Redemption's Return, Book Three

By Erin Heitzmann

Six months have passed since the Redemption and her crew set sail for the West Indies, but tensions continue to mount back home as Napoleon Bonaparte, in his vain quest to rule all of Europe, creates a quick and efficient chaos to erupt among his countrymen, as well as his British adversaries in neighboring England. Mounting an oppressive manhunt for suspected dissidents and traitors loyal to the French Republic, Bonaparte creates a ruthless regime of terror in which daily executions are carried out in the name of political genocide. Jean Luc Rousseau, along with Claude and Marielle Laroche, are sheltered from the all-too-recent upheaval living in the quiet community of Guilers, until an enchanting newcomer arrives. Her very presence threatens the placid complacency that has each of them under its spell, but when calamity strikes, all believe that only Rebecca can provide the evidence necessary to substantiate the truth. Will the Redemption return in time for her to save the life of Jean Luc Rousseau?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Erin Heitzmann
• Release date: Mar 23, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301982196

Erin Heitzmann

Erin Heitzmann was raised in Bismarck, North Dakota, and after graduating from high school, spent the next several years in a variety of different places, from as far away as Japan, and as exotic as Hawaii. Erin finally chose Montana as her home, where she met and married her husband Dean. She and Dean live in the beautiful Bitteroot Valley near Missoula, where they have raised five wonderful children, the youngest of which is still at home. Erin served for two years as a Kindergarten teacher at a private, Christian school, and remained on staff at the school as a volunteer until their last child started first grade. Erin then returned to college to pursue a nursing degree, and graduated with honors from Montana State University in 2006. Erin currently serves as the administrator of an assisted living facility in Missoula, and has discovered that working with the elderly population is both her calling and her passion. She writes for the sheer pleasure of it, and hopes that you enjoy reading the Redemption series as much as she has enjoyed writing it.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Marielle Laroche pushed herself to and fro in the old, wooden rocking chair she’d pulled into the encircling warmth of the fire, enjoying the respite from the chill that always seemed to pervade the air in the humble cottage during the cold, damp days of March. The winter had seemed interminably long and difficult, leaving most of the inhabitants who resided in the quaint little town of Guilers longing for spring, but none more so than Marielle, for her belly was swollen in pregnancy and the only warm clothes that she owned were much too small to accommodate the girth of her forthcoming child. The blast of a chilly wind blew over her when Remi, the oldest of the three Laroche children, stepped through the door, his arms wrapped around a large bundle of wood. Stomping over to deposit the rough hewn logs, he dropped them near the cook stove.

Remi, Marielle scolded. Take your boots off outside...look at all the mud you’ve brought in!

His mother’s quick reproach brought an exasperated scowl to the young boy’s features. Mama, he retorted, I can’t very well get my boots off with my arms full of kindling, can I now? Remi Laroche had just turned fourteen years of age, leaving him floundering in the vast chasm between the carefree antics of youth and the mature responsibilities of adulthood, but nevertheless, his mother’s temperamental moods of late were wreaking havoc on his already hormonally influenced disposition.

Remi! Claude Laroche bellowed from the loft above. "Do not speak to your mother in that tone of voice!"

Heaving a disgruntled sigh, Remi retreated through the portal and out into the encroaching darkness, intent on seeking solitude in the barn, where he knew none would harass him with such petty grievances.

Claude slipped down the ladder suspended from the rafters and peered into the warmly lit room which sheltered his wife. Do you feel up to the church service tonight, cherie? he asked. The pregnancy had been especially trying on the young woman, and Claude was making a sincere effort to handle his interactions with her with as much gentleness and patience as he could muster.

No, Marielle murmured, but I’d appreciate it if you would take the children...

A quiet grin splayed across Claude’s features. Need a few hours to yourself?

A few weeks, preferably, she teased through a mock grimace of disdain.

Claude remained quiet for a time while he studied the lovely features of his wife.

What I need, Marielle continued through a lamenting sigh, is Rebecca. She handles the children so well...and it would give them respite from my sour moods of late.

Well, Claude began, we could always petition the Almighty to bring her back to Guilers now, couldn’t we? Perhaps Bonaparte’s ruffians will find the time to recapture some more of her friends...

Claude! she rebuked. That is hardly a matter to make light of!

He shrugged his shoulders in helpless defeat, uncertain as to how to console the woman.

I just miss her, Marielle continued. I wish this unrelenting war would come to an end so she could return in peace...without the threat of harm befalling her.

There is talk, Mari, Claude began in a hushed voice. Some say the Bourbon’s are attempting to reclaim the throne...

And you honestly think Bonaparte will allow that to happen?

They say we will have the support of the English on our side...Bonaparte may have no choice in the matter if he is defeated...or better yet, forced to surrender.

A light tapping at the portal distracted their pensive musing for a moment. Claude strode across the short expanse of room to see who called on them at such an odd hour, but finding his friend, Jean Luc Rousseau, he pulled the door open wide and beckoned him into the warmth of the small room.

