The Immortal American (The Immortal American Series) by L. B. Joramo Page A

but with his jaw set the way it was I couldn’t find any more words to counter his point. He continued, “I overhear men talking about you. I know you never hear the talk, nor do you ever pay no heed to the men. You’re too busy, inside that big head of yours with all those ideas of yours floating around. But they talk about you. Yes, many a man might find you peculiar, but there’s something about you. You have spirit, girl, and there is no hiding that. And there’s no hiding from the fact that you are a pretty girl, er, woman.” He paused, but then gave himself a quick nod. “I’m telling this to you now so you know, and so you know about Mr. Beaumont.”
    I began to shake my head again, feeling my cheeks burning. “Monsieur Beaumont . . . I’m just a country bumpkin to him, I’m sure. Even if you are remotely right, Monsieur Beaumont is not the kind of man who would hurt me.”
    “I am not talking about that Frenchman hurting you.” Jonah patted my hand. “No, he’d never hurt you. He’d hurt himself. He looks at you like he’s dyin’, Violet. Like he’s dying. I never seen a man so happy to be suffering.”
    What Jonah said resonated within me, my heart. But still, I had to keep up an appearance of innocence. “Well,” I huffed, “even if somehow you are right, what are you suggesting I do about it? I’m engaged . . . to be married . . . to another man.”
    Jonah nodded. “Let him know that. Mr. Beaumont needs to hear it from your lips that you’re taken. The sooner, the better.”
    “Jacque knows I’m engaged. He knows it.”
    “Violet, men, men’s hearts are sometimes unstoppable. Take for instance me, I’m buying my wife. I’m buying her freedom. There’s only one thing that would stop me from marrying that woman, and that’s her. If she’d said no, I’d’ve a broken heart, never be the same again, but I wouldn’t be asking for money, something I swore I would never do. But I did it for her, and I’d do it again. I’m going to travel through Virginia country where the settlers don’t take kindly to free black men, and the Indians are known to scalp travelers. Yet, I’m a going. I want that woman to be mine with all my heart. Are you crying?”
    I nodded and wiped at my wet cheeks. “It’s so beautiful.” I hiccupped. “Your love for your fiancé. You have to stop telling me how much you love her or I’ll blubber for days.”
    “I haven’t seen you cry since your daddy passed.”
    I sniffed and smiled. “I know. Lord, I’m a mess.”
    He smiled sagely. “Nah, you aren’t a mess. You’re just a romantic fool.”
    “Don’t tell or I’ll punch you in the nose.”
    “And such a lady.”
    “That’s what a lady would do, I’m sure of it.”
    Jonah smiled down at me. He patted my hand again. “Just tell him yourself, Violet. Tell Mr. Beaumont that you love Mathew and you’re going to get married to him. That Frenchman needs to hear it from your lips that you love another.”    

Chapter Six:
My Own Boston Massacre
     
    I breathed a sigh of relief. Jacque’s carriage that was to drive my family and me to Boston did not carry him. The driver said that Monsieur Beaumont had traveled ahead and was waiting at the inn we were expected to dine and stay that night. I had pictured myself sitting in between my sister and mother in the carriage, across from Jacque, and how I would have exploded from the desire to touch him. Thank God that didn’t happen.
    Mathew had traveled ahead as well, saying something about rum and rights to be had for all. I’d laughed and kissed him on his cheek.
    In the glass windowed Landau carriage (Of course it was a huge glossy black Landau, the best of the best. It was sent by Jacque.) I couldn’t keep my eyes open as soon as we were on the highway, even though Hannah had finally admitted her engagement to Mother, and they were bickering about the arrangement. Still, I slept almost the whole way to Boston on my sister’s shoulder while