The Displaced

by Frieda Watt

  Marie shuddered involuntarily.

  “It was an ambush. Nothing more than a skirmish with the British, but somehow, I was shot. I was the only one.” He shook his head at his own ineptitude. “We were in the middle of nowhere. No fort or village for miles. They had to dig the bullet out. It was in deep.” He paused and glanced down at Marie, who looked slightly revolted. “It was the most painful thing I’ve ever been through. But I didn’t really have a choice in the matter. Not unless I wanted to die slowly from lead poisoning.”

  Marie understood what he was trying to say and nodded.

  “So I can’t imagine what you’ve been through … I start to shake and I want to hit something very hard when I think about it … But I want you to know you can talk to me about all of it … You need to talk to someone.”

  Marie let out a deep breath. “I think you’re the only one I can talk to.”

  Pierre squeezed her gently. “I think I feel the same way. You have quite literally seen me at my worst and can still look me in the eye.” He sighed heavily. “I wish I’d been here so I could have protected you from all this.”

  Marie shifted her weight. “At some point, you need to forgive yourself.”

  “Someday maybe I will, but right now my legs are asleep.”

  Marie laughed as she scooted away from him. He stretched and tried his best to help her get up off the floor without causing too much pain.

  The rain was beating louder against the window panes, increasing the feeling of security Marie felt in the room. She yawned, exhausted from the emotion of the evening. Pierre bent down and kissed her forehead. “I’ll come back tomorrow if you’ll have me.”

  Marie blushed. “Of course, I want you to. I can’t believe you still want me after all this.” It seemed too good to be true.

  “I never wanted to leave you, beautiful.”

  ***

  The next day brought more rain and saw Pierre trudging through it on his way to the offices of the military at the King’s Bastion. Nic had summoned him to a meeting there. As he stomped through the mud and rain, he remembered that various soldiers in the garrison had told him that inclement weather like this had saved the fortress from a British invasion the previous year. But it seemed unlikely that Louisbourg could be saved by weather two years in a row.

  The conversation Pierre had had with Nic two nights before about Claude was making him paranoid. Every few minutes, Pierre glanced behind himself to make sure he wasn’t being followed. Nic met him at the door of the great government building, and they made their way silently to a small room off the main hallway. Nic settled into one of the flimsy wooden chairs that were clustered around the table there. Nic motioned for him to sit down.

  “So, Captain, to what do I owe the honour?” Pierre asked.

  Nic glared at Pierre. He hated to be reminded of his position over a childhood friend. Ordering your subordinates around was one thing. It was vastly different when you’d shared many a strapping with one of them.

  Nic sighed. “How is Marie?”

  “Physically, she’s on the mend. But emotionally, Claude’s done quite the number on her.” He tried to keep the blame out of his voice but felt he was doing a poor job of it.

  Nic tapped his fingers on the table. “It’s been two weeks. Do you think she can move?”

  “Where do you want her to go?” Pierre asked. He knew that a move away from Augustus’s house had been the goal, but his personal feelings were getting in the way of being objective.

  Nic didn’t answer but rubbed his hands across his face. “As far away from this war and Claude as she can get.”

  “France?”

  Nic laughed darkly. “Not with the British patrolling every square inch of the ocean.”

  Pierre sighed and leaned back in his chair. “How long do we have?”

  Nic shrugged. “This is all confidential. You know that?”

  “You really think I want to start a panic? Besides, who would I tell?”

  Nic ignored him. “The Mi’kmaq say the British left Halifax yesterday. As long as the weather is bad, they won’t be able to land. But the weather will change, so we have days.”

  Pierre nodded. He knew what was coming. “But where is she going to go?”

  “So far, I have arranged travel for her to Quebec. If this place falls,” he gestured around the room abstractly, “Uncle Joseph’s home is open to her. He’s aware of the situation and knows that she could arrive if the stars ever align.”

  “Claude found her once in Montreal. What’s going to stop him from finding her in Quebec?”