Hello Claude, Marielle, he smiled. I thought perhaps you might like me to take the children to the church service...give you some time alone?

A smug grin lit the features of Claude Laroche. You read my mind, Jean Luc, but please, take me as well. I fear I am trying my wife’s patience with my lack of sympathy. Claude was quick to pull his coat from the hook on the wall as he called for Isabelle and Claudia. Perhaps you could check on Remi? he asked the Frenchman, wanting to help his two, young daughters into their jackets so as not to disturb his wife. He has taken up residence in the barn.

The befuddled confusion which descended upon Jean Luc’s features brought a hearty chorus of laughter from both Claude and Marielle. It’s the only place he remains free of our endless rebukes, Claude grinned.

A knowing nod confirmed his understanding, and offering a polite tip of his head in farewell to Marielle, Jean Luc slipped back into the chilly air.

Why isn’t mommy going with us? Claudia asked in her typical sing-song voice.

Mommy is very tired, Claude said. She is going to stay by the fire and rest.

Claudia peeked around the bulking mass of her father to study the quiet form of her mother, but seeing the woman’s eyes had already drifted shut, she held a chubby finger against her pursed lips and whispered, Shhhh...she’s asleep.

Claude pulled his youngest daughter into his arms, and clutching her snugly against his chest he beckoned Isabelle through the portal. We mustn’t keep Monsieur Rousseau waiting, he murmured, tugging the door shut tight against the pervading nip in the air.

* * *

Rebecca Burgess frolicked about in the waves, the sun having already made a stark impression on her red-tinged cheeks. Petty Officer Andrews watched on through a tender smile, happy to allow the girl the brief respite from the infernal warmth of the afternoon. The Redemption had been in the West Indies for the past several months, and though all were grateful for the absence of inclement weather more common in the north, most were growing weary of the endless days of humidity and heat.

Mr. Andrews, a kindly voice interrupted from behind.

Spinning about on his heel, the petty officer caught sight of Lieutenant Paul Burgess. Giving him a crisp salute he said, Good afternoon, sir.

I don’t suppose you’ve seen my wife about, have you? the officer inquired.

Oh, but I have, sir, he affirmed, gesturing toward the placid ocean swells with his head.

Of course, the lieutenant replied through a lofty grin. Why should I have expected her to be anyplace else?

The two men approached the stern and leaned against the railing, watching the unaware but contented Rebecca Burgess moving with smooth strokes along the length of the frigate. By this time she was nearly as tan as the natives which inhabited the islands, but the dark shade of her skin only served to accentuate the honey colored strands of hair woven throughout the mass of curls on her head, as well as the emerald green hue of her eyes.

Mrs. Burgess, the lieutenant called out.

Rebecca peered toward the deck, her eyes squinting against the brightness of the noonday sun. An enchanted smile lit her features when she caught sight of her husband staring down at her.

Might you be free for lunch? Captain Jameson requests that we join him in his stateroom.

If I said no, would you come in after me? Rebecca teased through a mischievous grin.

Paul Burgess began to peel off the cotton shirt that clung to him, the thought of a quick dip in the beckoning waves offering a temptation he was not likely to resist.

A peal of laughter resounded as Rebecca said, Wait! It’s alright...I’m on my way up.

Not to be deterred, the officer climbed onto the railing and dove into the water, much to the delight of the petty officer who observed the scenario through a smug grin of complacency.

Rebecca slipped back away from the Redemption to watch her husband, a captivated smile of delight lingering on her face. When he surfaced near her, a squeal of surprise erupted and she plunged beneath the waves to escape his grip. The two splashed about for several minutes, while Petty Officer Andrews returned to his duties on deck so as to give the newly wed couple a moment of privacy.

Paul Burgess swam up beside Rebecca and pulled her into his warm embrace. You’re chilled, Rebecca, he said, startled by the cold sensation of her skin. Her all too recent brush with death by hypothermia never lingered far from his mind and in his desire to allay his apprehension he said, I think it’s time we get out. Besides that, we mustn’t keep Captain Jameson waiting.

Rebecca, ever sensitive to the frailties of her husband’s great concern for her safety, nodded her acquiescence and began to pull herself toward the frigate. She was grateful to see Mr. Andrews waiting for her, a heavy, cotton covering in his hands. Climbing the sinewy rungs of the rope ladder, she slid over the railing and wrapped herself in the warmth of the thick fibers, her expression of gratitude not going unnoticed by the petty officer who was so meticulous in attending to her needs.

Glancing at Lieutenant Burgess, Mr. Andrews said, I’m sorry, sir...I only brought one blanket out with me.

Not to worry, Mr. Andrews, the officer assured. I’m certain my wife will share hers.

