The Displaced

by Frieda Watt

  Marie laughed. Nic had caused so much trouble as a child that his behaviour had affected her reputation as well—to the point that people were often impressed that she could hold an intelligent conversation when they discovered the two were twins. Marie and Elise had first met at school. They sat next to each other in the classroom, and neither really fit in with the rest of the girls. Marie was a stranger and Elise was too afraid to talk. Eventually, Marie had coaxed Elise into telling her something about herself, and from there, the friendship grew. There were only so many times you could have your braids tied to the back of your chair or your school bag hidden in a tree by Nic and Pierre before you became best friends.

  Elise and Marie gazed out at the bay in front of them, which housed the Louisbourg harbour and lighthouse. The harbour was filled with all sorts of ships—from the French navy’s massive warships (providing some peace of mind) to the smallest fishing boats. But the vessels the girls could see represented only a fraction of the ones usually present during the summer months. The British navy was obviously doing a good job of blocking French ships from reaching the fortress.

  Cod was the fundamental reason why Louisbourg existed. Thousands of barrels of salted cod and cod liver oil were shipped all over the world from the city’s harbour. So every summer, Louisbourg’s population swelled well beyond its walls with fishermen from Europe who came to cast their nets for a season before returning home. The buildings lining the city’s wide streets had been purposely built low, so the wind could dry the cod stretched across the many wooden racks that lined Rochefort Point and the surrounding plains. This meant that all of Louisbourg and the surrounding area stank of fish during the summer months. The smell filled every corner and even coated the mosquitoes in the oily film of curing cod. The low buildings would also be less vulnerable to the cannonballs and mortar shells of the British if the enemy ever arrived. This building code was a stipulation that many people chose to ignore.

  Elise picked at a few pieces of grass and began braiding them between her fingers. “It’s too hot.” She threw the braid into the wind and picked up her skirts to let the breeze touch her legs. Marie turned and gazed at the fishermen in the distance, bent over their drying racks. Her waist-length hair danced around her face. It was too hot to stay indoors knitting. She couldn’t imagine salting fish in this heat. Looking toward the fortress, she watched the soldiers walking along the tops of the ramparts. This was her favourite view of the city—seen from among the tall grasses near the edge of the water with the mighty city to her right.

  The short walls that lined the quay framed her view, and the city’s patchwork of buildings were a welcoming sight behind the rocking masts of the harbour. Grand stone houses mixed with modest wood cottages, and inns intermingled with taverns and the homes of artisans and merchants. Louisbourg was the largest port stationed at the mouth of the Gulf of the Saint-Laurent. The warm summer months saw Louisbourg swell almost to the size of the capital, Quebec.

  During the winter, the city hibernated. Only the permanent residents stayed and braved the icy winds blowing off the open ocean, so during that cold season, the garrison outnumbered the civilians. Since May, only a few more soldiers had been added to the ranks. The British blockade was making it impossible for the help sent from France to get through.

  “It’s so hot today,” Elise laughed, “that my mother refused to do any baking.”

  “But there’s so little bread to make,” Marie replied. There were always food shortages in Louisbourg. Wheat was usually the first thing to run low, the closest supplier of the grain beyond Île-Royale being Île Saint-Jean, some three hundred miles away. Ocean travel wasn’t the most reliable method of getting food to the people of the city, so there were often periods of rationing. Most people were surprised when Marie announced she had never heard of rations until moving here. But this time was different. Because they were now at war, no one knew when this period of deprivation would end.

  Elise plucked one of the golden blades that danced around them and nibbled on the end, making a face. “Doesn’t taste the best.”

  Marie laughed. “It’s July. There is actual food around.” She waved a slender hand at the fields and forests surrounding them—filled with vegetation and berries.

  A shout came flying across the air. Elise shielded her eyes against the bright sun. “It looks like Pierre,” she said, mortified, pushing her skirts back around her ankles.

  Marie shrugged. “Hopefully, he doesn’t want us to help him with something,” Elise groaned. They were both thinking of the sheep.

