Journey to Joy Read online

  Journey to Joy

  Anne Perreault

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Journey to Joy

  Also by Anne Perreault

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  30

  31

  32

  33

  34

  35

  36

  37

  38

  39

  40

  41

  42

  43

  44

  45

  46

  Epilogue

  Author's note

  Acknowledgments

  About the author...

  Can she find joy where there has only been defeat and dishonor?

  Tricked into indentured servitude, Joy Richards finds herself working for an abusive innkeeper. Her life is so destitute, she feels God has forsaken her. After one last desperate cry to God, a kind stranger steps in to take her away.

  Can she trust this new circumstance?

  Andrew Lloyd-Foxx abhors injustice. He can't walk away from it. When he steps in on the young woman's behalf, his own life is turned upside down. Burdened with his own loss, he has no room for anyone else.

  Will the journey be too difficult?

  Also by Anne Perreault

  ROYAL SKATER CHRONICLES

  Skating for Grace

  Learning to Trust

  Broken

  Restoring the Locust Years

  Making all Things Beautiful (coming later 2019)

  The Cooper Family

  Love the Lord Your God with all Your Heart

  Dangerous Relations

  Rescuing the Weak

  Stand Alone titles

  Running the Good Race

  What if...

  Ebooks

  An Unusual Adventure

  All books are available as Kindle and are free on KU

  ©2019

  by Anne Perreault

  Edited by Lisa DeBartolomao

  Cover design by Natasha Perreault

  Images by Pixaby.com and Shutterstock

  Printed in the United States of America

  ISBN: 9781081522261

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any for or by any means – for example, electronic, photocopy, recording – without permission of the author. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

  Scripture verses taken from the King James Version of the Bible

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, incidents and dialogues are products of the author's imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locals, organization, or persons – living or dead – are entirely coincidental.

  Facebook: Into the Light Fiction

  Webpage: intothelightfiction.weebly.com

  Newsletter: https://mailchi.mp/25f04fba2efb/httpsmailchimpintothelightfiction

  Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding.

  In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy path.

  Prov 3:5, 6

  To Lisa. We make a good team.

  And to Justwouldificould, my beautiful Grace-mare. It was such an honor to be part of your life for a time.

  1

  Somewhere in Massachusetts, 1837

  “GIRL! I ASKED FOR A pint of ale ten minutes ago!” An inebriated man glowered over his empty tankard.

  The girl in question spun around, her hands fluttering to her filthy apron, and almost tripped over the hem of her tattered, stained dress.

  “Let me teach ya a lesson, wench!”

  The man reached forward and managed to yank her hair back, hard. Before he could do anything else, the innkeeper stepped in. He quickly and mercilessly slapped her face. Joy lifted her hands in self-defense.

  “Yer more trouble than yer worth!”

  The innkeeper glowered at her and went after her as she tried to cower in the corner of the noisy filthy tavern, where the bugs were more plentiful than the paying patrons. Curling into a tight ball against the wall, she protected herself against the brunt of the blows that rained down on her. A kick made it past her defenses and she whimpered, hating herself for the show of weakness.

  “Ger-up! Go an’ do what I pay ya fer! An’ dinna let me catch ya fallin’ asleep on the job agin! Next time I won't treat ya as kindly!”

  Joy tried to catch her shallow breath. She pulled her hair away from her face and touched her cheek. A sharp pain stabbed through her.

  She had neither time nor energy for this.

  More fabric ripped as she stumbled to her feet. The hem of what was supposed to be a dress was now hanging down and she was sure to trip on it. She tore it off the rest of the way. What did a little less material really matter to her? It wasn't as though she was going to a ball any time soon.

  She had attended plenty of lowly barn raisings and harvest festivals. What she wouldn't give to be at one right now, talking to her friends.

  Perhaps one of the young men would ask her to dance. Her seedy surroundings vanished as her imagination transported her to a better place. Instead of drunken men groping at her from every side, she was waltzing on the arm of the one man for her. Handsome Jonah. His smile alone could light up the darkest evening.

  “Watch it, wench!”

  She was ripped out of her reverie and regretted her hasty move as the full tankard she clumsily carried spilled over the filthy man. The one who had apparently been waiting for his drink for ten minutes. Her breath caught in her throat.

  Oh, she had done it.

  The innkeeper, a man who held her life in his hands, bore down on her, his face twisted in a dangerous scowl.

  “So sorry,” she managed to sputter, and tried to mop the drink off the table before it did more damage on the man's already filthy pants and tunic.

  “Oy, what are ya up to?”

  Again, her hair was yanked back roughly, leaving her head no choice but to follow. As for the rest of her body, it wasn't so easily convinced to go along and so she fell. That didn't seem to faze the man dragging her back into the kitchen.

