Distant Fires

by D. A. Woodward

  He could have saved his breath, for, seconds after the words left his lips the door opened to a lively, though slightly more refined, couple, and their older children.

  Unlike Annette, the Madame and her daughters were outfitted in linen dresses to mid-calf and plain bonnets; a style as simple as it was pretty, while Monsieur Giguerre and his sons were clad in work clothes, with woollen undergarments—barely covered—the latter worn to absorb perspiration, during year round activity.

  The Giguerre family, in greater awe of the guests than their friends, seemed to punctuate every sentence with an unwieldy curtsey or an exaggerated bow.

  George warmed to his role as host, immediately, organising the festivities. “Michel”, he hollered good-naturedly to one of his little dark-haired children, “fetch Grampere his fiddle.”

  The old man, crooked with arthritis, lumbered to a stool. Louise wondered how the man could manage to walk, let alone play. But once he had the instrument in hand, he transformed, to her astonishment, into a nimble-fingered musician, filling the air with vivacity and merriment.

  Annette, having pressed a younger daughter into child care duties, now offered Louise and the women a cup of red wine, and passed a home-made spruce drink to the men.

  Though well-schooled in the art of slow-paced dancing, Louise watched the swirling, fleet steps of the participants, in eager anticipation of a chance to teach this exciting, unrestrained approach to dance.

  Chatting with Madame Giguerre, she saw Felippe cringe as he tasted his drink, stifle a yawn, and then whisper something into Armand’s ear. A moment later, he strode to Louise, leaving her to wonder, briefly, if he was going to ask her to dance.

  “I am going back onboard, my dear. There are a number of issues I wish to discuss with the Captain, regarding the trip tomorrow,” he whispered, adding more quietly, “I’m very sorry to have brought you into all of this, my dear...It was entirely unforeseeable. I will discuss with the Captain the possibility of making Montreal tomorrow, without a stop.”

  She tightened her lip, to keep from smiling at his grave expression. “As you wish”, she offered pleasantly.

  He turned heel and motioned for Robert, his indispensable valet, to accompany him out of doors, dodging the nimble-footed revellers into the comfort of a summer evening. Louise felt warmth spread along her limbs as Annette refilled her cup, and at the start of a reel, began, unconsciously, to tap her foot.

  Georges, dancing with his eldest daughter on the dance floor, noticed her loosening spirit, and impetuously broke with his partner.

  “You would like to dance, Madame?” he enquired, breathlessly. She saw that Armand was being similarly summoned, from the far side of the room.

  “If you could teach me,” she laughed. “I must warn you, I may not be a good student!”

  Marie, whose drink had only served to accentuate her sullen mood, now took the opportunity to seek permission from her mistress to remove herself from, what she considered, undignified amusements, and retire to the upstairs loft.

  “Of course, Marie...” Louise replied gaily, as Georges unceremoniously swung her round the crowded room, bumping legs and shoulders with most of the participants.

  She noticed Armand escorted on a similar course with Georges’ pretty, dark-haired daughter, and as she watched, felt a momentary twinge of jealousy.

  Toward the end of the reel, the music took an unexpected turn in tempo, and Louise, trying desperately to keep up, found herself at the end of one rotation, spinning uncontrollably from his arms, and landing in an awaiting chair along the far side of the room. In her slightly inebriated state, the liveliness and exhaustion sent her into a fit of giggles.

  Armand, fearing she had hurt herself, hastened to her side.

  “I am fine,” she responded cheerfully, her head reeling. She rubbed her side, and straightened her gown. “But, I must say,” she continued, waving a delicate handkerchief about her face, “it is very warm.”

  “Would you like to take some air, Madame? I would be happy to escort you.”

  He seemed so concerned, so willing to be helpful. Feeling the effects of both heat and intoxication, she lowered her guard to the danger of acceptance.

  “Yes, thank you”, she replied, with a slight slur. He carefully led her past the seemingly oblivious revellers, and through the open door.