  “I don’t see Nic,” Elise said with concern. Usually, the two boys were inseparable.

  Pierre’s loping gait carried him easily to where the girls were sitting. “Hello, ladies.” His cheeks were pink and his blond curls damp from the heat. Elise looked him over suspiciously. He noticed. “I haven’t done anything this time,” he said, holding up his hands in supplication, feigning hurt that she looked skeptical.

  “Then why are you here?” Elise folded her arms across her chest. It wasn’t that she didn’t like Pierre, but she wasn’t about to get sucked into another plot. The memories of the last encounter were too fresh.

  Pierre shrugged, his linen shirt billowing away from his thin chest in the breeze. “Couldn’t stand the smell of drying fish anymore. Thought I’d come say hello.”

  Elise exchanged a meaningful look with Marie which puzzled her. “Well, I think I must be going,” Elise continued. “My mother’s doing the laundry today. I really should go and help her.” As she retreated, she gave Marie a look that clearly stated she expected to be informed about the rest of the afternoon’s events.

  Marie sighed inwardly as she scrambled to her feet. She knew perfectly well that Elise had nothing to do at home, and Marie was going to have to spend the next day explaining away the ridiculous ideas Elise had obviously got into her head. The glare of the sun was making it almost impossible for Marie to see, but she grabbed as much of her hair as she could and awkwardly held it by her side. She looked at Pierre expectantly.

  “Have I offended her?” he asked, looking after the retreating figure.

  “She’s still not over the sheep thing.”

  “I see. I guess she doesn’t forgive easily,” he said, though he didn’t seem particularly concerned.

  “No, she just doesn’t want any trouble today. It’s too hot.”

  “It sure is. A letter came from my Uncle Tomas in Quebec. Apparently, the entire city shut down a few weeks ago because of the heat. People were getting ill, so everyone just closed up shop and stayed home or found a cool place to go. It’s not that bad here, but can we find some shade?”

  Marie laughed and waved toward the surrounding forest.

  “Well, let’s go over there,” Pierre said with enthusiasm, and the two of them headed toward the shade of the large trees. When they came to the edge of the woods, they found a crude path that had been worn among the ferns and decomposing leaves.

  “What brings you here today?” Marie asked as they tramped along.

  “I can’t just come and visit?” Pierre said as he pushed a birch branch out of his way and held it back for Marie.

  “You can. I’m just not sure why you would.” Pierre was Nic’s friend first, and most of Marie’s interactions with him were through Nic. Until a year ago, Marie had never really been welcomed by the duo.

  Pierre smiled and pulled a handkerchief from his pocket. Unwrapping it, he produced four dark brown squares of something that seemed to have melted slightly around the edges.

  “What is that?” Marie asked.

  “It’s chocolate—from the West Indies. I brought it because I thought you and Elise might like some.”

  Marie picked up one of the squares. It melted quickly, sticking to her fingers. She knew it was a delicacy, but it was one she’d never tried. “Don’t people usually drink this?” she asked.

  “Yes, usually, it’s like coffee, so it’s supposed to be hot, but I didn�
��t think a hot drink would go over well today.”

  Marie licked the chocolate experimentally. It tasted bitter but not unpleasant. “Where did you get this?” A woodpecker cackled overhead.

  “The Persephone came in today. Unfortunately, no one can control what ships make it and which ones don’t, so we don’t have enough wheat, but we do have chocolate.”

  Marie laughed and popped the square into her mouth. She began to chew on it until Pierre told her to just let it melt. She did that but felt rather silly walking through the forest with her mouth stuffed with the exotic food.

  “Does your father know you took this?” Marie asked suspiciously once the treat had dissolved.

  “Of course. Don’t look so surprised. We do actually talk to each other from time to time.” Pierre often joked about the lack of a typical father-son relationship between him and Augustus, but Marie wasn’t sure if this state of affairs really bothered him or not.

  “How is your father?” she hedged.

  Pierre shrugged. “Same as always. Busy with work.”

