Page 13 of The Autumn Wife
She stilled, her ribs tightening. She couldn’t possibly call him Theo. There was intimacy in speaking someone’s first name, and intimacy with men was exactly what she’d come to the convent to avoid. Bad enough that she had to see this disturbingmason every day. He looked like a brute, stood like a soldier, and worked alongside the other laborers until he was just as drenched in sweat. Whenever he loomed into her presence, her gut flexed between terror, resistance, and some other prickly feeling she feared examining too closely.
“Call me Theo,” he said more softly, before pointing at the misfits around the fire. “And call them François, Pierre, Michel, Jacques, and Jean—”
“Sister Martha,” she interrupted, as a breeze tossed the needle-heavy boughs of the pines nearby, “will accept François and perhaps Michel as workers. But as for the other children—”
“She wants the building done above all else, doesn’t she?”
Cecile huffed a breath. “Of course, but—”
“I’ll be teaching these boys a trade, and they’ll help me finish the building sooner. And isn’t caring for the poor the work of a nun, as well, Madame Tremblay, soon-to-be Sister…Sister what? Have you picked a saint’s name yet?”
Sometimes courage was foolhardy—but this man’s overbearing confidence prompted her to shoot him an angry gaze. Wasn’t he full of questions about things he had no business knowing and she didn’t dare divulge?
Stay focused on the children.She jerked a chin at the crowd. “Where did you find them?”
“On the streets of Montreal. Hungry, without a home or family. In physical danger.”
All five kids stood still, watching her and Theo—no, Monsieur Martin. Their eyes gleamed in the firelight and she fell into those gazes one by one, a soreness growing in her chest.Dear heavens.
Tearing her gaze away, she let her head fall back and blinked at the sky. Dusk had turned to twilight, for the stars above winked. The scented smoke of roasting meat wafted above her, rising from two skinned rabbits turning on a wooden spit. In her mind was burned the sight of the group, especially the youngest, who didn’t look older than ten. Cecile wasn’t even sure the waif wasn’t a girl, dressed as a boy for her own protection.
What would happen to a young girl left alone on the streets of Montreal?
“Before I started working here,” Theo began, his voice much gentler than it had been moments ago. “I used to come to Montreal about once a month to fetch supplies and do an odd job or two when there was opportunity. One of those boys picked my pocket. I followed, got back what he stole, but Jacques slipped away. Every return trip, I noticed them more, skulking around corners, stealing food from carts, avoiding me. François had carved loaded dice to entice fools to gamble. He fed the rest of the group on those wages until he tried to trick the wrong man and was beaten bloody.” A muscle flexed in his cheek. “What you’re looking at are powder boys escaped from French ships, the bastard children ofdeceased tavern women, andMétisstill unsure where they belong in this world.”
His voice slid into her ear, rough in the way fur could be, when scuffed backward. This unlikely savior had apparently been watching out for these young thieves for some time. She couldn’t help herself—she looked at Theo,reallylooked at him. In profile, his jaw had gone tense, and his lowered brows cast his eyes in shadows. Baffling, how gentleness could thrive in a confounding man of such burly, commanding strength.
You’re a puzzle, Theo Martin.
“If you agree to house them here,” he said, forging on into the silence, “I promise to give them light work. Then I can shift other laborers to more skilled work, like laying stone.”
Cecile heard footsteps just as Etienne strode out of the darkness, passing by her with a load of firewood in his arms. She turned and lifted her hand, intending to ruffle his midnight-black hair as he passed, but she stilled as she glimpsed a hard look in his eyes. A warning burned in those black depths, directed past her toward Theo, who, she realized, had sidled close to her—too close for Etienne’s comfort, it seemed.
Ah, my son,she thought, taking a reflexive sidestep away.You cannot protect me from every man who looks my way.
Etienne continued his pace toward the open fire, his shoulders straight. As the boy stoked the fire, heraised his gaze above the flames, watching the two of them—watching Theo, really—with a wary glare. Goodness, when did Etienne’s flippant gratitude for being saved by Theo switch to suspicion? Yes, she and the overseer had been spending an uneasy hour together every morning, but the mason had made no untoward move or statement, other than teasing her about becoming a nun. She supposed Etienne couldn’t help himself, having been raised in such a dangerous household. He was still the boy determined to protect her against all threats, real or imagined.
In truth, the only thing she needed protection against right now was the forcefulness of Theo’s arguments.
In that, she admitted defeat.
“When Sister Martha returns,” she murmured into the darkness, “I’d appreciate your help in explaining the presence of laboring children.”
He made a noise, a low sucking of air between his teeth. “You’ll take them in?”
“Of course I will.” She frowned. “Do you think I’m a monster?”
He flashed a white-toothed grin that she quickly turned away from, losing her breath altogether.
“Perhaps,” she found herself saying, words rising in spite of her better sense, “the youngest among them”—the girl—“shouldn’t labor on the building site, but instead set traps for small game, or hunt. I assume that bow and arrow belong to Jean?”
Jeanne?
From the side of her eye, she saw him nod.
“There are plenty of porcupines and rabbits in these woods,” she continued, though her voice had gone high. “I assume Jean knows how to set a trap. Eel season is coming, and wild berries need picking. Earning one’s keep can be done not just by physical labor, but also by adding to the communal larder.”Why am I babbling?“There’s no room in the crew’s bunkhouse, so they’ll have to sleep here, in the old stable. I’ll arrange for pallets. We might have to fix the roof—”
“I’ll see it done.”
