by Frieda Watt
“The head wound is stitched up, and she isn’t showing any signs that the blow to the head caused any lasting damage. Her ribs are bruised, maybe cracked at the worst. Some of the boning in her stays must have broken and pierced the skin, but luckily, they didn’t go too deep. Her shoulder was dislocated, but it was fixed easily enough. Then there’s the broken arm. It’s unclear how that will heal,” he finished heavily.
“Her arm wasn’t amputated?” Pierre asked in shock.
Augustus shook his head. “Father Weber is an experimental man.”
Pierre bent his head as he tried to compose himself. Hot waves of shame and guilt rolled over him.
“There’s nothing you could have done,” Augustus said quietly. The look on Nic’s face seemed to suggest the opposite.
“What the hell is going on?” Pierre asked finally. He had been stationed back at home for six months, and no one had told him anything about this. He had been told that Marie wanted nothing to do with him, but they should have told him about the danger she lived with every day.
Nic sighed. “Claude beats her.”
Pierre felt very much like hitting him. “I gathered that. For how long?”
“After you left.”
There was a pregnant silence.
Pierre rounded on his father. “Since I left?! Do you realize what you’ve done?”
Nic stood up. “It’s not his fault, you idiot. It’s yours!”
“What did I do?”
“Six years after you left, after no word from you, she decided to go find you.”
Pierre’s eyes grew wide. “To find me? I was in a prison in Montreal.”
Nic glared at Pierre. “I told her where you were after you were released. An officer friend of mine told me about your situation. But I never dreamed she would go after you. A woman making that kind of trip alone. I didn’t think it was possible. But she went, after your father here found her a ship.” By his tone of voice, he clearly hadn’t forgiven Augustus for assisting her.
Pierre was numb with shock. His face was completely drained of colour. “She never found me. I never saw her!”
Augustus smiled sadly. “She found you,” he said quietly.
Pierre stared, horror-struck, around the room. He felt his chest tightening. “No, she didn’t. I never saw her!”
“She saw you,” Augustus repeated, looking up from his drink.
Nic glared at Pierre with a look of disgust. “Do you remember that night or were you too drunk to remember what happened?”
Pierre thought back. After his abrupt enrolment into the French army, he had rotted in a prison in Montreal for six years. He had professed his innocence, but no one ever listened to him, and he hadn’t been allowed any communication with the outside. Instead, he spent six years locked in an isolated dungeon, with other forgotten prisoners.
The disdain that the prison guards had for him, supposedly a deserter, left him starving and beaten on a regular basis. He was released from prison when Jumonville Glen and his battalion were attacked by the British in Pennsylvania and the subsequent war had been declared. The army needed every able body they could get. Pierre had spent the first few weeks after his release angry, despondent, and sick. He spent every night steadily drinking himself into oblivion, usually with the company of less than reputable women.
He felt sick realizing that knowledge of his sins had been spread far beyond the confines of Montreal. Nic then told Pierre how Claude had found Marie and whipped her and taken her back to Louisbourg. Since that day, she’d been the target of his rage, living in fear. Both Nic and Augustus had tried to remove her from the situation, but they’d been unable to get her out. Claude always found her.
Pierre sat stunned. Waves of shame, guilt, anger, and despair washed over him. He felt the room spin and thought he was going to be sick again. After several minutes, he eventually gained control of his emotions long enough to speak. “I need to go and see her,” he whispered.
“She’s sleeping now,” Augustus said kindly. “Father Weber gave her laudanum before he set her bones. She’ll be out for several hours. Let her rest.”
Pierre wasn’t listening. He stood up, knocking his chair over. “I need to see her. I need to explain—to tell her I’m sorry.”
Augustus came around the desk and grabbed his shoulder. “Son,” the gesture of familiarity shocked Pierre back to the present. “She can’t talk to you. Wait until tomorrow.”
Pierre shook off his father and headed up the stairs. The room was lit only with the fire now burning low in the hearth. The windows were closed and the room was stifling. The willowy form of Madame Cloutier rose when he entered, and she offered him her chair. He took it and waved her away.
Marie looked worse than he remembered. Her face had swollen even more, purple and blue with the bruises. He could barely recognize her features under the damage. The quilt was pulled tightly up under her chin so he couldn’t see the rest of her injuries, but he could feel her broken left arm bandaged against her chest.
Eyes stinging with tears, Pierre tried to think of when she would have seen him in Montreal, but too many nights spent in a drunken haze ran together. He couldn’t imagine her being there; the very thought of it made it difficult to breathe.
The door opened and Nic stepped in quietly. For a moment, neither of them said anything but focused on the beaten girl between them.
“She didn’t want to see me,” Pierre muttered. “I ran into her on the street tonight completely by accident. She didn’t want to even look at me.” He seemed diminished. His face was pale and his hands shook in his lap.
As angry as Nic was, he could see that the man before him was writhing in his own personal hell. As much as his pride made him want to blame Pierre for the situation, he knew very little of it had anything to do with his friend. “She should be safe here for at least a few days,” he offered. “Claude won’t think to look here.”
Pierre nodded, blinking quickly.