  Deeper within the forest, the trees were so tall and thick that the light streaming down through their branches looked green. It was peaceful there, the noise of the city left behind.

  Pierre broke the silence. “There’s a creek not far from here,” he said. Most farmers and fishermen had wells or at least a neighbour who would share their water. But some of them made the trip to the creek, as it offered a welcome break from the daily routine—especially on a day as hot as this.

  Pierre took over the lead, trying to find a spot that wasn’t crowded with children also looking for a break from the midday heat. Their mothers and older sisters reclined on the mossy banks, watching them lazily. After a short while, Pierre found a bend in the creek’s path that no one had claimed yet. He sat down on a mossy log by the edge of it and began to strip off his shoes and socks.

  Marie didn’t follow suit because she had another problem to contend with. That chocolate was good, but now her mouth was covered in a thick film. She bent down at the edge of the creek to take a sip. The rushing water was cold and clear against her fingers.

  “Where’s Nic today?” It felt strange to have only Pierre for company.

  “I don’t know,” Pierre shrugged. “I told him where I was headed, but he didn’t want to come.”

  “I’m not very exciting when you’ve spent most of your life with me,” Marie admitted.

  Pierre laughed. It was a low, husky sound that seemed to come from his stomach. He grabbed some raspberries from a nearby bush and tossed some to Marie. “Now what would make this more exciting?”

  “I could constantly remind you of all the things you should be doing instead of bugging me,” Marie teased, sitting down beside him, taking extra care that her skirts didn’t drag in the mud.

  “Is that what siblings do to each other all day?” Pierre asked, curious.

  “Basically.” Marie pulled her own stockings off and dangled her feet in the water. Minnows swam around her ankles, trying to determine whether or not they were a threat.

  “My father had so many siblings I think he wanted to spare me the tragedy.” Pierre walked right into the creek, sighing with relief as the clear water reached his thin calves.

  “I can’t believe your grandmother gave birth fourteen times.”

  “Only six,” Pierre corrected her. “My grandfather was married twice. His first wife died giving birth to number ten, and two of her kids didn’t survive.”

  Marie shuddered. Childbirth was not something she was looking forward to—especially here in the colony, where having as many children as possible was encouraged. “Your father probably realized what you were like and figured it wasn’t worth the risk to have another.”

  Pierre threw his head back and laughed again, the sound booming off the jack pines. “Probably,” he said, wading toward her. “You should come in.”

  She shook her head. “If I come home even a little wet, Madame Badeau will kill me.”

  Pierre looked confused.

  “Do you have any idea how long it takes this many layers to dry?”

  Pierre shrugged. He didn’t spend any time worrying about women’s fashions. But if someone were to ask him, he’d say that as far as he was concerned, women wore too many layers. “I won’t let you get wet,” Pierre said. There was a gleam in his eye that Marie didn’t trust.

  “I don’t think so.”

  Pierre reached out his hand. “Come on, you’ll be fine.”

  Marie stared at the water racing over the smooth stones. It did look inviting. Cautiously, she took a step in and grabbed Pierre’s hand to keep her balance on the slippery rocks. Without warning, he pulled her forward and she lost her balance and tumbled into the water.

  Coughing and spluttering, she sat up, pushing her curtain of hair away from her face. Completely soaked, she was silently cursing herself for being so stupid. Pierre was doubled over laughing.

  “I’m sorry,” he gasped between breaths. “I couldn’t help myself.”

  Marie sat for a moment, watching the water speed over her many skirts, trying to figure out what to do next. Then she sprang forward. Pierre yelped and jumped out of the way. There was no way Marie could push him into the water. He was simply too large. But that didn’t stop her from splashing him as much as she could for a good five minutes.

  “Truce!” he shouted over and over, trying to escape the torrents of water. The two of them stood staring at each other, water dripping from their hair and faces. Marie stayed crouched, ready to defend herself if necessary.

  “You’re a feisty one.” Pierre said, pushing back the hair that was plastered to the side of his face.

