by Frieda Watt
When Claude arrived in Louisbourg, he had the engineers build him a large, two-storey, whitewashed stone manor house on the quay overlooking the harbour, with several shuttered windows and a large, well-tended garden in the back. It was one of the most impressive homes in the city. The house was intended to show the power of the spirit of New France to anyone who visited the fortress. It was also designed to stroke Claude’s considerable ego.
“They won’t make a big deal of this,” Nic reassured her as he pushed open the heavy oak front door. “We were only trying to help.”
Unfortunately, Annette was waiting for them. She was a small, nervous woman, her nervosity made worse by her husband’s temper and her frequent headaches. It was always possible to judge her mental state by the way she was dressed. Annette never left the house in less than perfect condition. Her dark hair was always dramatically pinned on top of her head, her eyes and lips painted on, and her clothes immaculately pressed. Today, however, her hair hung loose behind her back, and her eye makeup was smudged. She had clearly worked herself into a hysterical frenzy.
“Where have you been?” Annette demanded. While petite, she had the ability to radiate a great deal of energy. Marie had left her in bed this morning, too ill to move. Evidently, her indignation at the gossip spreading around town had propelled her out of bed. “Is it true that you had something to do with the sheep running wild this afternoon?”
Marie tried her best to explain, but her aunt seemed to have made up her mind on the subject. She was cross at Marie for involving herself but was convinced that Nic was somehow responsible for the whole fiasco. Unfortunately, he had enough of a history that her suspicions weren’t entirely unrealistic.
“I’ve tried my best. I really have. But every time I think things are going well, you go and pull a stunt like this!” She was pacing up and down the carpeted entryway, wringing her hands.
Annette was not one to sit quietly when upset. She cried and blamed herself and carried on until the person she was talking to eventually apologized. She had just begun her performance when Claude emerged from his study. He wasn’t a large man—not much taller than his nephew—but with a barrel chest and thick limbs. His white hair and round spectacles aged him, adding some fragility to his appearance, but he was as strong and robust as any young man in their twenties. From the ugly look on his face, it was obvious that he, like everyone else, knew about the sheep and wasn’t satisfied that it was an accident.
“What happened?” He stood in front of Nic, his dark eyes only slits. Claude seemed to live in a constant state of disapproval. Already well into his forties, he had very little patience for his wife’s charges. He clearly didn’t believe they’d been doing anyone a service. Whenever Claude spent time with Nic, he was condescending at best and cruel at worst, but years before, Nic had decided he wouldn’t be bullied by his uncle.
Nic spoke without making eye contact, his black eyes focused on the floor, trying his best to keep his own anger in check.
“How many times do I have to tell you not to waste your time with that farmer’s son?” Claude spit, stepping closer to Nic’s face. Marie could smell the whisky on his breath from where she stood.
Nic rolled his eyes. “He’s not a farmer.” The Thibaults’ agricultural roots were Claude’s most common complaint about them.
“Of course, he is. His success is nothing more than the result of bribing the right people,” Claude said, just above a whisper. Then he crossed the threshold from disapproval to fury. Annette retreated into another room, and Marie could feel the danger rising. She silently prayed that Nic would keep his mouth shut, something he wasn’t usually capable of.
“Like you?” Nic mocked. He was too angry to be cautious. Claude’s face drained of colour. “You think you’re so much better than the rest of us? Augustus is as rich as you. That’s why you hate him—”
The rest of Nic’s words were cut off. Claude hit him as hard as he could in the jaw, knocking his nephew to the floor. Marie clapped her hands over her mouth to stifle a scream. Nic didn’t get up immediately; it was a moment before Marie heard his moans as he came back to consciousness. Claude stomped away.
Marie bent down to help Nic up, but he brushed her off. “I’m fine,” he panted, rising to his feet. He didn’t look at her but went up the stairs and locked himself in his room.