  The moon was partially obscured by traces of cloud in the darkened sky, and although a warm breeze stirred the air, it seemed to carry with it the promise of moisture.

  Not long after they began to walk, Louise felt her head clear somewhat, and noticed the lanterns on board ship gently swaying to the rhythm of the water, not five hundred feet away. Voices of men drifted up from the river, competing, now and then, with the errant sound of a farm animal and vociferous merrymaking spilling out of windows.

  It was only then she realised that, other than the odd person stepping out for a moment, they were alone.

  “Shall we take this path?” he ventured, leading her away from the out buildings to the back of the house.

  Away from the light, she could barely discern his features, and although there was something fearful in the all-pervasive gloom which seemed to encompass them, she followed unquestioningly; rambling, with a nearly imperceptible wobble, along the narrow trail, through clumps of tall grasses. The path ended at a low stone fence, overhung with fruit trees, on the edge of a meadow.

  He faced her now, gazing down upon her through an unseen face, with only waves of hair and broad shoulders in full view.

  “Louise,” he said urgently, “forgive me for taking this liberty, but I knew I must speak with you.”

  She turned away and leaned her head against the tree, in an attempt to banish the power of his nearness. She had played into his hands, once again.

  “Since we set off on this journey, I have thought of nothing but when I might have the opportunity to explain myself to you, to make you aware of my deepest apologies.”

  She could hear him move toward the fence, shifting the grass with his feet in nervous agitation.

  “There is little time for recrimination or dwelling upon our past...nothing can change what has gone before.” The torture in his voice trailed off, with the visitation of remembered anguish. “I have given the matter of my conduct, much thought since we were last...alone...I see, now, it was unfair of me to set myself upon you as I did, to expect you to feel the same. Perhaps...it was my own foolish vanity...a...need to prove I was...worthy. I wish I could say that it did not matter, that it was nothing more than a weakness of the flesh, but that would not be true.”

  She could see his silhouette as he stood by the side of the fence. He dropped his head, running his fingers through his hair in impassioned frustration. When he chose to speak, his voice was caressing and low.

  “From the moment I first set eyes on you, my heart has had but one mistress...I hated you for that, hated you for so bewitching me...hated you for sending me away...I swore to have my vengeance on you for leaving me half a man. God knows, I have tried to forget you, but behind the face of every woman, there have you been...now that I have found you again, I no longer desire vindictiveness. I realised when I left that night, my love for you was greater than my hate, that to force you to admit something you no longer felt was a travesty, and out of love and respect, I humbly beg you to accept my apology. I should have controlled my impulses, my need to touch you...to feel you once more...I could not help myself... “

  He covered his face in his hands for a moment, then composed himself and straightened his broad shoulders, like a heavy burden had suddenly been lifted.

  “I was wrong to have caused you so much confusion. I will not be in your presence again, for a very long time,” he said quietly, straining to withhold his emotion, “but... I must know before I go, that you forgive me, my lack of restraint. I value your respect, above all else.”

  His voice lowered with the force of resignation. “...I give you my word that I shall not...trouble
you, again.”

  Though initially startled, she surprised herself by being touched by his sincerity and conviction. It seemed to strike a long-dormant chord within her, resonant with its own liberation. It might have been the party, which had given her a fleeting few hours to recapture some of her youthful exuberance, or the emancipating properties of the drink that served to loosen her reticence.

  Whatever the external reason, the deeper truth revealed that she was merely tired—tired of her self-imposed emotional enslavement, and all the pretence, which had accompanied her life since she set herself adrift of its fulfilment.

  Much could be said of his devotion and what greater price; denying himself a wife, family... Truth unknown, he saw her as cruel and faithless, using him to her own amusement, until she tired of him. Still, he remained steadfast in his need for her. Even now, as a man of power and influence, she felt certain that nothing held greater importance to him than an avowal of her affection. She believed it when he said he neither wished to turn the past against her nor divest her of respect.