  Nic paused. “I’ve arranged for her to enter a convent there.”

  This was new. Pierre tried to cover his surprise. “You really think a convent is the answer?”

  Nic shrugged. “Even the British won’t kill a bunch of nuns.”

  “I don’t like this convent idea.”

  “Not everything is about you,” Nic snapped.

  Pierre chewed the inside of his cheek. “Why can’t she just stay at Joseph Dumas’s?”

  His Captain threw him a significant look.

  “You still don’t approve of me,” Pierre sighed. “So why did you help me come back here?”

  Nic paused, weighing his words. “You’re a soldier now. There’s nothing either of us can do about that. If you survive, then what? You go to the next battle and the next until you’re too injured or dead. You’ll never be promoted with the desertion record. What kind of life is that? I was the one who wanted you to come home so you wouldn’t spend the rest of your life as a wandering soldier—but not to my sister. If Claude ever caught you with her, she’d be dead.”

  Pierre stared at his hands, his blue eyes clouded with disappointment. Unfortunately, he couldn’t argue with Nic’s logic.

  “Maybe at one time, it would have been appropriate for you to marry her, but she deserves more than life with a disgraced soldier.”

  Pierre sighed. “But she won’t want to become a nun.”

  Nic cocked his head to one side, appraising his friend. “That’s where you come in.”

  Pierre shook his massive blond head of hair. “I’m not going to lie to her.”

  “That’s fine. But it’s not like you can marry her either.”

  ***

  Though she wasn’t doing very much during the day, Marie felt as if she was in a state of perpetual exhaustion. Her scalp itched fiercely, and the throbbing in her arm still hurt badly when there was nothing to take her mind off it. All of this meant that Marie was spending most of her time sitting. She kept to her room, as instructed, and though it was a bit dark, there was one large window that let in what natural light there was.

  Marie was sitting by the window, careful that her profile could not be seen, reading one of the books that Pierre had delivered. May was supposed to be warm, she thought ruefully as she pulled the shawl closer around her. All the rain and lack of sun was making her feel gloomy. A knock at the door roused her from her reading.

  It took her a while to get across the room. Elise stood in the doorway, arms laden with clothes, looking very pleased with herself.

  Marie ushered her in. “What are you doing here?”

  Elise dumped the contents unceremoniously on the bed. Straightening up, she surveyed Marie. “You look better than I thought you would.”

  Marie rolled her eyes. It had been five days since she’d last seen Elise. Beside her breathtakingly gorgeous and well-dressed friend, she felt especially woebegone in her linen chemise. “I guess I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  Elise sat down beside the mound of fabric and began sorting through it. “How are you feeling?”

  “Much better than I was.” Marie looked over the pile, trying to determine what it contained. “Where did you get this stuff?”

  “Some of it’s mine and some of it Annette smuggled out for you.” She saw the look of concern on Marie’s face. “Claude has no idea where you are. He’s been over to our place a few times, rantin
g and raving, but now that Nic is a Captain, he’s too afraid of him to do anything too drastic.”

  “I’m sorry about that,” Marie mumbled.

  “Not your fault. Maybe this time he won’t actually find you.” She looked up at Marie expectantly, her well-set copper hair gleaming in the sunlight. She could no longer contain her curiosity. “I’ve heard Pierre has been here.”

  Marie nodded and sat down on the bed next to her friend. “Did you know he was back?”

  Elise frowned. “Nic told me, but he made me promise not to tell you. He’s still terribly angry with Pierre for drawing you into his sordid life and provoking Claude. I don’t think he realizes the abuse started before you left.”

  “How did you know?” Marie had tried her best to hide the bruises with clothing and powder.

  Elise smiled sadly. “Powder doesn’t hide everything. I didn’t say anything because I was waiting for you to say something. I thought you were embarrassed.”

  “I was.” Marie lay back slowly and stared up at the beige canvas that acted as a canopy over the bed. Augustus might be as wealthy as Claude, but his furnishings (and bed hangings) were plain and rough compared to the tapestries and ornament at the manor house. “Do you think I’m pathetic for still wanting Pierre?”

