As they left the settlement, the houses and stone buildings gave way to trees, and the wide, well-maintained roads gave way to narrow, rocky paths. Emmanuelle and Gabrielle chatted as they often did, but Nicole kept her eyes fixed to the path as though she, and not Pascal, were driving the wagon. Claudine looked at the endless evergreens and wondered why she had ever thought this would be some magical fairy kingdom where she would never be in want of diversion and handsome suitors. In her years in the settlement, she had yet to reconcile the shattered dreams of her twelve-year-old self, though she was now a young woman approaching eighteen.
Claudine, having devoured the few letters Nicole had sent home, leaped at the chance to come to the New World, where her sister had married so far above her circle. When Alexandre’s agent came to offer them passage to this New France, Claudine nearly screamed at her father’s hesitance to leave their barren land. It hadn’t taken much persuasion in the end. The voyage provided futures for the girls and their younger brother, Georges. What was more, their elder brothers would absorb the barren land into their own farms, giving them both sizable holdings. The land could rest fallow for several years and it would bear crops again. It would still belong to a Deschamps, and that was as much as their father could have hoped for.
She’d pictured a shining metropolis and was crestfallen when she learned she’d be living on a farm much like the one where she was born. The house was infinitely better. The land was fertile. But it was still a farm, and one that seemed to be a thousand miles from anywhere interesting. The fledgling town, while nothing to the lively bustle of Rouen, was immeasurably preferable to living out on her parents’ homestead. She loved her sister for taking them in and vowed she’d make a good match since she had the gift of connections to some of the best society New France had to offer. If she had any luck, she’d find a man of good sense who wanted to return to France—maybe even the excitement of Paris—and would take her away from the monotony of country life forever. Somewhere there had to be a young man with dark hair and flashing eyes who would whisk her away to a life of adventure and varied society. She clutched her wool cloak tight about her shoulders against the damp spring air. He has to exist somewhere.
In the meantime, Claudine lost herself in poetry. Permanently placed next to her bed was a love-worn copy of ballads by the trou-vères —the courtly poets of medieval times—that a bookseller had given her when he realized her arresting brown eyes could actually read. It was ragged then and wouldn’t have fetched more than a few sous from the small population interested in his wares. Claudine had read it to the point where the corners were indelibly smudged with her fingerprints. While Emmanuelle read widely, Claudine found solace in the one tome. The depictions of gallant knights and maidens took her away from the tedium of farm life and chores even after hundreds of readings.
The Huron village came into view; rows of longhouses dotted the small clearing. A few men stood at the edge of a large fire, scowling like bears awakened midwinter at the small envoy of French who had just descended upon them.
Nicole stepped down from the wagon first. Claudine waited, her breath catching in her throat, as her sister approached the men. Nicole shook visibly, but stood as proud as the Queen herself.
Please, God, don’t let them be as unfriendly as they look.
* * *
Claudine had never seen such a living arrangement in her life. The building was high, even by French standards, seeming to stretch up a solid mile. There were pelts from deer, beaver, bear, and other animals covering nearly every surface of the immense building. It seemed Manon had managed to convince the council to separate the ill into a longhouse by themselves. The sick slept on beds built onto the wall like shelves—not unlike the bunks on the ship Claudine and her family had sailed on from France. The only noises in the longhouse were the chattering teeth and wheezing of the fever-riddled and the crackling of the fire under Manon’s thick cauldron. Nicole stood next to Manon, who tended the bubbling mixture, while the others gathered a step behind, anxiously awaiting a command from one of them.
“You shouldn’t be here.” Manon barely looked away from the vapors slithering up from her pot as she stirred.
And a welcome to you, too. I guess you’re too good for a wagonload of supplies and five pairs of helping hands. I won’t be the one holding up the departure if Nicole bids us to leave.
“You need help, Manon,” Nicole said, placing her hand on Manon’s deerskin-clad back. “Please tell us how we can be useful.”
“By going home. I promise.” Sagging dark circles of exhaustion framed Manon’s eyes.
“You heard her, Nicole. She doesn’t need our help. I’m sure she’s quite capable of managing things on her own.” Claudine stepped forward and put her hand on Nicole’s arm to lead her back to the safety of the wagon, but her sister would not move.