  What of Felippe? In some ways she cared, but had never really known him. It frightened her to think that she had lived, over half her life, with a stranger. Moreover, it had never been a marriage of love...the physical act, requiring its own formal and infrequent scheduling, could not bring her midway to fulfilment.

  No, not marriage, position, nor even God himself, could refute the fact that she belonged to Armand; that notwithstanding all the trials and separations, there was no one else, nor ever had been. She could no longer withhold the truth. She refused to perpetuate this charade.

  Moving away from the tree, she walked to the fence and stood beside him.

  “I love you, Armand,” she murmured, with a calmness that startled even her. “Only you...I can no longer live a lie, and I cannot let you go without knowing what has always been.”

  She heard him gasp. It appeared that for a few seconds, he seemed not to believe, the words gradually searing into his mind like the acceptance of a holy sacrament...

  Reaching to engulf her, she felt his hot, quaking breath bury into the side of her neck, and his mouth eagerly sought hers. Shaking with emotion, he gathered her into his strong arms and laid her back against the cool, damp grass.

  She felt no shame, no pang of conscience, as he kissed her long and deep, while trembling hands loosened her garments, then his own. Lowering the décolletage of her gown, he freed her soft, rounded breasts, pressing the satiny wetness of his mouth along the firm, sweet smelling flesh, to the velvet of her succulent nipples. His fingers caressed her womanly curves and contours, like a blind man yearning to remember, and pressed his lips over hers, tenderly, urgently. Drawing his hips against hers, she felt the full measure of his hardness...his tongue began to explore, gently moving lower and lower...probing...tasting...rediscovering...

  She caught her breath as his fingers found her soft, moist parts, and with light, rapid strokes, brought her to a sensation, long unknown to her senses.

  Just as she felt herself surrendering to the pleasure, he stopped, with a suddenness that left her breathless and quivering.

  Taking her face in his hands, he bore into her eyes, eyes which glistened softly in the pale moonlight, searching for some trace of doubt, then, satisfied at finding nothing but unbridled love, began to kiss her ravenously…deeply... trailing his tongue from her neck...down her sides...to below her belly...her fingers slid through his thick wavy hair, like a cat retracting her claws, as she arched toward him, panting in rapture....

  Unable to restrain himself further, he suspended himself over her, and as her slender legs parted to accept him, pressed his furred chest against her warm bosom, sliding into her creamy wetness, with a low moan of intense pleasure, moving within her, more and more frantically, until she met his breadth of passion. And as her body responded, he poured all of the long years of torment, of need, and emptiness, into her warm, supple body, and they, in turn, revelled in the heat of their heavenly suffusion.

  Afterward, it was all like a beautiful dream where words seemed superfluous, as they lay in each other’s arms, sharing the incandescence of a fleeting moment.

  “We must go now, my love,” she whispered, fearing to move lest they break the spell. “The others may think that we have gone back to ship, but, if we tarry, Marie or...another, may come looking for us.”

  To whom she referred was, as they both knew, Felippe himself. Her abhorrence of subterfuge notwithstanding, there would be need for discretion.

  Although they knew that the losses were now heaped against them, the admission and consummation of their love, they told each other, would now enable them to withstand the many obstacles and partings.

  Helping each other to dress, they held close in a deep and longing embrace, from which they finally broke, following another walking trail by the far side of the outbuildings, where there was less possibility of being seen by one of the family members. By now, the sound of merrymaking carried through the warm night air, in voice rather than fiddle.

  “I shall go back to ship. Can you carry on from here? Will you be fine, my love?” He asked with some concern, as he stroked her face and kissed her fingertips.

  She nodded. For, in truth, she had never felt better. It was like a pall of guilt, loss, and indecision had been lifted, leaving her both serene and optimistic.