Petty Officer Andrews watched the happy, young couple meander along the length of the Redemption until they disappeared into the corridor that would return them to their berth. Rebecca kept the covering wrapped tightly about her, more so in a demonstration of cautious modesty, for the lingering gazes of the crew who worked on deck never ceased to trail after her.

Captain Jameson reclined on his settee awaiting the arrival of Paul and Rebecca Burgess. Dr. Ammons was in attendance, as were Lieutenants James Edwards and Phil Sommer. The group had planned to surprise Rebecca, for today was the girl’s twenty-first birthday. A light tap at the door announced their arrival, bringing all who waited to their feet in eager anticipation.

Come! Captain Jameson called out.

From the darkened corridor, Paul motioned for Rebecca to proceed ahead of him, and when she stepped into the captain’s stateroom a boisterous chorus of birthday wishes arose. The smile of delight that splayed across Rebecca’s features quickened the spirit of Captain William Jameson, and he was suddenly overcome with gratitude at the realization that God, in His infinite mercy, had deemed him worthy of the young woman’s friendship.

Is it the sixteenth already? Rebecca queried.

Indeed, it is, Captain Jameson replied, stepping forward to wrap the girl in an endearing embrace. The sixteenth of March, to be exact...the day the world was graced with your presence, Rebecca.

A bright giggle welled up and she said, I’m not sure if the world shares your sentiment, Captain. Peering around him she cast a playful wink at Lieutenant James Edwards.

The officer’s heart warmed at the joyous elation so evident on the features of the young woman, and he too approached her to offer her a tenderhearted embrace. The two had forged an indestructible bond of solidarity after their voyage into France, and Rebecca found Lieutenant Edwards was her strongest ally in matters pertaining to the petty issues that would, on occasion, arise in her newfound life aboard a ship doing service during a time of war.

The cheerful banter in the room was momentarily interrupted by the arrival of George Robbins, the captain’s steward, who had arrived with an elegantly adorned birthday cake and several steaming pots of tea.

Rebecca’s eyes widened in delight when she caught sight of the cake. Mr. Robbins, she breathed. It’s beautiful!

The steward’s countenance shone at the generous compliment from the young lady. Handing her a long, silver carving knife he suggested, Perhaps you would like to cut it, Mrs. Burgess?

Rebecca, she corrected through a quiet smile, unaccustomed to the formality her recent marriage seemed to evoke among the crew whom she had long considered friends. Taking the gleaming knife in her hand, she sliced through a thick mantle of frosting and into the moist layers of cake hidden beneath it. It smells delicious, Mr. Robbins, she murmured, touched by the man’s kind gesture. She placed generous portions on plates and began to pass them to the men hovered around her, including George Robbins.

The steward appeared flustered by the girl’s actions and shot a nervous glance at Captain Jameson, for the thought of a mere steward dining among a group of officers went against all standards of maritime protocol.

Please, Mr. Robbins, the captain urged, join us in celebrating this special occasion. In fact, he continued, glancing at Phil Sommer, why don’t we ask Petty Officer Andrews and Eddy Mayes to join us as well.

A brief nod signaled Lieutenant Sommer’s acknowledgement of his commander’s request, and he slipped from the room to summon the two midshipmen. Within minutes the three reappeared, and each took a seat at the table where Rebecca was quick to serve them. The atmosphere in the cabin remained lighthearted and cheerful, while the pleasant conversation continued well into the afternoon. One by one the group departed, having chores to attend to that could not be put off by a mere birthday celebration, leaving Lieutenant Burgess, Rebecca and Captain Jameson alone at last. Stepping over to his cabinet, Captain Jameson plucked a neatly wrapped parcel from the shelf.

A special gift for a very special young lady, he smiled, handing the parcel to Rebecca.

A gracious smile of surprise descended upon Rebecca’s features as she took the gift the captain offered. Lieutenant Burgess watched on, his affectionate gaze fixed on his wife. Rebecca began to peel away the wrapping, her eyes bright with curiosity, and when she saw what lay inside a delighted sigh escaped her.

Ohhh...it’s beautiful, Captain, she breathed, gazing down at the thick, leather-bound bible in her hand. A simple, rugged cross had been burned into the leather, and her name, Rebecca Burgess, was inscribed in gold just beneath it, the cursive penmanship simple yet elegant, just as she had always proven herself to be. It’s my favorite book, she mused through a distant smile. I don’t know how to thank you... Thumbing through the gold edged pages, she peered down at a passage and began to read. I have said before that you have such a place in our hearts that we would live or die with you. I have great confidence in you; I take great pride in you. I am greatly encouraged; in all our troubles my joy knows no bounds...

The memory of Jean Luc uttering those very same words during a very recent interlude of great tribulation in her life sprang with instant clarity to mind, every detail intact, and she found herself once again offering thanks for the Lord’s gracious blessing for the treasured gift of friendship. She allowed her thoughts to linger for several quiet moments on Jean Luc Rousseau and Claude, Marielle and the children, while Captain Jameson and Paul Burgess observed her pensive deliberation through quiet expressions of intrigue.

