West to Grande Portage

by Joan Donadlson-Yarmey

  Phillippe put on his coat and boots and opened the door. He stepped out onto the porch where Pierre waited. As they walked Pierre put his arm around Phillippe’s shoulders and squeezed.

  “Me and my nephew,” Pierre said. “Drinking together, paddling together, being men together.”

  Phillippe’s chest swelled with pride. His uncle considered him an equal. This was the moment he had dreamed of since a child. He and his uncle were going west in a brigade in the spring. He was going to see the fur trade in person.

  * * *

  Jeanne was tired as she walked up the steps to the front door. It had been a long day with many mixed emotions for her, her enjoyment at watching Phillippe’s happiness about learning he was going to be a voyageur; Andrew admitting he should have come to the party; the death of a small child in her arms.

  Suddenly a man stepped out of the shadow. Her heart began to beat rapidly and she opened her mouth to scream.

  “Jeanne, be quiet. It is me, Florian.”

  Jeanne put her hand to her chest and took a deep breath. “Florian, you frightened me,” she said angrily. “What are you doing here?”

  “I want to talk with you.”

  “It has been a long day. We can talk tomorrow.” She was still mad at him for the afternoon. And she did not want him to think that he could win her over so easily.

  “That is not soon enough. Come with me tonight.”

  Jeanne hesitated.

  “Please. We did not have time to talk at the party. It will just be down the block and back.”

  Jeanne sighed. “I will go and let Mother know.”

  “I will stay here.”

  Jeanne hurried into the kitchen where her mother and aunt were laughing as they shared a pot of tea. The room had been cleaned up after the big meal. “I am back from the hospital and Florian and I are going for a walk.”

  There was pause. “Do you think that is wise?” Marie asked.

  “We are not going far. I will be back soon.”

  “Do you want a lantern?”

  “No, thank you.”

  Florian held out his arm and she placed her hand in it, just as she had with Andrew a short time earlier. Even though it was getting dark the light from the moon made it easy to see where they were going.

  “I apologize for my teasing this afternoon,” Florian said. “I should not have acted like I deserved an invitation to your cousin's party.”

  “Apology accepted.” Jeanne’s heart melted a little. There was still the matter of what he had said to Andrew.

  They walked in silence.

  “And I am sorry for the way I acted with Andrew.”

  “Why did you insinuate that I invited you to the party in front of him?” Jeanne asked.

  “Well, and this is hard for me to say, but when I saw the way he looked at you when you entered, it made me jealous.”

  “It did?” Jeanne stopped in surprise.

  “Yes,” Florian turned to face her. “It was not until then that I realized that I want to court you. Are you willing to let me?”

  Jeanne did not know what to say. There were so many thoughts running through her mind. Andrew had said he wanted to go back to England. Florian lived here and wanted to stay. Andrew was more frugal with his wages. Florian spent his money on beer and women. Her feelings were strong for Andrew. Florian made her heart flutter.

  She started walking again with Florian beside her.

  She wished she knew what Andrew’s intentions were. Sure, on their walk today he had said things she wanted to hear but nothing to indicate he had serious affections for her. Was it right to have two men courting her? Was it fair to them, to her? Should she make a decision on one of them and stick to it? Should she just acknowledge that she and Andrew were destined to be just friends and accept Florian as her beau? Oh, she did not know what to do.

  “I know Andrew is paying suit to you, but I want to let you know how I feel.”

  “I do not know what to say,” Jeanne said.

  “You do not have to say anything right now,” Florian said. “I am willing to wait. We will return to your home and you can think about it.”

  They turned around and started back the way they had come. It was a silent walk as Jeanne’s mind continued in turmoil. She wished she had Antoinette to talk to about it. She needed someone else’s opinion on what Florian had said. At the door, Florian kissed her on the cheek, making her skin tingle.

  “Good night,” he said and left.