  “We might be able to spare a few moments before we part, but should we not, I want you to know that I will do my utmost to give you happiness...I would never wittingly compromise you...if I thought—”

  “Hush,” she said, putting a finger to his lips. “All you must do is keep yourself safe. Remember...you are ever in my heart. Our future begins tonight.” She gave him a warm smile then added, as another thought occurred to her, “Please, my love, guard Felippe. He has need of you. I’m afraid he is not equipped for this voyage.”

  He embraced her reassuringly, and she felt the moisture of his tear as it brushed against her cheek, when he lowered his face to hers.

  “I cannot let you go, not when we have waited so long to find anew what once we had.” He cupped her face in his hands, and stared at her in the half-light, imprinting every detail in his mind.

  “Go, my darling,” she said at last, “now, you must...”

  He pressed his lips over hers, the intensity of his passion overtaking her once more in a wave of insatiable hunger, then reluctantly broke away and vanished into the night.

  Like the phantom pain of a missing limb, she could smell, feel, and taste the essence of him, long after he had left. Her body felt the tenderness of their lovemaking, as she made her way back to the obstreperous activities of the house, where her absence had not openly aroused suspicion.

  She explained to Annette that the Intendant had returned to the ship with her husband, and that the party should continue, although she must excuse herself to the loft.

  “Is it you, Madame?” inquired a groggy Marie, minutes after Louise began to undress. She had comfortably settled on one of the offending cots, and awoke from an evidently deep and blissful slumber.

  “Yes, Marie. Don’t get up, I can manage.”

  “Did you have a nice time at your...party?” She asked, unable to mask her distaste, even in her tired state.

  “Surprisingly, quite pleasant, but I am shocked to see that you enjoyed the evening more than I,” she replied, and could not resist adding in mock reproof, “for, God knows, it was never the intent that these wretched quarters should have the effect of providing you with the comfort of a restful sleep!”

  Felippe kept his promise, for they made Montreal by the following evening, disembarking to little or no fanfare. Governor-General Girald and his wife were hastily dispatched to greet them, and they were happily ensconced aboard two carriages, which took them to the Chateau de Ramzay for the night.

  The following day, Armand and Felippe, having chosen to exchange the Galiote for Batteaux at Fort Niagara, gathered a few retainers, and made further
preparation as to requirements of provision and guides.

  By evening, an intimate supper was held in honour. As she sat across the table, taking elegant bites of food and chatting with her hosts, she thought of how she had missed him. They parted formally in the hallway the previous night; painfully aware he was in the next chamber and unable to touch or hold him, to share her experiences and fears.

  In the restless early hours of the day, she yearned for his caress—his skin upon hers, the feel of him inside her body, the thrill of his undulations mounting her to ecstasy...

  It was then that the realisation of their separation became much more of a trial than she had first thought. Each time their eyes met, she felt a quiver of excitement in the pit of her stomach. And once, when he was certain no one else could see, he mouthed her an endearment with a knowing, sensual smile that blazed her cheeks in remembered passion.

  Felippe was thankful to be, once again, in ‘fit’ company, delighting in the richness and culture of his surroundings. She was fond of him, and worried about his ability to handle the trip, but Armand’s assurance had helped allay her fears.

  Unable to share a private moment before parting, she could do nothing, other than to remain near the pier in her carriage with Madame and Monsieur Girald, along with a growing crowd whom had identified their understated political leaders, and gathered to see them off, waving a white lace handkerchief with the faint hope of being seen.

  Soon after they set sail, she made her way to the chapel for a moment of prayer. She did not feel hypocritical or shameful, nor did she beg God’s forgiveness. Her relationship with Armand was preordained. He was her choice, for the brief period of youth when she had been at liberty to make choices. But what Armand had not known was that during those early years, she had not merely tired of his attentiveness, or used him to satisfy her sexual curiosity.

  In refusing to speak with him that day long ago, she was attempting to shield them from the futility of their circumstance. The truth, in fact, came from another source. Her jealous sister, Marcella, wishing to find favour with their father, chanced upon the lovers, and apprised her parents of their clandestine relationship.