  Elise didn’t say anything immediately but fished a pair of plain leather shoes from the pile and placed them on the floor. “No, I don’t,” she said, straightening up. “And even if I did, you shouldn’t worry about what I think.”

  Marie gave her a quizzical look.

  Elise moved toward the foot of the bed and leaned against one of the bedposts. “I admire how hard you’ve tried to be happy and create a life for yourself,” she said. “I really do. I don’t know if I could do that if Nic died. But,” Elise paused, thinking, “I know you’re not really happy. I can see it in those moments when you think no one’s looking. And it’s more than Claude and more than Jacques. If they were the only problem, you would have gone to Joseph in Quebec. I always thought you stayed here because part of you wanted to be in Louisbourg so Pierre could find you.”

  “Did you tell Nic that?”

  Elise laughed. “Of course not. I’ve told him you won’t leave now, but he doesn’t believe me. I love him, but he can be rather obtuse.”

  Marie smiled. “Even after I saw him with those women, I still wanted to talk to him. I wanted to confront him and scream and yell, but then I hoped he’d have an explanation.”

  Elise studied her friend’s profile against the pale quilt. “What is the explanation?”

  Marie filled her lungs up as far as they would go without hurting and let the air out slowly. “He spent six years in prison, starved and beaten. He’d been labelled a traitor—well, a deserter when he hadn’t even been in the army—and he was about to be shipped off to the Ohio Valley to fight, with no way of contacting anyone he loved. He was angry and lonely and drunk.”

  Elise mulled it over. “I can accept that. And if that information is enough for you, I accept it even more.”

  “You really don’t think I’m pathetic?”

  “No, but I think you’re a mess.” She stood up and offered her hand. “We need to get you cleaned up.”

  It felt wonderful to finally shed the borrowed clothes after so many days. With her good hand, Marie washed the last of the sweat and blood from her body, behind the screen near the fire. Elise passed some clean undergarments around the screen. It took longer to dress than usual. Bending and stretching still made her ribs scream, but after a while, she’d put on her undergarments and a layer of petticoats.

  Elise had organized her cargo of clothing on the bed. “What do you want to keep?”

  “Without my stays, there isn’t much I can wear.” Marie came out from behind the screen to look.

  “Remember, you’ll eventually heal—most likely before you get new clothes.”

  “Fine. I’ll keep them all then.” She reached for a basic blue wool skirt and bodice that would fit without bending her ribs and started to put them on.

  “I’m beginning to feel human again,” she said as she slipped her hands into the pockets of the skirt.

  “You look so much better too,” Elise said, “except for your hair. Now sit down, so I can do something with it.” Marie sat on her chair by the fire and tried to relax as Elise carefully began untangling her long, chestnut locks.

  “Are the stitches still in here?”

  “Madame Cloutier took them out.”

  Elise found the scab and tried to avoid it. Marie passed hairpins to her with her good arm.

  “How did you feel when you first realized Pierre was the soldier who rescued you from the drunken men in the street?”

  Marie winced as a particularly difficult knot was attacked. “I don’t know if I’ve ever been so angry in my life. I carried on for a bit and then ran back to the manor. But when he showed up there after the … the … When I woke up with my arms around him on the horse …” Marie paused, trying to think of how to explain it, “I never wanted to let him go again.”

  “You know, Nic is going to do everything he can to make sure you go to Quebec.”

  Marie snorted. “I’d like to see him try.”

  Elise sighed as she patted the last few strands of hair into place. “That’s what I said. Why doesn’t he ever listen to me?” She sat down on the chair beside Marie. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to come back. The rumour going around is that you’re ill. But Nic’s worried Claude is following people. I don’t really have any other reason to visit here except to see you.”

  “It breaks my heart,” Marie said, “but I don’t want to put you in danger. It’s done me so much good just to see you today. Who else would be thoughtful enough to bring clothes and help me get cleaned up? You’re the greatest friend anyone could ask for.”