“Just don’t draw attention to yourself.”
“I need to talk to her—to explain—if such a thing is possible,” Pierre babbled.
Nic nodded. “She needs someone to watch her tonight and give her more laudanum if she’ll take it.”
Pierre said nothing.
“Talk to her when she wakes up, but then you need to leave and go back to the barracks.” It wasn’t a suggestion. Nic nodded to himself and then let himself out of the house.
***
Pierre hardly moved at all as he started his vigil. Marie slept lightly in her drugged state, groaning if her body shifted even slightly. Each noise felt like an iron fist clenched in his heart. He couldn’t remember if he had ever endured a longer night. She had gone to Montreal, seen him, and tried to find him, and he never realized it. If he had known, would he have risked desertion and come back? Probably.
Up and down the room he paced, too agitated to stay still. The fire had long since died, but the full moon cast silver highlights over the cozy room.
Just as the moon began to sink beneath the horizon, he heard a moan from the bed. This one was different. Marie was trying to sit up. He rushed over. “Hey, don’t do that. You’re going to hurt yourself more.”
Marie stared up at him with her one eye, thoroughly confused. She reached out with her good hand and poked her finger at his forehead, dragging the appendage heavily down to the tip of his nose. “You’re real.” She sounded uncertain.
Too full of emotion to say anything, Pierre just nodded.
“I thought I dreamed you.” She continued to stare at him groggily through the haze of medication and pain. “Although, in my dreams, the conversation usually goes better.” She looked worried. “Did I really scream all that stuff at you?”
The corners of his mouth twisted. “Yes.”
She looked around the room. Nothing in the semi-darkness looked familiar. “Where am I?”
“You’re at my father’s house.” Her confusion didn’t dissipate. “Nic feels that
Claude won’t find you here, or at least he won’t cross Augustus. You should be safe for a few days.”
Marie gave an involuntary movement at the sound of Claude’s name and let out a gasp as her body protested. “I want to sit up, but I need help.” A faint sheen of sweat glistened on her forehead as she struggled to move.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” He was afraid of touching her for fear of hurting her more.
Marie muttered rebelliously under her breath.
To try to placate her, Pierre grabbed the extra pillow on the bed and carefully tucked it behind her.
“Thanks,” Marie said as she shifted her weight painfully.
Pierre bowed his head and stared at the floor. He wanted to speak, but the lump in his throat was growing exponentially. He couldn’t bring himself to look at her now.
“I’m sorry.” The words were quiet, as if spoken from a great distance.
His head snapped up. “For what?”
“I’m sorry I said those things. I was angry.” She spoke slowly, with great effort.
Her apology made him feel even worse. “It’s all right. I deserved it.”
She looked confused again. “No, you didn’t. I was afraid. Afraid of what I was feeling, so I got angry. That’s no excuse.”
Pierre was starting to worry that the blow to her head may have done some serious damage. He wasn’t sure if this was the best time, but he needed to talk to her before he was entirely consumed by his guilt.
“Nic told me,” he began and then stopped. He cleared his throat. She looked at him, her eye sharper than it had been since she had awoken. “He told me about you coming to Montreal. That you saw me with those women. That you were so close but I missed you. That I …” It was becoming difficult to speak. Hot tears were blurring his vision as he tried to articulate what his actions had cost him. It was important that he tell her, that she understand that he had been drowning his sorrows the only way that was available to him. That it all meant nothing. If he had seen her and had known, he would have taken her with him that moment. She wouldn’t have had to suffer Claude’s scorn and beatings. They could have started their life together.
He felt something gently squeeze his hand. He looked down to see Marie’s slender fingers wrapped around his. Marie smiled softly from the bed.
“I don’t hate you,” she said, finally with clarity, sounding much more like herself.
His shock must have shown on his face because she continued. “I mean, I did. A lot. For a long time. But when I woke up today …” She glanced out the window. “I mean, last night when I saw you there, I didn’t care what had happened. For the first time in a long time, I felt safe. I just wanted you to stay.” Her voice was starting to sound rather far off.
“I’m sorry. I am so sorry.” Pierre’s voice was cracking. “I was angry … I was miserable … I thought I’d lost you.” He paused, trying to compose himself before he went on. “Had I known … seen you … I would have kept you there. I would have fought Claude for you … protected you from all of this.” His voice broke. “I’ve never tried to replace you.”
Marie gave him an odd look and studied him for a moment. “I did,” she said very softly. “I tried very hard.”
She leaned back into the pillows as if the effort of her confession had exhausted her. She didn’t seem in a hurry to say anything else, but her grip on his fingers was strong and sure.
“Is that who Jacques is?” he ventured after a while. The answer would potentially be painful, but he needed to know.
Marie laughed bitterly and then winced as her ribs moved. “No. He was a means of escape, but it wasn’t worth it.” She closed her eyes to hide the tears that were forming. Awkwardness was beginning to grow between them.
“I’m not marrying him, you know,” she said conversationally.
“I thought you were. Nic wrote me a year ago to tell me about the engagement. He told me you were happy.” He noticed her inquiring look. “As an officer, he was allowed a letter.”