  Kitchen was too strong of a word for this place where rats found themselves on the menu as delicacies. The place lacked a certain – refinement.

  Joy reached up to keep her scalp attached to her head. He was going to make her regret her daydream, and it was going to hurt. She had been at the receiving end of the man's anger before, many times it seemed, and it was never pleasant. If only he left her with some of her dignity intact.

  The look on his face told her that this was not about to happen.

  “Dinna I just tell yer ta keep yer wits ’bout ya?” he snarled.

  He was inches away from her and she gagged on the putrid breath coming from his partially decaying teeth. She almost lost what little food she had in her stomach into his face.

  Joy glanced around the dingy surroundings. If only she could grab a club or something to defend herself with. Or one of the dull kitchen knives.

  The thought of taking a club or knife to the man made her withdraw into herself. How could she? Nothing could make her sink that low.


  She had to admit that, in the month she had been here, there had been many times when she wished she could stand up for herself and end the torment the man dished out freely. He seemed to enjoy working out his anger on her any way he found convenient. She had been traded by her former alcoholic owner for a barrel of whiskey, and apparently the innkeeper thought he had received the worst end of the deal.

  It was strange how calm she felt with him hovering menacingly over her. Was this how she was supposed to die? Beaten to death.

  Her parents would be horrified if they knew that their precious daughter had ended up here, in the hands of this man, who had so little regard for human dignity and kindness. They would do anything to get her out of the situation if they could.

  But that was the crux of the matter.

  They couldn't.

  “Yer useless an’ not worth the clothes on yer back. 'Ave ya forgotten? I. Own. Ya.”

  His voice rose and she pressed herself hard into the cold dirt floor, fingering around for anything to defend herself with. The man had murder on his face.

  “I won't do it again,” Joy whimpered.

  She hated how weak her voice sounded. This cowering woman on the floor wasn't even her.

  She was yanked to her feet again and the first blow struck her while he cursed her with every foul name he could think of. Pain radiated through her face and her back and, for the first time in a long time, she prayed. It was more like a scream for help and she didn't expect it to be answered.

  She grunted as a blow split her lip. Warm, sticky blood gushed down her chin.

  “EXCUSE ME, MY GOOD man.”

  The voice sounded like something out of the distance, coming through the thick fog in her brain. It was a clipped, cold voice.

  The blows stopped and Joy slipped to the ground, the strength she may have had completely drained.

  “Sir, ya honor me 'umble abode wit’ yer presence,” the innkeeper's voice lowered a few decibels and he actually managed to bow.

  “Could I trouble you for your time?”

  “'Course. Pa'don me while I teach this here wench 'er manners.”

  Joy managed to open her puffy eyes to see who had postponed the inevitable.

  The figure standing in the kitchen door didn't belong. She flinched at her reflection in his tall, perfectly polished, black riding boots. His tan breeches were devoid of any stains. His white shirt and flawless cravat were out of place in this squalor. His red jacket was so bright, it almost blinded her.

  A dandy.

  There wasn't a speck of dirt in the clean-shaven, aristocratic features. Only a scar across the forehead kept his face from being too handsome. His wheat-colored hair had been gathered together by a piece of tanned leather at the nape of his neck to keep it out of his face. Steely gray eyes peered out from underneath thick, dark lashes and if looks could kill, her master would have given her his last punch.

  Apparently, she was the only one in the kitchen who recognized the anger smoldering behind those eyes.

  “I say.” That crisp voice now cut through the fog, completely. “Could I trouble you for some water for my horse? We've had a long, dusty ride. It is hot out there and my horse is in much need of some refreshment.”

  “Kin I offer yer lordship a glass o’ port or a nice cool pint of me best dark?” Her keeper quickly found his best manners and his diction became less common.

  The gentleman flashed a smile that disappeared quickly.

  “I think not. What is cooking in that pot on the fire?”

  “Ow, sir. It be the best beef stew in the county.”

  Rat stew was more like it. Joy knew that for a fact because she had skinned the rats only this morning and there were plenty more waiting for tomorrow. At least the meat was fresh.

  A look of disgust passed over his handsome face.

  “I think I'll pass. A piece of bread and cheese will do. Bring it to me outside.”

  The man retreated out of the kitchen, glancing her way one last time. Joy shuddered and suppressed a groan when the innkeeper yanked her arm roughly.

  “See to 'is needs, ya 'ear! We ain't finished. If I catch yer daydreamin' agin, I'm gonna make ya regret the day yer was born!” The hiss was menacing and Joy tried to shove the images that slipped into her mind right back where they had come from. “Go, tend to 'is lordship. Serve 'im some of that cheese.”

  He turned to leave, then hurled over his shoulder, “Mind, cut off parts the rats chewed on.”