  “You don’t grow up with Nic and not learn how to defend yourself.”

  Pierre stood up, his hands raised in surrender. They hadn’t realized how loud they were being until a group of bare-chested children came around the bend, their faces curious as they watched the standoff between the two teenagers.

  “I promise I won’t do anything else,” Pierre pleaded, a wide grin playing on his lips.

  “Ah-huh.” Marie continued to watch him like a hawk. “Then you get out first.”

  He shook his head, dropping water from his blond hair into his eyes. “Ladies first.”

  Marie paused for a moment, thinking. As fast as she could, she climbed back on shore, her soaked petticoats weighing her down. She slipped her shoes back on, picked up her stockings, and then grabbed Pierre’s shoes.

  “Hey!” he yelled, still in the middle of the creek. “I need those.”

  Marie gave him a wicked smile and took off back to the city.

  ***

  Madame Badeau wasn’t pleased about the state Marie was in or the amount of water that was dripping onto her clean floors. The layers of petticoats were hanging in the garden, weighing the line down heavily. Marie was given the task of scrubbing the kitchen floor to make up for her watery indiscretion. Nic lolled in the doorway, watching her. He was envious of how Pierre had chosen to spend his afternoon and hadn’t been shy about sharing his opinion ever since Marie arrived home, trailing puddles behind her. He didn’t say anything as he watched her intently scrubbing the wood floors, sweat rolling down her forehead. Marie had the impression that he felt this was a worthy punishment for stealing his best friend for the afternoon.

  It was close to dinnertime when Pierre appeared on the doorstep. Marie had the misfortune of being the one to answer the door. To her surprise, Pierre didn’t seem angry at all. He had dried off, but his hair was as unruly as ever despite the fact that he’d tried to wrestle it into a braid.

  “I thought I would trade you these for my shoes.” He handed her half a dozen taper candles. “They’re from the mainland.” He seemed a little sheepish.

  Marie bit her lip to keep from laughing. “I steal your shoes and you bring me candles?” Marie knew that it took at least a week to make candles. It involved standing close to a pot of melted wax for a long time. So
Pierre was saving her a lot of work. Marie stepped inside and then returned with the stolen footwear.

  “My father naturally wanted to know where my shoes were. After I finally told him, he suggested I go and apologize.” His high cheekbones were slightly pink.

  “Really?”

  Pierre rolled his eyes. “I didn’t want to, given how the last apology went, so I thought candles might be better.”

  Marie laughed aloud. “Yes, I think I prefer candles.”

  Pierre nodded and slipped his soft leather shoes onto his bare feet. “Next time there won’t be any ‘Ladies First’ nonsense,” he said darkly, wiggling his toes to bring some warmth back to them.

  “That was your first mistake, assuming that I’m a lady.”

  “Ah-huh,” Pierre said, then waved goodbye, walked out into the street, and mixed in with the evening traffic of sailors coming off the ships in search of dinner.

  The harbour was almost empty, but the men who occupied the boats knew they would be called upon if the British launched an attack that summer. With the exception of those on the warships, none were in the military and none had much training. The garrison and a few sailors, that was all that stood between the citizens of Louisbourg and the largest navy in the world.

  Marie closed the door to find Nic waiting for her in the shadows of the sitting room. He looked distinctly grumpy.

  “You know he’s never given anyone gifts before,” he grumbled.

  Chapter 2

  THE HARVEST WAS WELL UNDERWAY, and the race was on to gather as much of the crop as possible before the deadly frost came and coated everything in a thin layer of ice. The farmers around Louisbourg were bringing their crops to the government warehouses. With the British barricading the waters, these storehouses were more important than ever.

  Annette was the organizer of many charitable events in the fortress. While anxious and prone to hysteria, she really did have the best of intentions. Her endeavours also usually took her out of the house, absences that helped her marriage survive. At the beginning of September, she decided to help the government package and organize the autumn bounty. She insisted that a certain amount must be set aside for the poor, who would otherwise starve, being unable to buy from the government’s stash.