* * *

How is Marielle faring, Claude? Jean Luc Rousseau queried in a low tone. They had taken up seats near the rear of the sanctuary after seeing the children delivered to their bible lessons.

As well as can be expected, I suppose, he grinned, Her body is tolerating the pregnancy well, but her emotions are volatile and unpredictable. She’s tired most of the time, and as of late she has been pining after Rebecca. I know bearing a child is no easy task, Jean Luc, but I cannot seem to draw her out of her melancholy frame of mind.

I regret to say that being with child has little to do with pining after Rebecca, he said through a sad smile. Perhaps I should spend an afternoon with Marielle, he mused. Then we could wallow in our misery together.

Don’t tell me you’re pining after her too?

I have pined after Rebecca since the day she left Guilers with her mother and father. Seeing her again only served to rekindle my affections for her.

A comforting nod of reassurance suggested Claude Laroche’s understanding and he said, "Then perhaps I’ll share with you what I told Marielle earlier...I will petition the Lord to bring her back to us."

Be careful what you ask for, mon ami, the Frenchman said through a wry smile, knowing all too well that the although the Almighty was gracious in answering the prayers of His faithful, sometimes the outcome was not what one would have anticipated.

* * *

Rebecca made a sincere attempt to stifle a large yawn, but nevertheless the remaining two men who lingered in the captain’s stateroom after the succulent meal George Robbins had prepared caught sight of it.

Perhaps we’ve overdone it with the birthday celebration, Captain Jameson teased, glancing at Lieutenant Burgess. I fear we may have spoiled her beyond repair...

Paul Burgess stood to his feet, anxious to retreat to the solitude of the berth he shared with his somnolent wife. Then I’m certain you won’t mind me stealing her away from you, Captain, he smiled. I still have a gift of my own to give to her...

Rebecca’s sleepy gaze fell upon that of her husband. A gift for me? she murmured through a timid smile.

"It is still your birthday, Rebecca," he reminded her, offering his hand to pull her to her feet.

She slipped her hand into his with a complacent sigh. Thank you, Captain, she murmured, glancing across the room to where the senior officer stood. This was something I never expected, and something I shall never forget. The bible he had given her was nestled in her arms, but she relinquished it to her husband for a moment in order to slip over to offer an affectionate embrace to her beloved commander. Goodnight, sir, she whispered.

Goodnight, Rebecca, he replied, watching the young woman retreat to his lieutenant’s side, where she tucked herself beneath the protective arm which beckoned to her. The two proceeded through the portal and into the corridor, disappearing into the shadows created by the dim light of the lantern.

Paul Burgess pulled Rebecca into their berth, his features alight with eager expectation. Spinning her around to face him he said, Close your eyes...

Rebecca began to giggle in nervous anticipation but did as he asked. She felt his hands slip over her cheeks to cup her face as his lips brushed lightly against hers, and peeking through half closed eyelids she murmured, Now that is by far the best gift yet...

Happy birthday, Rebecca, he said through a tender smile. Leading the elated young woman around the edge of the bed, he gestured for her to sit on the chair near the porthole. Again, she did as he asked, her expression of curiosity filling him with an intense adoration. Reaching beneath the pillow perched on the settee, he pulled a small wooden box into view. At first glance it appeared to be rather plain and without adornment, but nevertheless, Rebecca took it from his outstretched hand.

A quick gasp of elated surprise arose when she caught sight of the fine, glossy sheen rubbed into the dark walnut wood, where her initials joined with those of her beloved husband, tucked within an elegantly shaped heart. The design had been etched with an intricate hand and careful attention to detail, and through a delighted smile she breathed, Oh, Paul...it’s absolutely exquisite. Rebecca traced her finger lightly over their wedding date, which had been inscribed with meticulous precision in the center of the heart, just below their initials. Did you make this? she queried, her soft gaze speaking of the sentiment that welled in her heart.

I did, the young officer assured.

But when?

In the evenings. You, my dear, he grinned, sleep very soundly...

A quiet giggle bubbled up as the all-too-familiar crimson hue stole over her features, and she lowered her head in a timid display of embarrassment.

Lowering himself on one knee, Paul Burgess tucked a finger under the girl’s chin to draw her gaze to his. There is nothing that brings me more pleasure than watching you in slumber, Rebecca, after the cares of your day have faded from your countenance. It is like catching a glimpse into your very soul...

Rebecca slipped her arms around the young man’s neck, her heart overflowing with admiration and gratitude. Thank you so much, she murmured. This is the most precious gift I have ever received and I will treasure it for as long as I shall live.

The smitten, young officer pulled Rebecca to her feet and wrapped her in a tight embrace. Then let’s hope that is a very, very long time, he murmured in her ear. Now, I can think of one other gift to offer you, he teased, giving her a charming wink and a sound kiss.