A long string of unflattering names came out of Marie’s mouth. “That’s what this,” she waved a hand over herself, “was for. I just couldn’t stand him anymore. I was never happy with him. I never even liked him. I found him with another woman, again. I told him I’d had enough.”
Pierre squirmed uncomfortably. “I’m sorry.” He reached out tentatively to touch her cheek but then thought better of it.
She smiled sadly. “Me too.” He noticed the moisture clinging to her lashes. “Why are you back here?”
“My father paid a large sum of money to have me transferred. Nic used his influence as well, but he didn’t want me anywhere near you,” he sighed. “How are you feeling?”
“I hurt in places I didn’t even know I had.”
Pierre winced at the dark humour. “There’s more laudanum if you want it.” She nodded, eyes still closed.
He passed her the small vial containing the dark liquid and helped her take it.
She looked at him dreamily as the painkiller began to take effect. “Please come back.”
“I promise.”
She squeezed his hand again with all her strength, and then she was gone.
***
Marie awoke in the early afternoon, feeling much more like herself, at least mentally, than she had the last two times she’d opened her eyes.
It was the first time she looked at her surroundings properly. She had been to Augustus Thibault’s house many times but never to this part of the house. She assumed she must be on the second floor, a level that as a guest she had never been to. The feather bed that she was reclining on was warm and soft, and the thick velvet bed hangings were parted to let the sunshine in.
She sat up slowly. No matter how gently she moved, her ribs screamed in protest and her head throbbed. Nic was sitting by the window, sheafs of paper spread in his lap. He carelessly threw them on the table when he saw her stirring.
“How are you this morning?” he asked, shifting his chair closer to the bed. “Well, it’s not really morning anymore, but I’m glad you’ve made it back to the land of the living.”
Marie looked at him without expression. He tried again. “How are you feeling?”
Marie grunted as she tried to prop herself up on the pillows. “Sore.”
“I assumed. Do you want anything to eat or drink?”
Marie shook her head but stopped. Moving made it throb.
“What happened?” Nic asked seriously, leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees.
Marie didn’t say anything but stared at the patchwork quilt. She wasn’t afraid of her brother, but he wasn’t going to be happy with her. She had a feeling that Elise had given him a general idea of how it all started.
“What happened this time?” he repeated, resigned.
“You haven’t seen Claude?”
Nic sighed and shook his black hair. “No, I haven’t. Although he must be out in public because someone stopped me at the office and asked me how my sister was. Apparently, he’d heard you had fallen terribly ill and might not be better in time for the wedding.”
Marie gazed at him. “And what did you say?”
“Just because someone speaks to me doesn’t mean I have to answer.”
“That would explain why your mother-in-law hates you,” Marie replied tartly.
“My relationship with my wife’s mother has nothing to do with the present situation.” Nic paused. “Did you really tell Jacques you wouldn’t marry him?”
Marie looked defiant. “I did.”
Nic let out a hiss of frustration. “And where does Pierre fit into all this?”
Marie looked at him blankly. “What about Pierre?”
Nic glared at her as if she was being stupid on purpose. “What about him? You broke off your engagement with Jacques because you two finally managed to get together again! You put your life in jeopardy again for this idiot. Marie, it has to stop!”
As bruised, sore, and embarrassed as Marie w
as, she did her best to pull herself up to her full height. “Excuse me?” Her eyes blazed dangerously. “You’re implying that Pierre has something to do with the events of last night?”
“Pierre always has something to do with your life,” Nic spat impatiently. “Why do you think I told him to stay away from you?”
Marie looked hurt and offended as a memory from earlier came to her mind. “You told him I was happy with Jacques.”
“Of course, I did. I didn’t want you to know that Pierre was stationed here. You would have just gone looking for him.”
Marie stared up at the bed canopy, trying to decide what to say. Finally, she turned to her brother. “Then why did you help him come back?”
Nic cracked his knuckles, glaring at a spot on the floor. When Augustus had first asked him to help bring Pierre back to Louisbourg, he had refused. It took several months of nagging from Augustus before Nic sat down to think about the situation. Pierre had been his best friend, the closest thing he ever had to a brother. Nic couldn’t begin to imagine what his friend had endured over the last eight years. He had heard the stories of what happened to deserters; he had doled out the punishments himself on more than one occasion. Whatever Pierre’s faults, Augustus’s plea to have his son return home, even for a short while, was valid. “I have never been able to envision a future with you and Pierre where Claude didn’t end up doing something like this.” He pointed to the state she was in. “I couldn’t begrudge Augustus wanting his son back, but I knew if Claude had the faintest idea you were in contact with Pierre, all hell would break loose. Even if nothing came of any conversations, even if all you did was scream at him for Montreal, I knew Claude would do something. He’s not exactly rational.”
“You think I was happy with Jacques? Last night had nothing to do with Pierre. I found Jacques with Laure and I’d finally had enough. It was the last straw. I’m not going through with the marriage. It’s humiliating, the way he parades these other women around.”
Nic looked unconvinced. “Jacques has position and influence, and he wouldn’t beat you—”