  Jeanne slowly opened the door and went in. Absently, she removed her coat and boots. She was half way up the stairs when she realized she still had on her gloves. She went back down and set them on the shelf. At the top of the stairs she started to her bedroom then remembered that Phillippe and Jean-Luc were staying in it. She headed to Marguerite’s room where she quietly opened the door.

  By the light of the fire, she could see Marguerite was asleep. She tiptoed in and undressed for bed. But it was hours before she was able to sleep.

  * * *

  Phillippe stood tall as he walked into the tavern beside his uncle Pierre. They found a table and sat.

  “Two tankards,” Pierre yelled at the barmaid.

  When they came Phillippe stared at the large mug in front of him. He remembered the taste of it from two years ago. How was he going to drink all of this? He knew he had to; there was no way he was going to embarrass himself in front of his uncle.

  He took a tentative sip. The flavor was as he remembered it. He set the tankard down and watched as Pierre downed his and signaled for another.

  “Drink more,” Pierre encouraged.

  Phillippe took a gulp and forced himself to swallow. It burned as it went down. ‘You are a man now, act like a man,’ he mentally told himself. He took another mouthful. When it went down he set the tankard on the table. It was taking a lot of will power not to throw up.

  “It will take a while to get used to,” Pierre said. “Take your time.”

  Phillippe looked around the room. It was lit by lanterns and the fire from the fireplace. The air was hazy from the pipes that some customers smoked. At one table four men were talking and laughing loudly. At another, the lone drinker was resting his head on the table. His eyes were closed. One of the men from the other table reached over and quietly picked up the half empty tankard in front of the sleeping man. He finished it as his three friends laughed. He banged it back on the table.

  The tired drinker lifted his head at the noise. He blinked and reached for his tankard. He tipped it up to drink then stared into the empty depths. He looked at the four men who pretended to be deep in conversation. They snickered as he signaled for another drink.

  Phillippe lifted his mug and took another mouthful. This one seemed to go down easier and he tried another.

  “Good man,” Pierre said, clamping him on the back.

  After a few moments Pierre stood and went over to the bar to talk with the barmaid. Phillippe watched as she laughed at something his uncle said, then shook her head. He looked as if he were pleading but she was adamant. He shrugged and indicated he wanted another drink. He came back to their table with the tankard.

  “I tried,” Pierre said.

  “Tried what?” Phillippe asked.

  “Tried to find you some female companionship for the night.”

  Phillippe reddened. “I do not need that.”

  “Every man needs to have a first time. I thought you should do it here before going to Grande Portage. That way you will not act like a virgin to the young native women.”

  Phillippe only had thoughts for Marguerite. He did not think he would have a young native woman when he got to Grande Portage. To turn the conversation away from the topic, he asked.

  “Are you married to an Indian woman?”

  Pierre smiled. “Why are you asking me?”

  “I have heard that you have a family in the west. I was just wondering if I would get to meet them while we are there.”

  “Yes, I have a
wife and two sons. They usually come to Grande Portage with her family.”

  “So I will see them.”

  “If they make it this year, yes.”

  By the time Phillippe finished his tankard, Pierre had drank four and was quite drunk. He was arguing with the barmaid about how much he owned.

  “Thish is my nephew’s firsht time here.” Pierre’s words were slurred. “Hish drink should be free.”

  “No one drinks for free,” the barmaid said.

  “But he….”

  “Just pay up.” The barmaid held out her hand.

  Pierre sighed and handed over some shillings.

  “Now get out.”

  Phillippe’s head felt fuzzy as he stood. He staggered to his right and grabbed at the table to steady himself. He saw that his uncle was also unsteady on his feet.

  The two of them lurched their way down the street in the dark. They had not gone far when Phillippe’s stomach began to rumble. He turned into an alley and fell to his knees. He brought up the beer he had drank, spewing it onto the small pile of snow. With a sigh, he lay down on the ground. He could hear Pierre laughing behind him but he was too ill to care.