* * *

The evening service extended well beyond its customary ninety minutes, but none took notice of the late hour. Instead, a chorus of cheerful banter ensued as the parishioners were ushered to the community hall in the basement to share in a dessert social to commemorate the church’s tenth anniversary in Guilers. Jean Luc, much to the delight of the women of the congregation, had already volunteered his services below and now busied himself with setting up tables. There were several young women who had longingly set their sights on the handsome Frenchman, but he had long ago made it clear to all that his heart remained faithful to only one...Rebecca Halloway. A slight tug on his leg distracted him for a moment, and glancing down he saw Claudia Laroche peering up at him.

I can’t find papa, monsieur, she said, appearing as if she were on the verge of tears.

Stooping low to pluck her into his arms, he murmured, Not to worry, cherie...do you see those éclairs over there? They beckon to your father even as we speak. I assure you, he will be here before you can count to ten!

A timid giggle erupted from the precocious, little girl and she slid an arm around the man’s neck, content to wait for her father in the comfort of Jean Luc’s protective embrace.

From inside the kitchen, a young woman, Lizzie Broussard, drizzled a dark, chocolate syrup over the assortment of decadent desserts splayed out before her. A slight smile lingered on her face as she worked, for her thoughts were often prone to wandering in a self induced attempt to make the mundane tasks she found herself called upon to perform pass more quickly. A child’s quiet giggle drew her from her pensive musing, and glancing out into the community room she caught sight of Jean Luc Rousseau with the contented form of Claudia Laroche tucked securely in his arms. She studied the Frenchman for a time in silence, for she had not yet had the opportunity for a proper introduction, but nonetheless, she was momentarily taken aback by the man’s handsome, yet genteel appearance. A quiet stirring deep within quickened her spirit, causing her to tip her head in pleasant intrigue.

Don’t set your affections on that one, dear, one of the more seasoned old spinsters murmured in her ear. He’s as out of reach to you as Bonaparte himself...

Why would I set my affections on a married man, Marie? the young woman murmured, her confusion evident in the brooding gray hue of her eyes.

Oh...he’s not married, Lizzie...might as well be though...

Whose child is he holding?

That’s little Claudia Laroche. Her father is here somewhere I’ve no doubt. Jean Luc is a good friend of the family.

A slight nod brought an abrupt halt to their conversation as Lizzie returned to the task at hand, her thoughts now consumed with the attractive, young man who stood just beyond the small confines of the room, oblivious to her presence, but not for long she determined.

Claude Laroche appeared from the stairwell, a frantic glimmer in his eyes. There you are! he sighed, having caught sight of his youngest daughter in the firm embrace of Jean Luc Rousseau. His exasperation was evident in his tone, causing Claudia to cringe in a distraught apprehension.

Mama didn’t come for me, she said.

Mama isn’t here, Claudia...don’t you remember?

I forgot, she replied, again appearing as though she were on the verge of an emotional breakdown.

It’s alright, cherie, her father soothed, coaxing her into his arms. Let’s have a treat, shall we?

Isabelle and Remi were already waiting patiently in the line that had formed, watching as the mouth-watering desserts were carried out on serving trays to a table placed in the center of the room. Wiggling from her father’s arms, Claudia hurried to her sister and brother’s side, where Isabelle was quick to wrap a protective arm about her. The eldest of the two Laroche girls was mature beyond her years and took it upon herself to look after the needs of both Remi, as well as Claudia. Her mother was grateful for the girl’s prudence in matters pertaining to her siblings, even though at times it caused a great deal of dissension between the three of them. Nevertheless, on this night, Claudia reveled in the attention her sister lavished on her, as the absence of her mother’s presence of late had left her more often than not in a melancholy disposition.

Lizzie Broussard found she was having a difficult time keeping up with the hungry parishioners. Tray after tray went out, but before she had even transferred the last plate to the table it was snatched up by someone. Returning to the kitchen, she was handed yet another serving platter laden with an assortment of delectable treats. Give me a second one, would you, Helene, she murmured, intent on staying ahead of the ravenous crowd.

Are you certain you can manage two, Lizzie? the woman asked.

Yes...they’re eating them up faster than I can get them out there...but not to worry...I’ll be able to manage. Lizzie held her hand out until the weight of a second tray filled it. Breezing through the door, she maneuvered her way through the throngs of people mingling throughout the room, intent on delivering the scrumptious treats without mishap to those who still waited.

Jean Luc Rousseau lingered among the clusters of parishioners who still waited for a haphazard slice of pie, speaking in a quiet tone to Claude Laroche. The men were caught up in a hushed discussion regarding the reported rumors of the imminent return of the Bourbon family to power, thus providing a means to dispel with the murderous Napoleon Bonaparte. Catching sight of Lizzie Broussard, he queried, Who’s the redhead?