***
It was no secret that Claude was never enthusiastic about taking the twins. He was not one to keep his opinions to himself. After Nic and Marie’s parents died in Quebec, the twins were taken in by Annette, their mother’s sister. However, the twins’ mother’s brother, Joseph-Jean Dumas, expressed a desire to take the children in. He was a General and a rising star in the French military in Canada, who lived in his parents’ former house just around the corner from Nic and Marie’s family.
However, travel for his military service and the lack of a spouse worked against Joseph-Jean. Annette, as the children’s aunt, argued that the children needed a woman’s love and a permanent home. Annette had won out, completely ignoring her husband’s objections. Claude had no children of his own, and he had no desire to become a surrogate father.
Marie often wondered whether Annette had permanently damaged her marriage by becoming guardian to her and Nic. Annette had married Claude simply because he was available and wealthy. A broken engagement had left her feeling vulnerable when she first met Claude. He had taken Annette because she was beautiful, reminding him of the refined women of Versailles. He was desperately lonely in the remote island fortress, and Annette, as the daughter of a General, seemed to be the best choice he had in the colony. They got along well enough for a while, but cracks soon appeared in their union. Annette was not the submissive woman Claude had hoped she would be. He usually ignored her outbursts and hysterics, having no patience for such weakness. Annette hoped the children would bring a positive change to the house. Sadly, the opposite came true. The children were wild and untamed just like the rest of the colony, further adding to the problem. Marie could remember nothing but fighting between them.
Nic appeared the next morning after Claude left for the day, a dark, purpling mark at the edge of his chin. He hadn’t shaved, in hopes that the black stubble would draw attention away from it. Marie said nothing as the two of them went toward the kitchen in search of breakfast.
The Babineaux house was one of the largest in the city. Despite the grandeur of their home and the luxurious furnishings shipped from Europe, the twins preferred to eat at the scrubbed wooden table in the kitchen in the presence of Madame Badeau, the housekeeper.
Madame Badeau was shorter than both the twins and carried her considerable weight around her hips. Her iron-grey curls poked out of the white linen cap she always wore, and she was never seen without an apron stuffed full of the odds and ends that she felt might come in handy. While Claude liked to consider himself the master of his domain, it was Madame Badeau who really ran the house. She was the only one to whom Claude showed any respect, most likely because he had never learned to cook for himself.
The estate employed two maids as well as Madame Badeau, and then there was Claude’s personal servant, who was not an employee but a slave from the West Indies named Ferdinand. In his mid-twenties, Ferdinand had already passed the life expectancy for most slaves. The twins rarely saw him. He was devoted to his master and spent most of his day attached to Claude.
Nic sat down without looking at anyone. He knew she wouldn’t let him off without a scolding. After she served them their brown bread with lard and a boiled egg each, she pushed his black hair away from his face with her massive hand.
“Let me see how bad it is.” She turned Nic’s jaw toward the light. Though his eyes and hair were dark, his skin was pale enough that any mark showed clearly. “You need to learn to keep your mouth shut,” she said, then let him get to his breakfast.
“How is this my fault?” Nic challenged. He was tired of being chastised for his uncle’s temper.
&nbs
p; Madame Badeau sighed. “You never poke a sleeping dragon in the eye and then complain when he burns the village down.” Nic rolled his eyes. “I saw that. Now drink your milk.” She slammed a mug down in front of him.
“We were just helping,” he grumbled, picking up the mug.
Madame Badeau harrumphed but gave him a narrow smile. “That Thibault boy will be the death of you. But at least you stick together.”
Marie watched Nic and Madame Badeau as she downed her bread and lard. It was cozy here in the kitchen—in contrast to the rest of the house. She always thought that the great manor felt empty. Though it was filled to capacity with some of the finest things that money could buy, it was far too big for the four residents who lived in it. They could go days without seeing other members of the family, though that was a relief when it came to her uncle. The kitchen was also the warmest place in the house. Except for the few hottest days of the summer months, the heat from the ovens was a welcome relief. The cramped kitchen felt more like home than the rest of the massive house ever could.
