by Frieda Watt
Pierre laughed. “It’s a man thing. Sometimes we act before thinking.”
Marie continued to talk, spilling all her fears and worries. The problem wasn’t just losing Nic to the military, with him living in the barracks, she would be stuck in the mansion on her own. Pierre listened carefully, never interrupting. From time to time, he would agree but that was it. Marie was consoled in part because she knew she wasn’t being completely ridiculous if Pierre could understand. “I’m sorry to have dragged you away from work like this,” she said after she finished her complaints.
“Not a problem.” He seemed to mean it. “I think I’ll have a talk with Nic about including you in his life goals. How did Annette take it?”
Marie sighed. “I left them screaming at each other.”
“That’s to be expected. The weapons are all locked up?”
Marie gave him a look. “Oh. Ha-ha.”
Pierre elbowed her in the ribs. “It’s better than not saying anything to each other at all.”
They looped around the block and found themselves facing the harbour once more. Marie wasn’t sure what had made her run to Pierre, but she was grateful he hadn’t pushed her away.
“Hungry?” he asked when she seemed to have a handle on her emotions.
“What do you have?”
He led her into the dark warehouse, where barrels of wheat and bundles of food were stacked against the walls. It was surprisingly warm among the packets of food. At a first glance, it appeared that there were plenty of supplies to feed the city all winter, but usually the warehouses were packed to the rafters with barely enough room to walk between the rows. This was all the city had to eat until spring.
Pierre reached up and pulled down a small package wrapped in white linen and tied up with string. Cutting through the strings with his pocket knife, he pulled open the wrapping to reveal white cake flour. Marie grinned. She hadn’t seen that since before the war started.
“It’s for the Governor,” Pierre smirked. “Thought you might like some white bread for your birthday.”
“You remembered.”
“I’m not a complete idiot.” Some soldiers appeared at the door, carrying the last of one ship’s cargo. Rum sloshed around inside the heavy barrels. Pierre hesitated. “I need to get back to work.”
Marie nodded, cradling the flour carefully in her arms. “Thank you.”
He shrugged but then grinned before he headed back toward the office. “Don’t mention it. I’ll give your brother hell next time I see him.”
***
That night, Marie sat in bed listening to the shouts and screams reverberating through the house. Annette had told Claude about Nic’s actions, and Claude supported Nic. That wasn’t what Annette wanted to hear, and now the two of them were dealing with their problems the only way they knew how. Not for the first time, Marie wondered if life would have been better with Uncle Joseph Dumas back in Quebec.
The door opened a crack and Nic’s head appeared. His hair was down, falling fuzzy all around his face. It made him look more childlike despite the black stubble on his face. “Can I come in?”
Marie nodded, and the noise from the argument downstairs decreased as he closed the door. He climbed onto her bed. The ropes that held the mattress up sagged under his weight.
“You’re disappointed in me, aren’t you?” Nic asked, looking down at her.
Marie made a noncommittal noise. “I just wish you’d told me.”
“Pierre mentioned that. I think he might punch me if I ever make you cry again.” Marie laughed weakly. “I didn’t mean to upset you,” Nic went on. “I wanted it to be a surprise. I knew Annette wouldn’t agree, and I was trying to avoid the argument until the last minute. Are you worried?”
Marie shook her head. “No. Yes. There’s a war going on. What if the British arrive? If you go to fight, you may not come back.” She could remember her mother having the same conversation with her father many years before. “Why, though? You don’t have to do this to support yourself.”
Nic leaned against the wall, the candlelight throwing his dark features in sharp relief. “Do you like Claude?”
Marie snorted. “Who does?”
“Not his wife, that’s for sure.” Nic scratched the back of his head. “I don’t want to owe Claude anything. I know Annette has these ideas of me taking over his position as if I were his son, but I’m not doing that. I don’t want to be his son. I want to get out of this house and not depend on either of them anymore.”
Marie had to agree that the idea had merit.