Claude Laroche followed his friend’s gaze and was quick to respond, Her name is Lizzie Broussard, but I’m unsure as to anything else. All Marielle said is that she’s an Irish girl who arrived last month with the ‘Sisters of the Holy Order’ to establish an infirmary here in Guilers.

I hadn’t heard talk of an infirmary... Jean Luc mused.

It’s been in the works for some time now from what I’ve heard, but this blasted war has left France too destitute to take care of its own. I suppose the Irish felt called to do so, he teased, and seeing as how it won’t cost us anything, we have opened our arms wide to welcome the blessed women of the Almighty’s apostolic church...even if they are the enemy!

Humph... the handsome Frenchman mumbled, his distant gaze lingering on the unassuming Lizzie Broussard.

Lizzie finally neared the table where the hungry people hovered and none too soon. Her arms ached beneath the weight of the trays she carried and she chided herself for having taken two. Leaning ever so slightly to the right, she inched between an older couple with more than ample girths around their middles. Excusez-moi, Monsieur, Madame, she said, her bright smile distracting their attention for a moment from her trembling limbs, which even now strained to balance the two dessert laden platters precariously on her hands.

Jean Luc, aware of the young woman’s struggle, moved in to offer his assistance. Might I help you? he queried in a soft tone. When the girl did not acknowledge his polite suggestion, he tapped her with a light hand on the shoulder. Mademoiselle?

Lizzie started at the unfamiliar touch and threw a quick glance over her shoulder. The abrupt move sent her toppling off balance, and a nervous giggle arose as she teetered on already unsteady legs. The last thing she caught sight of before the tray came crashing down on the head of Jean Luc Rousseau was the startling blue depths of his eyes, now widened in surprise at the chaos erupting around him. Oh my... she sighed, before sheer mortification overtook her and she dashed into the kitchen to collect a clean towel.

Jean Luc stood in a bewildered silence while streams of chocolate and creamed custard coursed in rivulets down his shirt. Claude Laroche erupted into a hearty burst of laughter, along with the rest of the parishioners who had witnessed the unfortunate event. Swiping at a haphazard glob of custard, Jean Luc slid his finger into his mouth, and peering across the room at Margeaux Guishard he said, Mmm...wonderful as always, Margi!

Lizzie darted back into the room and began to wipe at the gooey mess with a tattered, but clean kitchen rag. I’m so sorry, monsieur, she murmured, dismayed chagrin evident on her features.

Jean Luc, unaccustomed to such blatantly bold behavior, was rendered speechless for a time, but his gaze rested on the lovely young woman making an even more horrific mess of an already sticky predicament. Mademoiselle, he said, it’s alright...I prefer to do it myself. He waited for the redheaded girl to relinquish the towel but she remained oblivious to his prompting and continued to swipe at his clothing. Mademoiselle Broussard, he said again, hoping to catch her attention, I said I will do it...

The firm manner with which he addressed her distracted Lizzie from her deliberate attempts to clean up the mess she had made, and glancing at the handsome man she said, It’s Lizzie...just Lizzie.

Yes, well, I said I can manage, he reiterated yet again in a low tone as he took the rag from her hand.

Jean Luc’s brusque manner of dismissal only served to further humiliate the girl and she spun about on her heel to escape the awkward tension which had descended over the room. The parishioners’ curious glances followed after the woman’s hasty retreat for several disquieting moments before their attention once again turned to the remaining food beckoning to them from the neatly decorated table.

Reminds me of Rebecca, Claude Laroche murmured, more so to himself than to his friend.

She’s nothing like Rebecca, Jean Luc muttered, irritated by the girl’s loose associations with the vows of chastity she had no doubt taken when she had joined ranks with the Sisters of the Holy Order.

Claude studied the terse features of Jean Luc for a time, stunned that the man had taken such offense at what others would have perceived only as a kind gesture of concern. The remainder of the evening passed in a subdued calm as the two men observed the festivities of the celebration from the perimeter of the room, but the redheaded Lizzie Broussard never did return, and when the Laroche children finally tired of the boisterous activities, the group piled onto Jean Luc’s carriage to begin the trip home.

Lizzie Broussard tucked herself away in the broom closet, despair etched into every aspect of her being. She always seemed to have a knack for getting herself into some sort of predicament, but on most occasions she just laughed her way right back out of them, her charming nature easily winning over even the most unsympathetic of temperaments, but this man...this man was different. His apparent condescension towards her was palpable and his casual dismissal rankled her. Having lost both her mother and father at the tender age of eleven, she was raised by her older brother Brendan, allowing little opportunity to succumb to tears when a situation warranted it, for although Brendan loved her beyond measure, his tolerance for what he perceived as manipulative behavior ran low. And so Lizzie’s eyes remained dry, but nevertheless, her heart was troubled by the incident that had occurred, and in front of the parishioners no less. It was bad enough that she was considered a foreigner among them, but now she would also be deemed a nuisance. A sound behind her distracted her from her troubled deliberations.

