuel and George felt so unfamiliar to her. Spenser was her rock, even though he'd been limited over and over by what he could do. She knew he would save her if he could.

Softly he said, “I'll be back as soon as I can.” Then he hurried away.

Emmanuel and George both squatted down in front of her. Emmanuel wore a cap over his dark hair. Despite the circumstances, his eyes were as lively as ever. “What happened?”

“I defended the cook back at the inn.” Celeste paused for a moment. “From a slave trader. He fell into the fire and then claimed I tried to kill him.” She didn't have the energy to explain everything.

“Goodness, sister. I didn't think you had it in you to attack someone.”

Celeste didn't answer. She hadn't attacked him, but clearly she wasn't the same person she'd been back home. So much had changed.

“So where's this Jonathan?” George asked.

“Away, probably at the plantation that belongs to the Vines family.
He intends to marry the Vines's daughter.” She swallowed hard. It was good to say that right away, but it still hurt.

“I see.” A hard look fell across George's face. The rain eased a little. It didn't matter. Her cloak was soaked through, and her skin was growing numb.

“How is Papa?” she asked Emmanuel. “And the boys? And Maman?” She choked on the last word.

“Worried. You can imagine how we all felt when you and Berta disappeared. Maman found your cryptic note, but we had no idea where Berta was.”

“I didn't ask her to come along. At first I didn't even know she was on the ship…” She wasn't sure how to explain the rest.

“Then weeks later Papa received your letter.” Emmanuel rubbed the stubble on his chin. “He was ready to come over after the two of you, but I volunteered to come instead. He wasn't so sure about that until George offered to accompany me.”

“That was kind of you. Both of you.” Celeste meant it.

“We can start back tomorrow when the ship returns to Norfolk. A few days after that it will leave for Carolina and then London,” Emmanuel said.

Celeste wasn't sure what to say. Could she possibly return home so soon? She would see Maman. Papa. Alexander, Frederick, and William.

Of course she couldn't. “There's the matter of my indenture, the cost of my contract.”

“What are you saying?” Emmanuel asked. “That you sold yourself as a servant?”

Her face burned in shame. “That was how I paid my passage. Jonathan said he would buy my contract once I arrived.”

“But then he didn't,” George surmised.

“He promised to sell his carriage and buy my contract that way—”

Emmanuel shook his head. “But he hasn't, correct?”

“That's right. And there's another issue too. Berta.”

This time it was George who shook his head. “She's indentured as well?”

That situation was far more complicated than Celeste was prepared to explain while her head and hands were hinged.

“She was,” Celeste said. “And perhaps still is. You'll probably have to hire a solicitor to help sort it all out.”

“We have money to get you both home,” Emmanuel said. “Plus some more.”

“Enough to free us?”

“I'm not sure…” Emmanuel's voice trailed off.

George cleared his throat. “Will your masters sell your contracts at reasonable prices?”

“I don't know.” Celeste couldn't guess how Mr. Edwards might respond. He was a kind man, but on the other hand he had a business to run. Perhaps it would depend on how bad Sary's injury was. If she couldn't cook again, neither Sary nor Celeste would be worth much to Mr. Edwards. As far as Constable Wharton, she had no idea what he would do.

“And then there's the matter of the attempted murder charge against me.” Not to mention the accused theft of the ring and the brooch, but she would tell Emmanuel about both of those later when she was out of the pillory.

“I'll ask the constable to drop the charges,” Emmanuel said. “Surely once everyone has cooled off we'll be able to resolve the matter.”

Celeste believed Emmanuel could talk Jones out of it—maybe after Mr. Horn left the village. Emmanuel had a gift when it came to interacting with others. Plus, his optimism was contagious. “Once they let me out of this thing, you need to go get Berta and settle her contract with Constable Wharton. You have to get her away from there.”

“All right,” Emmanuel said. “Then we'll figure out how to buy your contract and head back home.”

“There's one problem…”

“What is it?” Emmanuel squinted up at her.

“Berta nearly died coming over. I've never seen anyone so ill.”

“Seasickness?” George asked.

“Yes. It nearly killed her. She came down with typhoid fever too, but she was already deathly ill from seasickness. I doubt she can make the
journey back. I'll stay here with her. I can't leave her.” No matter what Berta had done, Celeste wouldn't go home without her.

“Maybe she would do better on the trip back,” Emmanuel said. “With home as the end goal.”

“I doubt it.”

“There would be three of us to care for her,” George added.

“Spenser helped me with her on the way over, but she couldn't keep down much as far as food and water.” Not that they'd had much food to give her by the end of the trip.

“You seemed quite fond of this Spenser,” George said.

“I am. I'm very grateful to him. Berta is too.” She exhaled. “And he's quite fond of her.”

George showed his dimples. She'd forgotten how endearing he could be. He reached for her hand, but she cringed in pain.

He pulled away, rubbing his hand on his pants. “What's the sticky stuff?”

“Salve. I burned myself pulling Mr. Horn out of the fire.”

“Is that the same fellow you pushed
into
the fire?” Emmanuel asked.

“I didn't push him!” she said loudly, but then she saw the teasing glint in her brother's eye.

“Where is this constable?” he asked. “Maybe I should go find him.”

“He's probably at the jail. It's up the hill from the inn.”

“Where's the inn?” George asked.

“Down this street, on the edge of the village.” Celeste twisted her wrist painfully to point the way. “In fact, George, you should go there now to get a room for the two of you. It may fill up because of the sailors.”

“Good idea,” he said, sounding relieved, she thought, to be done with her and the whole situation.

She'd been about to add that he should order food as well before it was all gone, but she held her tongue. With that kind of attitude, he deserved to go hungry tonight. Then again, she realized, that meant Emmanuel wouldn't eat either, and she didn't want that. Besides, who was she to judge George, or anyone else, for that matter? She was about to speak up, but then she realized the man had already walked away.