The shouts below them were subsiding. As usual, the twins heard the slam of the front door. Claude had left. He would return hours later, having spent the night with the seedy underside of the fortress, consuming enough liquor to forget his anger.
“But the military?” Marie went on. “You’re educated. You could do so many things. You could go to France and study there.” She was grasping at straws. She knew Nic loved the wilderness of New France too much to leave it.
“Father was an Officer, Uncle Joseph is a General, Grandpère was a General. I’d rather follow in their footsteps.”
Marie could hear the soft sound of Annette sobbing and the calming voice of Madame Badeau trying to reassure her. The servants employed in this house never lacked for entertainment.
“If you get killed, I’m never going to forgive you,” Marie said crossly.
He laughed. “I’ll try my best.”
“Will you go and live with the garrison in the King’s Bastion now?” The King’s Bastion was the largest building on the island. It housed the whole garrison, as well as the Governor’s apartments. It was a monument to the French military, visible for miles from both land and sea.
Nic noticed her concern. “Yes. You’ll be here all alone.” That wasn’t entirely true. Nic was still trying to come to terms with his sister’s friendship with Pierre. He might be losing his best friend, but it could be worse. In fact, it might be a good thing to have Pierre check in on Marie from time to time. At base, though, Nic thought Pierre was being a bit stupid. While he was envious of his friend and sister, Nic couldn’t imagine spending time with only one girl.
The thought of being alone with Annette and Claude in the house terrified Marie. For a moment, she wanted to explode at Nic, but she held her tongue. There was nothing he could do about his situation now. “You’re abandoning me?”
“You could always get married,” Nic suggested, unable to keep from laughing.
Marie hit him with her pillow. “That’ll solve all my problems. I can spend my time taking care of some cranky old man.”
“He doesn’t have to be old.”
“Who would you suggest?”
Nic didn’t have an answer. Marie felt slightly vindicated. It might be acceptable to marry at sixteen when your father was a fisherman, but things had changed among the upper classes in the eighteenth century.
“When do you leave?” Marie said with a resigned sigh.
“Tomorrow, but I’ll still be in Louisbourg. I’ll come and visit as often as I can. And if either Claude or Annette gives you a hard time, I’ll come sort it out.”
Marie didn’t find that promise as reassuring as it was meant to be.
***
Three days after Nic’s enlistment in the military, Madame Badeau announced that Claude would be having a formal dinner that night. Marie was sitting at the scrubbed table in the kitchen when the news was divulged. If Annette hadn’t been in the room, Marie really would have made her feelings clear, but instead, she settled on a simple “Why?”
“Your uncle wants to have the leaders of the military over for dinner to formally introduce Nic to them,” Annette sniffed. It was clear that she was still injured by Claude’s attitude toward the whole thing.
Marie kept her opinions to herself until Annette had left. Claude hated parties, but every now and then he could be called on to host a gathering over dinner. It was his chance to network with the other powerfu
l and important people in the city. Introductions could be made, business dealings were brought forward, and relationships strengthened. But the gatherings were incredibly boring and served no one in the house except Claude.
“Do I have to go to that dinner?” Marie asked the housekeeper when Annette had finally left.
Madame Badeau looked deeply annoyed. Every person in the house knew Claude wasn’t doing this for Nic. Claude was thrilled that Nic was now out of the house, no longer dependent on his uncle for anything. This dinner was an excuse for Claude to play the role of doting uncle. He could introduce Nic to some powerful people, strengthen his own personal ties with the military, and convince himself that despite his terrible treatment of his nephew, he really was helping the boy out.
“Of course you do,” Madame Badeau snapped. “It’ll be two hours … three tops. You’ll survive.” Marie wasn’t so sure. Claude expected his family to show all the refinement and poise one might find in any family in the countryside around Paris. But Marie couldn’t stand such behaviour. She found it false and burdensome.