Good heavens, Lizzie! Whatever are you doing sulking about in here?

Margeaux Guishard had reached into the storage closet to retrieve a broom, hoping to clean up after the remainder of lingering parishioners had taken their leave. The last person the woman had expected to find in the small space was Lizzie Broussard, and the girl’s unexpected presence startled her.

Just hiding myself away until everyone goes home, the young woman sighed.

Lizzie, dear, it was just an accident...everyone knows that. Although you do seem to have more than your fair share... she mused through a slight smile.

Yes, the fiery redhead pronounced, but this was no ordinary accident...this one involved Jean Luc Rousseau.

Why does that make any difference?

I had hoped to have a proper introduction which would allow us to get to know one another, but now I’ve no doubt he despises me.

Monsieur Rousseau has never despised anyone, dear, and he most certainly won’t hold this against you.

He made it perfectly clear that he wanted nothing to do with me, Margi, she lamented.

Oh, don’t let that trouble you. He shuns any female who takes an interest in him.

But he can’t shun me, Margi...not forever anyway.

And why not, Miss Broussard?

Because he is the man I am going to marry, she avowed, her unpretentious tone absent of guile or pretense.

Madame Guishard was taken aback by the girl’s forthright declaration, but Lizzie remained unmindful of the shadow of surprise that distorted the old woman’s features. Lizzie had always possessed a keen insight into what lay in her imminent future...a sixth sense her mother called it, but Lizzie knew in the deepest recesses of her heart that it was simply the voice of the Lord revealing things to her. Her beloved brother, Brendan, recognized it as such as well, and would often seek out her wise counsel in matters pertaining to the state of his affairs, especially in the months preceding his joining the order of ‘Brothers of the Holy Cross’.

Lizzie Broussard, Margeaux chided. That is a mighty bold conjecture coming from a young woman such as yourself!

You might think so, Lizzie sighed, but I must disagree, Margi. Still, it doesn’t help that my one, true love despises me...

The sharp click of disdain sounded from Madame Guishard’s tongue and without uttering another word she marched from the room. Having second thoughts, she peered over her shoulder and said, When you’ve finished feeling sorry for yourself, perhaps you might find the time to help me clean up. The hour is late and I hope to lay this old head to rest before sunup.

A quiet grin lifted the corners of Lizzie’s mouth. Yes, she teased. I suppose the lamentation of my heart can be put off until after you’ve had your beauty sleep.

Margi laughed then, finding herself unexpectedly charmed by Lizzie’s quick wit and easygoing nature, in spite of the frequent misfortune that seemed to plague the young woman. Wrapping a reassuring arm about the girl’s shoulder she murmured, Your one, true love just needs some time to get to know you, cherie, and once he does, I’ve no doubt that he will find you as irresistible as the rest of us do.

Lizzie welcomed the warmth of the arm that enveloped her. Do you think there might be a slice of pie left, Margi?

Oh, I’ll find one sure enough...even if I have to scrape it up off of the floor!

A burst of infectious laughter filled the small room as the two women threw their heads back in delight, while the all too recent travail was dismissed from the forbearing mind of Lizzie Broussard.

Chapter 2

The Redemption had listed about on the waters of the Atlantic Ocean for several days, caught up in the doldrums common in the West Indies during the lingering days of late winter, but now a storm was brewing on the horizon, leaving all onboard the frigate in a state of nervous apprehension...all but Rebecca Burgess that is. She had never yet borne witness to a hurricane at sea and the thought of a little excitement to quell the relentless monotony enticed her. She stood at the railing, her chin resting on her hand as she maintained a steadfast gaze on the dark, foreboding clouds on the horizon. The oppressive heat was leaving the crew of the Redemption longing for the cooler climate of England and tempers were running shorter with each incremental increase of mercury on the thermometer. A distant rumble of thunder rolled across the waves, bringing a delighted grin of intrigue to the captivating young woman’s face.

From the quarterdeck, Captain Jameson and Lieutenants Burgess and Edwards studied the girl.

You’d best forewarn Rebecca that she is to remain below when this storm hits, Mr. Burgess, Captain Jameson advised. I expect it will be as severe as it appears to be from this vantage point, if not more so.

Do you think we ought to hoist sail, sir? Lieutenant Edwards asked. Perhaps if we catch a slight wind before it comes upon us we can steer clear of its path.

We wouldn’t get enough of a start, Mr. Edwards, he replied. Even if we caught a fair wind now, it would still be unlikely that we’d outrun the gale. Better to prepare ourselves and hope for the best at this point.

A bright flash of lightening lit up the sky, bringing a startled gasp of surprise from Rebecca. A tender smile descended upon Paul Burgess’ features when he heard it and he excused himself from the group to join her below at the railing.

Are you enjoying the spectacular display, my dear? he asked, moving up alongside her.