Marie finished up her breakfast and then pulled her linen apron from its peg and pinned it on. She almost made it to the back door before Madame Badeau handed her a hat with the warning that it was sunny. Grudgingly, Marie accepted it and tucked her waist-length chestnut braid under the fabric, pulling the brown ribbon tight under her chin.
She wouldn’t have been at risk for a sunburn even without her hat. Nic sunburned easily, but she wasn’t as pale as he was. People usually assumed they couldn’t be twins because they looked so different. Nic was taller with a stocky build, while Marie was slender. Her hazel eyes were wide, framed with long, dark lashes, and placed perfectly on either side of a petite, straight nose. Nic was the spitting image of their father, while Marie wasn’t really sure where she’d come from. Her mother had been tall and willowy. Marie was simply small.
The garden behind the Babineaux home provided a large portion of the produce the family ate, as well as kitchen herbs and spices. Annette had planted it at the beginning of her marriage, hoping to develop a green thumb. She wasn’t successful, and Marie soon took over the weeding, planting, and grooming. Sometimes Nic would help her, but he preferred to spend as much time as possible away from the property.
Two rows of apples and plums lined the far end of the garden. Rows of onions, turnips, and cabbage were already sprouting in the black dirt in their raised beds. Strawberries and gooseberries grew on the side opposite to the fruit trees near a stone bench erected in memory of her mother. A large pen with chickens, goats, and pigs filled the far corner near the vegetables. Claude’s two horses were kept separate from the rest of the livestock in their own stone stable. Marie never took care of those horses. That was a job Claude entrusted only to Ferdinand.
Marie settled herself between the rows of onions, sitting cross-legged on the warm earth. A tribe of grubs had moved in during the spring months, gorging themselves on the tender new leaves, and Marie was waging a losing battle against them. This was starting to be a huge problem, since the garden was especially important this year.
The fortress was completely dependent on supplies coming from Europe, the Valley of the Saint-Laurent, Île Saint-Jean, and the West Indies for such basic items as wheat and sugar, and those supplies were now being cut off by the British navy. Many ships leaving from France to bring supplies to Louisbourg were also being captured just off the coast of Europe, and the shipping season had only just begun. No one was outright starving, but tight rationing was in place to try to stretch the available supplies. At least there would be mutton, Marie thought ruefully.
The sun beat down as she pinched the offending grubs from the stalks of the growing plants. She dropped each squirming white body into a clay jar of water she kept beside her. She felt a bit like an executioner as she dropped the bugs into a watery death. With every drop, she imagined tiny death screams. She purposely kept her face turned away from the mouth of the jar.
A shadow crossed the neatly kept squares of budding life. Looking up, Marie saw Pierre’s tall frame silhouetted against the sun. She was surprised to see him. He didn’t usually visit, preferring to meet Nic somewhere in the city. Three years ago, he had been unceremoniously removed from the house when Claude missed a bribe from one of Augustus’s captains. It wasn’t Augustus’s fault. All his captains knew to line Claude’s pockets, but it was easier for Claude to blame the merchant than a sea captain who was no longer in town. Pierre had been careful about his visits ever since.
“How goes the annihilation?” he teased, his wide grin lighting up his face. Marie was surprised to notice that he was starting to look a bit physically attractive. Too bad he was still such an idiot most of the time, horsing around with her equally brain-dead brother. If he ever grew out of that behaviour, Marie observed, some girl might actually fall for him some day.
Marie struggled to her feet, her joints stiff after being in one position for so long. She wiped her hands on the corner of her apron. “I’ll get every last one of them if it’s the last thing I do. What brings you here?”
Pierre looked rather embarrassed. “I came to apologize for yesterday.”
Marie’s mouth fell open. She wasn’t aware that Pierre knew what an apology was. For a moment, she was too surprised to say anything.
“Well, apology accepted.” Marie tried to cover her shock by brushing off her skirt. “It was an accident. But if I were you, I’d stay away from livestock for a while.”
“You don’t need to worry about that! I’ve been reassigned to a clerk job for the foreseeable future,” he said, looking more than disappointed. “Maybe for the rest of my life.”
