“Should I take the marquis back to the Boeckels?” Marcus asked de Clermont. All of this excitement could not be beneficial for their patient.
“I fear that not even Adams and his oxen could pull Gil away,” the chevalier replied with a sigh. “Wait here. I’ll go see to the wagon. It will draw all the traffic to a halt, if left where it is.”
De Clermont joined the throng around the broken wheel. Marcus could see the chain that had done the damage, a length of it wrapped around one of the spokes and the rest of it lying in the road.
“I fear this is a bad sign,” Lafayette said mournfully. “First the crack. Now this. Do you believe in omens, Doc?”
“I do,” said a soft voice.
Marcus turned to find Brother Andrew standing at his elbow.
“I was taught to watch for them, when my name was Ofodobendo Wooma and I was still in the land of my fathers,” Brother Andrew continued. “Lightning and rain and the winds—these were all signs that the gods were angry and must be appeased. Later, when my name was York and I lived with a Jewish master on the island of Manhattan, he planned on selling me to Madeira in exchange for some wine. I prayed for deliverance, and one of the Brethren bought me instead and brought me here. That was a sign, too—of God’s love.”
Lafayette listened, fascinated.
“But I do not think this broken wheel should be counted among them, Brother Lafayette,” Brother Andrew said with a shake of his head. “God does not need to send his poor servants a message that we misjudged the weight of the bell. The broken chain is sign enough.”
“That is what Matthew said,” the marquis said, watching his friend argue with John Adams. Over by the wagon, tempers were fraying.
“Fetch Brother Ettwein,” Brother Eckhardt murmured to Brother Andrew. “Then go back to the mill. They will have need of you before this day is done.”
* * *
—
IT WAS TWILIGHT BEFORE MARCUS had an opportunity to take the medicines to Brother Andrew and Sister Magdalene. The area beside the creek was a hive of activity, even at this late hour, and the lamplight spilled through the windows and illuminated Marcus’s path.
The door to the millworks was ajar and Marcus craned his head around it, wanting to see what was going on inside. The sight that met his eyes was astonishing.
The chevalier de Clermont was working alongside Brother Andrew. His shirtsleeves were rolled up, displaying muscled forearms, and his dark breeches were covered in wood shavings. De Clermont’s skin was pale and smooth, unmarred by the marks of battle common to the soldiers Marcus treated. Not for the first time, Marcus wondered exactly what kind of knight the chevalier de Clermont was, with his craftsman’s skills and preference for the workshop rather than the tavern. The chevalier was a hard man to know—and an even more difficult one to understand.
“I think that’s straight,” the chevalier said, handing a spoke to Brother Andrew. “What do you think?”
Brother Andrew weighed the spoke in his hand and looked down the length of it with a practiced eye. He coughed as he drew the air of the mill into his lungs. “That will do, Brother Matthew. Shall I take them to the wheelwright?”
“Let Doc do it.” The chevalier de Clermont turned and motioned Marcus forward.
“I brought the liniment, Brother Andrew, and the tea,” Marcus said. “Brother Eckhardt made something to treat Sister Magdalene’s hands.”
“She is still down at the laundry,” Brother Andrew said. “I told her not to walk home unaccompanied. I will go—”
“No. I will go and escort Sister Magdalene home,” de Clermont said. “The hill is too much for your lungs at present. Doc will make you some of his tea and then come straight back from the wheelwright and put some liniment on your back. By the time I return with Sister Magdalene, you will be as hale and hearty as the day you married.”
Brother Andrew laughed, but the laughter soon turned to spasms of coughing. Marcus and de Clermont waited in silence until the fit passed and the man was able to breathe again.
“I thank you, Brother Matthew,” Brother Andrew said, “for your kindness.”
“It is nothing, Brother Andrew,” de Clermont said with a bow. “I will return soon.”
Marcus poked at the fire and put the dented kettle on the stove to boil water. Once it was piping hot, he shook out some of the dried herbs from the packet of tea and set it to steep. He made sure Brother Andrew was comfortable and breathing more easily before trotting off with the bundle of wheel spokes. Marcus was saved from having to take them into town by some of the single brethren who were wheeling a metal hoop in that direction, no doubt to go around the new wheel that would carry the statehouse bell out of Bethlehem.