  Elise waved her hand dismissively and wrinkled her freckled nose. “Think nothing of it. I expect that you’re going to give Nic plenty of reasons to be angry over the next little while, so he’ll keep me up to date on what’s happening with you.”

  She gave Marie a warm hug.

  “Are you leaving before the British arrive?” Marie asked quickly.

  Elise shook her head. “I go where Nic goes. Everyone I know is here.” Elise left shortly after that, leaving Marie feeling very envious that Elise at least knew what her future held.

  ***

  Marie was sleeping badly. Her arm hurt, her ribs still prevented her from sleeping in any position she wanted, and her lack of physical exercise during the day made her restless despite her fatigue. She had finally fallen into a light sleep when the door of her room banged open.

  Light blazed in from the corridor, blocked in part by the gigantic figure of Pierre in the doorway. Marie sat bolt upright in bed, then grasped her side as it protested such movement. Grabbing the flint box, she lit the candle on the bedside table just in time to see Pierre collapse into one of the chairs by the fire.

  “What the hell is this?” Marie yelled, her heart still pounding. Pierre gazed up at her through half-closed eyes.

  Marie looked at the clock on the wall beside the fireplace. “It’s three o’clock in the morning!” she exploded.

  Pierre shook his head absently and stared at her in a daze. “You’re so beautiful.” He smelled strongly of liquor.

  Marie glared at him. “What have you been doing?”

  “I was at the tavern.”

  “I gathered that,” she huffed.

  “I went with some of the cadets.” He grinned absentmindedly over at her. “I’m getting too old to keep up with them.”

  “Clearly,” Marie sighed, exasperated. “Well, you can’t stay here.” She got out of bed gingerly, walked over to him, and put her good arm under his shoulder. Then she tried to help him up. Pierre heaved himself onto his feet and took a step toward the door, but then he staggered and collapsed onto the bed.

  “I’m definitely too old for this,” he groaned.

  Marie ro
lled her eyes. “You’re thirty, not twenty. At least move over so I can fit.” A deep snore issued from the dark recesses of the blankets. “Of course,” she muttered.

  Marie carefully pulled off his boots and undid his sword belt, laying it on the table. She sat on the bed for a few moments staring down at the unconscious figure. He looked peaceful with the weight of his life momentarily erased from his mind, much more like the boy she remembered. His golden hair lay sprawled over the blankets. She pushed back the few shocks of blond hair that had fallen over his face. His cheeks felt like sandpaper, with their day’s worth of invisible blond growth.

  She reached over and poked him in the ribs. “Pierre?” Absolutely no response. She poked him again, but he simply rolled over and spread out across the bed even more. Sighing, she grabbed her pillow and the candlestick and made her way down to the couch in the sitting room.

  ***

  The muffled sounds of the house slowly waking up brought Marie back to life. The servants working that early in the morning were making their way around the house, starting fires in the fireplaces, opening some windows, and starting the work in the kitchen. There was little food to prepare, but it was important to everyone to keep up the daily routines.

  She opened one eye and spotted an extremely young maid peeking around the corner, trying to decide if it was safe to come in. Marie waved her forward and carefully raised herself off the couch.

  It was early, the June sun was only beginning to rise, and Pierre wouldn’t be awake yet. Marie smiled to herself as she gathered up her belongings and made her way back to her room.

  She was right. Pierre lay sprawled across the entire bed, snoring lightly. She poked him experimentally in the ribs again, but that produced absolutely no effect.

  She stood beside him for a moment, thinking, and then grabbed her pillow with her good hand and began to beat him around the head with it as hard as she could without giving herself more pain attacks. With a yell, he tumbled out of bed onto the floor, scowling up at her in confusion.

  “What was that for?” he growled, trying to pull himself out of the mess of sheets and blankets.

  Marie smiled sweetly at him. “I’m just repaying you for last night.”