“At least he didn’t fire you,” Marie joked, feeling a little badly for him.
Pierre shrugged. His father tried his best, but he found raising his son alone to be a challenge. Neither of them knew how to relate to the other. “Wouldn’t put it past him. He didn’t get where he is today by giving people fourth and fifth chances.” He paused, lost in thought, then seemed to remember where he was.
Pierre looked down awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck. “When I saw Nic’s shiner, I thought it might be best to apologize to everyone else involved.” He gazed across at the stable, where Ferdinand’s glossy black face was visible, watching them carefully. Claude’s slave was not naturally inclined to gossip, but he knew all about the enmity between his master and Pierre’s father, and he knew Claude would not be happy to know Pierre was frequenting the premises. “I’d better go before Claude finds out I’m here.”
He took a step forward, knocking Marie’s clay jar over. Water quickly spread along the raised row, darkening the soil as it went. The collection of bugs so carefully dropped into the jar splashed against the stocks of the new plants.
Marie jumped out of the way, trying to stay clear of the incoming wave of pests.
“I’m sorry,” Pierre exclaimed in horror, completely mortified. He tried to step out of the way but lost his balance, smashing the row of cabbages as his body landed.
Exasperated, Marie shouted, “What is wrong with you?”
Pierre’s pale, freckled face was beet red. “I-I didn’t mean to,” he stammered, pulling himself to his feet. He withered under the look Marie gave him. “Let me help.” He quickly scooped up the jar.
Marie snatched it from him. “You’ve done enough,” she snapped. Some of the slugs weren’t dead and were slowly climbing up the fresh shoots.
Pierre admitted defeat. He hadn’t come to apologize on his own. It was his father who had sent him. Afraid of what his father would do if he refused, Pierre had obeyed him, but whatever Augustus was expecting to be gained from this encounter, Pierre had ruined it. He quickly retreated from the garden, careful not to crush anymore vegetables.
***
The hot July sun warmed Marie’s face and chest as she and Elise sat on the grass, gazing out at the turbulent North Atlantic. A stiff breeze blew the tall, golden grass, tickling Marie’s bare forearms
. She stared out at the ocean, watching the waves crash into the rocky shore. The ocean seemed to have a life of its own, changing its mood and purpose whenever it fancied. Today, it was a royal blue with powerful white caps that slammed into the rocky coast, soaking anyone who came too close in freezing spray. To Marie, gazing at the ocean was one of the best things about living in Louisbourg.
Elise sat beside Marie, her hair tied neatly under her broad-brimmed hat. Marie’s hair blew wild behind her. Marie didn’t know that redheads reacted badly to the sun until she met her friend. Elise could burn doing the simplest of outdoor chores. Even hanging out the laundry could reduce her to the colour of a nightshade berry. No matter the heat, Elise always wore a hat, because as she said, she had enough freckles as it was.
“You’re so proper,” Marie muttered, lying down in the grass so that all she could see was the blue sky. Annette would berate her later for allowing the sun to darken her skin, but she didn’t care. Louisbourg was a long way away from the centres of arts, culture, and fashion, where a young woman’s looks were scrutinized and judged harshly. Complexions were meant to be pale, but here in the colonies, staying out of the sun was unrealistic.
Annette had the best of intentions when she’d brought the twins from the capital. However, she wasn’t prepared for two high-spirited nine-year-olds who refused to sit still. At first, she’d tried to tame Nic from following his wild ways, and she’d attempted to educate Marie in the refined, lady-like behaviour expected of her. But eventually, Annette gave up, hoping only to keep the twins alive and out of prison.
Elise made a face. “What do you expect? Some of us have a reputation to uphold.” Elise was the youngest in her family, but originally there’d been ten older siblings, not three. The other seven had died in the smallpox outbreak of 1732, which had decimated the fortress. The four youngest Sarrazin children had managed to survive, becoming the miracles of the epidemic. As a result, Elise’s parents were fiercely protective of her and her reputation.