  “Come, on,” Pierre said. “Wesh haesh to get home before wesh get too cold.”

  Phillippe did not want to try and stand. He just wanted to curl up where he was and go to sleep.

  “Get up.” Pierre nudged him with his foot. “I cannot leaesh you here.”

  Phillippe slowly climbed to his feet. His stomach rolled again and he vomited. When he was finished Pierre grabbed him by the shoulder of his jacket and pulled him out to the street.

  “You can doesh that at the housh,” Pierre said.

  The two of them almost fell over their feet as they teetered along. Phillippe heard the clomping of a horse’s hooves. A sleigh pulled up beside them.

  “So this is where you are,” a stern voice said.

  Through the fogginess in his mind, Phillippe recognized his father’s voice. He was instantly alarmed that he and his uncle had been caught. He was in trouble but he knew he uncle was in worse trouble.

  “What do you think you are doing, taking Phillippe to a tavern and getting him drunk?” Louis’ voice seethed with anger.

  “Hey, he ish a man now. He needs to do man things.” Pierre fell against the sleigh, holding on to the side with one hand.

  Phillippe felt hands on his arms. “Get in the back of the sleigh,” his uncle Etienne said.

  Phillippe raised his leg but could not get his foot up on the step. It fell back to the ground. He tried again but he foot felt like lead. Etienne lifted it for him and then basically hefted him into the seat. Phillippe crumpled in the corner.

  “I should leave you, Pierre,” Louis said.

  That cut through Phillippe’s haze. “No, father, do not do that,” he protested weakly. “He will freeze.”

  “It is not that cold.”

  “Do not worry about mesh,” Pierre said. “I can take care of myshelf.”

  “Father, please,” Phillippe begged.

  “Alright,” Louis conceded. “Get in, Pierre.”

  Pierre’s raised his foot but it slipped off the step. He tried again and this time managed to pull himself into the sleigh. He collapsed beside Phillippe. It was a quiet drive to Etienne’s house.

  Phillippe hung his head over the side and was sick once more. He vowed he would never do this again.

  Chapter Nine

  The next morning Phillippe was glad that they were at his aunt and uncle’s house in Montreal. There was no way he would be able to get out of bed and do the chores if they were at home on the farm. His head hurt and his stomach was upset. He had ignored the calls for breakfast and refused to get up when Jean-Luc shook him.

  “I do not feel well,” he told his brother. “I will come down later.”

  “Why are you sick?” Jean-Luc asked.

  “I do not know.”

  “Will I get sick, too?”

  That made Phillippe smile through his ailing. “No. You will be fine.”

  After Jean-Luc left Phillippe closed his eyes. He remembered how he had felt like a man last night when he entered the tavern. He sure was not feeling like a man now. He wondered if everyone who drank felt like this in the morning. If they did, why did they continue drinking?

  Phillippe lay on his back and stared at the ceiling. Another reason he was staying in bed was to put off seeing his father. When they had gotten back to his uncle’s home, Etienne had put the horse in the stable while Louis had helped Phillippe up to his room. Phillippe tried to undress himself but his hands would not work right.

  He now relived the shame of his father removing his clothes and tucking him in.

  There was a knock at the bedroom door.

  “Come in,” Phillippe said, hoping it was not his father.

  His mother stuck her head around the door. “Marguerite is up and ready to go for the drive you promised her.”

  “Tell her I will be right there.”

  “Your father is hooking the horse up to the cariole.”

  Phillippe jumped out of bed barely noticing the ache in his head and the gurgle of his stomach. His heart soared. Marguerite felt well enough to go for a drive. It was something he and his family had been hoping for since she took sick. He dressed quickly.

  Phillippe’s parents, aunt and uncle, cousins, and brother were in the common room when he entered. He was glad to see Marguerite sitting in a chair waiting for him. He had feared for her health when she had stayed in bed for so many months. But when she seemed to feel better yesterday, he had wanted to take her out for some fresh air.