Late that afternoon, Marie sat in her room, having her long hair wrestled into a fashionable but impractical updo by one of the maids. “This is all your fault,” she glared at Nic, who was sitting on the other side of the room.
Nic smiled pleasantly. This was the first time he’d been home since their birthday. “I don’t know what you’re complaining about. We’re having duck. You love duck.” He was wearing his new uniform, which didn’t make Marie feel any better.
The twins presented themselves at the appointed hour to greet the guests. François Bigot, the Finance Commissary; Governor Louis Du Pont Duchambon; and Commander Joseph Marin de la Malgue, the military leader, were among the handful of people invited. None of them had brought their wives.
“This is my nephew, Nicolas,” Claude said, clapping a hand on Nic’s shoulder as he introduced him to de la Malgue. There was almost a note of pride in Claude’s voice. “His father was Lieutenant Caleb Lévesque; his grandfather, General Garan Dumas.”
De la Malgue shook Nic’s hand enthusiastically. “I knew your father!” he boomed. “I always liked him. I’m glad you’re following in his footsteps.” Nic couldn’t help but look pleased.
Marie sat down opposite Nic. None of the guests ever spoke to her at these events. None of them were even mildly interested in her. Apparently, it didn’t matter that she was also the descendant of these military officials. Marie glared at Nic as the first course of split pea soup was laid before them. Nic smirked back at her.
“I have one of the finest Pauillac wines here,” Claude announced from the head of the table. Ferdinand produced several green-glass bottles and set them around the table.
François Bigot smacked his lips. “You always know how to spoil me, Claude,” the Commissary said.
Claude smiled. “If it isn’t from Bordeaux, it isn’t worth having. You, of all people, should know that.” Bigot roared with laughter. He was from Bordeaux himself.
Marie was amazed at how easily the conversation flowed. Claude kept his guests laughing with his stories of mad ship captains and the ingenious lengths to which smugglers would go to hide their illegal cargo.
“I wish these men would realize that I know who makes their living with illegal dealings,” Claude lamented. “If you give me a cut, I’ll let you on your way. The other night, I had one ship with sugar on it.” He paused for dramatic effect. “The poor captain, barely old enough to shave, thought it best to pack the cargo hold with wheat over the sugar.”
Governor Duchambon started laughing. “You can’t be serious.”
Claude’s dark eyes sparkled. “I don’t know what the man was thinking. But when we boarded the cargo hold, it was filled with rats. I never thought that many rats could live in one place.”
All the men in the room roared with laughter.
“They were fat as well.” Claude shook his head. “Eating all that sugar. I’m glad I didn’t have to clean up after that one.”
Nic was involved in the conversation, though the men around the table knew little about the newest officer in the fortress. Claude was able to expertly steer the conversation around any sins Nic might want forgotten.
Marie watched it all, detached. No one wanted her opinion. When Claude was like this, charming and funny, playing the room like a violin, it was easy to see why Annette would have fallen for him. The darkness that consumed him was so well hidden that no one would ever suspect it was there.
As the last of the sugar pie was scraped from the plates, Claude stood, raising his wine glass. “Now before we retire for the night, gentlemen, I would like to propose a toast.” Nic’s pale face turned beet red. “To Nicolas. May you bring your family honour as you serve your King and country with your many abilities. You will do well.”
Nic purposely avoided his sister’s eye. Marie couldn’t wait to bring this up in front of Pierre. Nic would die of embarrassment.
Later that night, after everyone had left, Marie sat in her room trying to untangle the ridiculous hairstyle that was pinned to her head.
Nic was there too, collapsed into an armchair a few feet from Marie. He was in no hurry to get back to the King’s Bastion. “How are things here?” he asked.
“Well, after that performance, I think it’s safe to say you’re Claude’s favourite child.”
Nic rolled his eyes. “It’s nice to know he can still act like a human being when the situation calls for it,” he grumbled. “You know what I mean?” Marie knew, and she also knew they were never going to bring up this topic again.