Rebecca only nodded, but the girl’s lingering beam bespoke her engrossed fascination with the visible demonstration of nature’s fury.

When it draws nearer to us, I must ask that you take refuge below.

Why? she queried.

This storm is going to be fierce, Rebecca...fiercer than any you have ever experienced thus far. If it were at all possible we would hoist sail and try to move out of its path, but these blasted doldrums are preventing us from taking action. Nevertheless, the risk of injury is great, not only from the high winds and potential for falling debris, but also from lightening.

Where will you be? she asked in a low tone.

I’ll be wherever the captain orders me to be, he replied, his expression firm.

But what can you and the others do in a storm such as this? she continued, confusion clearly evident on her features. Wouldn’t it be safer if we all remained below?

Most will, he assured, but still, I must see to the safety of the ship if that is what Captain Jameson asks of me.

A glimmer of nervous apprehension darkened her cheery countenance but she nodded her understanding. She felt the reassuring strength of her husband’s arm encircling her and she nestled closer to him.

You could pray, Rebecca, he suggested through a tender smile. God always answers your prayers.

"He answers all prayers, Paul," she murmured.

Yes, but especially yours, he reiterated.

A light giggle bubbled out of her, in spite of the unease that welled within, but she remained within the officer’s protective embrace until he directed her below, the storm having come much too close for his sense of prudence in consideration of his wife’s wellbeing. Intermittent claps of thunder resounded overhead, spurned on by the angry welts of lightening that lashed across the sky, their zigzag patterns leaving no indication of the next path of destruction. Captain Jameson had ordered most of his crew below but requested that his three most trusted lieutenants remain on deck with him, along with a handful of midshipmen. Petty Officer Andrews volunteered his services as well, certain that if he hadn’t succumbed to the fury of the tempest yet, it was unlikely that he would now. On the quarterdeck Phil Sommer stood between James Edwards and Captain Jameson. All awaited the arrival of Paul Burgess who had retreated below to secure his wife within the safe confines of their berth.

You must stay here, Rebecca, Lieutenant Burgess said, his face inches from hers. Promise me you won’t leave.

Rebecca’s eyes glinted with fear, something the young officer was unaccustomed to. Please, Paul, she begged. Can I take refuge with Dr. Ammons? At least then I can be of some assistance should there be any unforeseen injuries.

You’ll remain there with him? he asked, his piercing gaze dark and intense.

Yes, she replied.

Taking hold of her arm, he pulled her back into the dim light of the corridor and led her to the sick berth, where a surprised Dr. Ammons offered a genuine smile of welcome.

I get to have her? he teased.

Yes, if you promise me you’ll keep her here, the young officer replied through a skeptical scowl.

I’ll barricade the door if it comes to it, Mr. Burgess, he assured. She will be safe with me.

With that the young man spun about on his heel and hurried to the quarterdeck, intent on joining his fellow officers in monitoring the status of the tropical storm that raged just beyond the hull of the massive frigate. Stepping out from the safe confines of the corridor, the fierce gale sent him reeling backwards, while the tightly bound sails slapped with ferocious intent against the masts. Paul Burgess caught sight of Captain Jameson and James Edwards being buffeted by the wind, both watching on as Phil Sommer shouted out orders to the midshipmen struggling to secure the rigging on the deck below, while turbulent ocean swells crashed over the railing, leaving the sparse crew struggling in an effort to maintain their footing.

Mr. Burgess, Captain Jameson called out. Instruct the men to raise the topsail and loose the main sail.

Sir? the officer queried, being certain that the delicate fabric would most likely be torn to shreds in the unrelenting blasts of the typhoon’s fury.

We must steer the frigate into the storm, the captain shouted, otherwise she will founder.

Aye-aye, sir, he screamed, his voice swallowed up by a loud clap of thunder.

The Redemption began to reel dangerously as the force of the waves crashed against the sides of the hull. Paul Burgess hurried to lend a hand to the faltering midshipmen who were unfurling the rigging which had been secured to the masts earlier, in preparation for the fierce gale. Lieutenant Sommer had taken up residence at the stern, where he held fast with a precarious grip to the wheel, desperate to steer the massive frigate into the eye of the storm lest the Redemption and her crew succumb to an early grave at the bottom of the sea.

In the sick berth, Rebecca peered at the solid, wooden planks of the portal through a helpless expression of dismay, her eyes wide with chagrin. What if they need our help? she whispered, glancing over her shoulder to where Dr. Ammons stood. Can I just check on them? I won’t step foot on deck...I give you my word.

"Rebecca, if they even catch sight of your lovely face it is highly likely that you and I will both find ourselves in shackles for insubordination. Besides that, I gave my word that I would keep you here with me, and I intend to do so. He began to pace about the small confines of the room, retrieving and securing items that had been displaced by the listing of the ship. The men will manage well enough, he continued. You must remember, my dear girl, this isn’t the first typhoon we’ve seen, nor