  Marguerite was dressed for the outdoors. Everyone hovered over her wanting to make sure she was comfortable.

  She smiled when she saw Phillippe. She started to stand and Phillippe and Etienne rushed to her side.

  “I can do this,” Marguerite said.

  “We just want to make sure you do not tire yourself out before the drive,” Etienne said.

  The two guided her out the door and to the cariole. They half lifted her into the upholstered seat. Marie had a blanket to cover her with and Jeanne carried an extra scarf. Heated bricks were already on the floor.

  “Do not let her get too cold,” Bridget instructed.

  “Bring her back when she gets tired,” Marie said.

  “You are making it sound like I am a baby,” Marguerite complained.

  “We know that you will want to stay out longer than you should,” Etienne said.

  “I will take care of her,” Phillippe said as he climbed in and took the reins.

  “Do not go too fast,” Louis said.

  Phillippe flicked the reins and the horse started forward. He guided it out of the yard and onto the street. The cariole runners glided over the snow. However, it was patchy and sometimes there was a hesitation in the sleigh when the runners hit mud. The weather was warm and Phillippe kicked the bricks aside to give them more foot room.

  Phillippe looked at Marguerite. She was smiling and seemed to be enjoying herself. She waved at a neighbor walking by. The neighbor grinned widely when he saw her and energetically waved back. Everyone in the neighborhood loved her and had since she was a child. When they saw her walking they would come out of their home to talk with her.

  She had been a blond, blue eyed smiling child whose laugh was contagious and who loved everyone. She was kind and caring even when small. But she had not had the strength of the other children and was not as boisterous. When they ran and played, she sat and watched. Everyone seemed to understand and took care of her.

  Phillippe had been especially watchful of her whenever they were together and still was.

  “Thank you, Phillippe, for bringing me out today,” Marguerite said. “Especially since I know about your evening with Uncle Pierre. I imagine you are not feeling well.”

  Phillippe had forgotten about his headache. He realized it was just about gone. His stomach rumbled.

  “You are
hungry. Did you not have breakfast?”

  Phillippe grinned sheepishly. “I really do not think I can eat.”

  Marguerite laughed gaily. Phillippe like the sound of her laughter and wished he could hear it more often.

  “I am sorry,” she said sobering. “I did not mean to laugh at your pain.”

  “I deserve it,” Phillippe said. “My pain was entirely self-inflicted.”

  “Was it fun?”

  “The ale tasted awful but I eventually got used to it. I only drank one tankard and that made me drunk. I could not walk straight and I was sick.” Phillippe hesitated. “And my father had to undress me and put me to bed.”

  “Oh, how awful.”

  “Yes, it was. I am never drinking again.”

  Marguerite laughed again.

  “What? You do not think I can do it?”

  “I have heard the stories of the drinking and fighting that the voyageurs do on the paddle.”

  “That does not mean that I will.”

  “You will not want to disappoint Uncle Pierre,” Marguerite said. “You will want to keep up with him.”

  Phillippe knew she was right in that what Uncle Pierre thought of him was important to him.

  “I am sure that if I say I do not want to have a drink with Uncle Pierre and the other voyageurs, Uncle Pierre will understand.”

  “I hope so.”

  “Are you still planning on going to France?” Phillippe asked.

  “Yes. I can hardly wait. I am so looking forward to becoming a nun so I can begin to help people.”

  “Why do you have go to France? You could join the Congregation de Notre-Dames here in Montreal.”

  “Yes, I could,” Marguerite admitted. “But I want to visit Troyes where my namesake, Marguerite Bourgeoys was born. She joined the Congregation de Notre-Dames there and when she came to New France in 1653, she built the first church in Montreal and set up the first school to teach young girls. She established the first uncloistered institution for nuns so they could go out and help the needy instead of waiting for them to come to the convent.”

  “You really admire her.”