  Joy worked quickly, cutting the tiny bite marks off the bread. But it proved difficult, with hands trembling so hard. She sliced herself with the dull knife and groaned. Blood soaked into the insides of the bread. She quickly threw it into the fire and wrapped her hand in her filthy apron.

  She took a deep breath. In an attempt to steady her hands, she counted to ten, then picked up the knife again. This time, she managed to cut not only the bread but also the cheese.

  SHE STUMBLED AS SHE took a step outside, tripping over the stoop. Her eyes adjusted to the sunlight and she blinked rapidly. Once outside, she hesitated. Joy's tattered dress made her feel... ashamed. Once she stepped into the light, she wouldn't be able to hide her filth. She would be exposed as to what she had become.

  A filthy tavern wench.

  But to stay inside was worse. She would find a way to ignite the ire of her owner.

  The gentleman reclined against the fat trunk of the oak tree that shaded the front of the tavern. His eyes were closed, his face that had been so taut with anger only moments ago was relaxed. He looked peaceful. It felt wrong to disturb him, and Joy stopped short a few steps away. The horse, a magnificent gray thoroughbred, raised his beautiful head and nickered softly in warning.

  His eyes snapped open and for a moment she thought he would go for the musket hanging on the side of his saddle. She took a step backward, stumbling over the root of the oak tree.

  “Thank you.” His gaze was not unkind. “My horse. Water, please?” His voice, clipped and aristocratic, left no doubt that people jumped to obey his every wish before he finished uttering it.

  “I'll fetch it quick,” she stammered.

  “I shall wait until you have brought it.”

  He pointed for her to leave the food in front of him.

  Joy hesitated. After all, the man had saved her life by suddenly appearing at the door. It would be unkind to let him eat any of the tavern's food.

  “Unless you are starving and have a long way to go, I would advise against eating the food. The water is clean.”

  Did she have a death wish? Her owner would kill her for sure if he heard.

  His lips slid into a semblance of a smile.

  Joy quickly retreated and fetched a bucket of water from the pump. She carried it back outside and placed it in front of the thoroughbred. She longed to touch his gleaming coat. She caught her hand halfway to his neck and quickly put it down.

  “Thank you.”

  Joy turned to hurry back into the safety of the semi darkness to hide.

  “I say. Is there anything I can do to help?”

  What?! Joy paused in her steps and spun around.

  “I could offer you a better... job.”

  The gentleman had a look of genuine care written all over him. It hit her in the pit of her stomach. It had been so long since anyone had looked at her in such a way.

  She lifted her chin. She was not a victim.

  “I’m not free to make that decision.” Her voice held a tiny tremor at the end and her statement caused his eyes to widen.

  “You - a white woman - are a slave?”

  She sucked in a heavy breath. “Yes. In a way.” Her bottom lip trembled, reminding her of her injury.

  The gentleman recovered quickly from his shock by offering her a crisp handkerchief.

  “Your lip is bloody. Perhaps some water to clean it?”

  “No, thank you.” She shook her head at the proffered linen.

  She had successfully managed to serve one custom
er today.

  2

  TEN MINUTES LATER, she lifted her chin and walked back into the hot sunlight. Joy had cleaned her bloody face with some warm water, trying to make herself look at least somewhat presentable.

  She knew it didn't matter, really. She was still filthy and couldn't wash it away. Her dark brown hair hung in clumps down her back. No matter how hard she tried to comb her fingers through it, she couldn't.

  “It's your turn to brush my hair.” Hope. Her sister, handed her the brush, letting her thick golden tresses fall down her back. “I want it to shine like yours. All the girls are envious of your locks. They say that it would fetch a high price.”

  They giggled and Joy began their nightly ritual.

  Tripping on the root system, she was ripped out of her daydream.

  Watch yourself, Joy.

  When she approached the man, the only thing left of the food on the plate were a few crumbs. Her eyes widened in horror.

  “Sir!” She pointed.

  A small smile touched his strong mouth. “The squirrels and chipmunks may have become my best friends.”

  She picked up the plate, swallowing a laugh that begged to be let free.

  “Thank you for your service. My horse is much refreshed.”

  Thank you? She hadn't been shown appreciation in a long time. What was happening to her lips? The left side lifted ever so gently. Was that a smile? How long had it been?

  She snapped herself back to the present.

  “I'm glad. He is a handsome animal.”

  “Are you familiar with the Godolphin Arab?” He had gotten to his feet and walked over to his steed.

  Joy worked on squashing the excited jitters that passed through her. Why was he still talking to her? This was her kind of conversation. He was keeping her from her dreary duties.

  “Yes. After arriving in Europe as a gift for the French king, he was passed off for his small stature and eventually sold to England, where he became the property of the Earl of Godolphin. In the end, he is credited for the improvement to the thoroughbred bloodline with his enormous speed.” And why was she even engaging him in conversation?