Marie sighed, trying without success to extract a hair pin. “It’s been three days since you enlisted. Claude hasn’t said a word about it until tonight. He doesn’t talk to anyone—except for giving instructions to Madame Badeau.”
Nic nodded. “If he gives you any trouble—I mean any at all—you tell me.”
“I don’t know,” Marie mused, finally seizing hold of the hair pin and pulling it out with several hairs still attached. “You might be too busy. What was it again? ‘Serving your King and country with your many abilities’?”
Nic glared at her. “If you ever bring that up again … ,” but he couldn’t think of a threat bad enough. He departed shortly afterward, leaving Marie feeling very lonely.
***
December 27th, the anniversary of her parents’ death, always found Marie at the Governor’s Chapel. It was the only chapel in the city, built for military use, but civilians came there to worship and pray as well, since no parish church had ever been built. Land had been set aside for a community church near the hospital, but construction had never begun. Therefore, the opulent Chapel was used by everyone, civilian or military, who called the fortress home. And that is why, on that cold December day, Marie was sitting inside the Governor’s Chapel, which was attached to the Governor’s residence and barracks at the King’s Bastion.
The white walls and gold-leaf trim were calming, but Marie felt uncomfortable under the severe gaze coming from an oil painting of Louis IX at the front of the church. He might be the patron saint of the military, but Marie felt he was looking down on all the worshippers, silently casting judgement on them. She realized that she might be feeling nettled only because anything to do with the military bothered her, now that Nic had enlisted. Since the fateful day of Nic’s entering the army, she hadn’t seen much of him. He now lived in the Officers’ apartments in the King’s Bastion, visiting only sporadically. The pilgrimage to the Chapel was something they had always done together, but now his duties were keeping him away.
Marie didn’t doubt that if her father had lived, Nic would be wearing a French uniform anyway. It probably wouldn’t have mattered as much to her, however, if her parents had still been alive. As it was, she often felt that it was Nic and her against the world, so she depended on him greatly for emotional sustenance. They couldn’t rely on Claude for support, and as much as Annette loved them, she wasn’t much of a parent
. It was always the two of them, but now Nic had the military and Marie couldn’t be part of that.
So, Marie was alone on the Lévesque day of mourning. Elise couldn’t accompany her because she was sick in bed with a cold. Marie had thought of asking Pierre, but he was busy working. At any rate, she didn’t feel comfortable asking him, although she had no doubt he would have come if she’d spoken to him about it. Unable to stand being alone with her grief any longer, Marie left the church before the mass started and wandered aimlessly to the edge of Rochefort Point to watch the churning Atlantic. Annette would be cross that Marie had skipped mass on such a personal day, but Marie didn’t care, let Annette pray for the dead herself.
After a half hour or so by the water, Marie turned back down the quay, her mind still far away with her parents and Nic. Snow had fallen the night before, but a narrow path had been cleared by those brave enough to face the cold. As Marie re-entered the city by the Maurepas Gate, she was almost knocked down by a large figure wrapped in several layers of black fur. Scrambling to keep her balance, Marie grabbed the person’s outer layer of fur. If she had been outside the city walls, she might have mistaken the figure for a bear.
“Whoa, there,” said the bear-like person. Marie was shocked to realize she was hearing the deep voice of Augustus Thibault. He grabbed Marie’s arm to prevent her from falling into the snowbank beside her. Then he pushed back his large, shaggy hat, revealing the bright eyes that were so very much like his son’s. The muscles around his mouth were constricted with worry.
“What are you doing out here, Marie? You need to get indoors right away.” He seemed annoyed to find her walking alone in the streets—something he was well aware she did on a regular basis. Without waiting for an answer, he seized her upper right arm and steered her forcefully toward her destination.
The city was quiet except for the distant beat of military drums. The harbour was silent, the ocean turbulent, and they were under no threat from invaders. “What’s going on?” Marie asked. The urgency of the man’s actions was frightening her.