Godfrey: Book One
Page 9
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“Fired? But…why? Did you steal money or something?”
Had it been anyone but Francine asking such a question he’d have been insulted.
“No.”
“Then why would he fire you?”
“Because that maudit tête carrée propositioned one of our clients - Madame Martineau - remember? I’ve told you about her. The woman who owns La Cabane à Sucre.”
“Um…”
“La Cabane à Sucre. The piano bar on Saint Denis.”
“Oh, right…yes…I remember now. Your boss propositioned her? With what?”
Godfrey shrugged and glanced out the window at the shoppers on Saint Catherine, a frown on his face. “Something inappropriate. She didn’t say what exactly and I wasn’t going to ask.”
“But wait…what does that have to do with you?”
“Well, he was in a foul mood all day because Madame Martineau obviously rejected him at the bar yesterday night. And Madame Martineau always comes to see me whenever she comes to the bank. I’m her favourite teller, I guess. And he never knows what we’re talking about. And I guess he’s jealous in a way. Or he thinks we’re having a good laugh about him - which we do sometimes,” Godfrey said, grinning mischievously as he stirred a cube of sugar into his coffee.
“And so he fired you for being friendly towards Madame Martineau?”
“It seems that way. He gave me my day’s pay and told me not to come back. Ever.”
Francine’s eyes narrowed. “He can’t just do that.”
“Well, he did.”
It was incidents like these that made him weary of the English.
“Can’t you go above him? To someone at the company?”
“And where would that get me exactly? It’s not as though they would believe a teller over a manager anyway. Plus the whole company is run by les maudits Anglais.”
The girl pursed her lips as he said this. She didn’t like him cursing the English.
“My mom’s father was English,” she’d said hotly the first time he’d made such a remark.
But he didn’t care. He was fed up with English rule in Quebec.
“So, what are you going to do?” she asked after a minute.
“I don’t know.”
The waitress returned to their table and refilled their mugs.
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
“I guess I’ll go out West. Will you come with me?”
He knew she’d say no.
She knew that he knew she’d say no. But she liked the way he had smiled when he’d asked. As though he were trying to make the best of a bad situation.
“You know I can’t, Godfrey.”
The young man sighed and looked once more out the window at the people hurrying along Sainte Catherine, the din of the other diners making it difficult to concentrate.
“Wishful thinking, I guess,” he muttered after awhile.
“Oh come on! Don’t be a pout!”
Godfrey looked across the table at Francine. Her brown eyes seemed to breathe fire.
“I’m sorry.”
“Apology accepted,” she said quietly, a small smile tugging at her lips as she took a sip from her mug.
“It’s just…”
“It’s a lot to think about?”
Godfrey nodded. “Yeah.”
“Well, you’re still young. You’ve all the time in the world. Life’s a marathon, not a one hundred metre dash.”
The young man grinned. “So you always tell me.”
“Well, it’s true,” she said, finishing her hot chocolate.
Godfrey nodded and looked out the window once more. “Promise me you’ll write,” he said after a minute.
“I will if you will.”
He nodded. “It’s going to be lonely out there.”
“You’re a farm boy,” said Francine, with a sassy smile. “You can handle it.”
Godfrey returned her smile, but then looked away. “Will you come visit?”
A knot was beginning to form in his throat - and he didn’t like it.
“If I can.”
Godfrey inhaled deeply, both satisfied and anxious as he thought of the new path he was about to embark upon.
“Alright. I’ll go.”
- 6 -
The following day Godfrey rode into town with his father for supplies, Rodolphe and Rocket pulling the wagon with great enthusiasm.
“You know, it was your great, great-grandfather, Michel-René, who first came to these parts. He’d grown up on a farm at Ile Perrot and being one of the youngest in the family, by the time he’d become a man, there wasn’t a strip of land left to be had, his older brothers having gotten it all. They used the old seigniorial system back in those days - “
“I know, papa,” said Godfrey irritably as he kept his eyes on the passing scenery, “you’ve told me this story a hundred times.”
“And I’m telling you again! History is important. You have to know where you come from. Who your people are.”
Godfrey nodded, but said nothing, still too angry with his father’s infidelity to converse with him.
How could he betray my mother like that? Us. His family.
“Hey, my boy. Listen to me when I’m speaking to you.”
Léandre cracked the reins and the two steeds slowed to a gentle trot.
Godfrey sighed irritably. “What do you want me to say, papa? I know my history. Your father was François. His father was Michel. His father was Michel-René. Michel-René’s father was René-Pierre. René-Pierre’s father was Pierre, the first Leduc to come to Quebec.”
“New France.”
“The first Leduc to come to New France,” Godfrey repeated.
“Good. And who was Pierre Leduc?”
“Pierre Leduc was born in Rouen, Normandy. He was a soldier in the French army. Carignan regiment, Lamothe company.”
“And in what year did he arrive in New France?”
“In 1691.”
“Good. And what was his profession?”
“He was an arms smith.”
“And when he had completed his service, where did he establish his farm?”
“At Ile Perrot.”
“Excellent.”
Godfrey wanted nothing more than to query him about his mistress. But that would be going too far. Still, there were other ways to get to the man.
“I’m moving out West,” he said abruptly, his tone cold and impassive. “Going to join Isaac and Leo in Alberta.”
Godfrey looked at his father, wondering how he would respond to the bombshell he’d just dropped. To his surprise however, Léandre said nothing and they continued to the hardware store in silence.
It was only afterwards, on the way back, that he finally spoke.
“You’re not much of a son.”
“And you’re not much of a father.”
“Leaving your family as though they’re worth nothing.”
“It’ll be one less mouth to feed and I’ll send money home as soon as I can.”
“You haven’t the experience to run a farm all on your own.”
“I’ll have my brothers to help me.”
“You won’t last a year.”
“I will. And you can eat your hat when I do.”
The man grunted, cracked the reins, and spoke no more.