“Give us something to do,” Nicole implored. Claudine crossed her arms over her chest and restrained a sigh. Nicole’s coolness in public, her composure, was always something Claudine admired; yet in the presence of this common girl, all of that restraint was gone. Nicole was once again the awkward farm girl from Rouen.
“I need more fresh water and yarrow flowers,” Manon said at length, as though speaking a dire confession.
“I’ll fetch the water,” Pascal said at once from the dark corner of the longhouse, where he had been lingering in silence, exiting before anyone could call him back. He’s a smart young man, probably trying to keep away from the fever. It’ll be a miracle if we don’t all catch our deaths.
“What does yarrow look like?” Emmanuelle asked. Manon produced a stem with clusters of dainty white flowers like a riot of miniature daisies.
“Gather plenty of it. It’s the only thing that seems to be helping.”
“Let’s go,” Gabrielle chimed in, gesturing to the door with the basket she held firmly in her right hand. “I think I saw a patch not more than a mile from here along the road when we came in.” Claudine followed Emmanuelle and Gabrielle, both of whom walked briskly to the main road that connected the Huron village to the French settlement. Anything to be out of there and away from those people. Who knows when they’ll decide they’ve had enough of us and choose to send us on our way by force? Or worse. I doubt her concoction even works. It’ll probably do no more than give them a bitter taste in their mouths and a sour stomach.
As Gabrielle promised, the abundant yarrow patch was a ten-minute walk from Manon’s longhouse. The gentle spring rains and nurturing sun had yielded wildflower patches thicker than Claudine had ever seen.
“Let’s use knives and cut the stems higher up, rather than pulling,” Emmanuelle suggested.
“That will take longer and I don’t want to have to come back for more.” Claudine knelt and began yanking the stems from the ground, roots and all, ignoring Gabrielle’s glare.
“The plants won’t grow back if you aren’t gentle with them,” Gabrielle warned.
“I’m not wasting more time gathering weeds than I absolutely have to.” Claudine gripped another yarrow stem and yanked it from the earth.
“Claudine, the Huron depend on these herbs for their medicine. Treat them carefully.” Emmanuelle sounded so very much like Nicole that Claudine raised her head to see if their older sister had followed the three of them to the clearing. Claudine gritted her teeth at the rebuke. Don’t forget I’m the older sister. Learn your place. But her censure went unvoiced. The world seemed to side with Emmanuelle and there was no winning.
“Fine. You two can sit here rolling in the weeds. I’m going back.”
Claudine thought about walking back to the settlement on her own. Perhaps she could entertain Alexandre with tales of how his wife was carrying on with a pack of savages with no regard for his respectability and position, but town was miles away on a path she didn’t know.
She sat down on a boulder just out of view of Emmanuelle and Gabrielle and let the tears flow down her cheeks. Nicole had told her countless time
s that she was supposed to be a pillar of the community and the first to volunteer her services to those in need. It was supposed to feel noble and self-sacrificing, not tiresome and aggravating. This isn’t how things were meant to be. I am going to disappoint them both and they’ll send me back to the farm for the rest of my days.
It was another quarter of an hour before Emmanuelle and Gabrielle met up with Claudine, having gathered enough of the yarrow to satisfy the demand, or so they hoped. To Claudine the overflowing basket looked like a pile of wildflowers big enough to treat several fever-ridden villages, but she didn’t presume to know what went into the brewing of a tisane to cure fever.
Knowing long walks in cool weather irritated Emmanuelle’s lungs and worsened her limp, Claudine took the overfilled basket and strode ahead. She was almost a hundred yards ahead of her sister and Gabrielle when the longhouse came into view. Thank the Lord we didn’t get lost. I’ll learn to knit blankets for the poor after this so perhaps I might at least be able to be of service to the less fortunate from the comfort of the settee.
In the longhouse, Manon sat beside an older woman who lay very ill with the fever. Manon held her hand and muttered words in her native tongue. The woman was petite to begin with, but the glow from sweat and the quaking of her shivering body made her look like a child. A weak child.
“I have your flowers for you,” Claudine announced, trying to call Manon’s attention back to her. Manon simply held up one hand to command silence. Claudine wanted to fling the weeds at Manon’s head in exasperation, but stood frozen to the floor. Nicole stood a few yards away, as transfixed by the scene as Claudine was. Nicole was always the center of activity . . . always the one to organize everything . . . yet she stood immobile and useless. At seeing her sister in such a state, Claudine felt an ache in her stomach as though she were witnessing something unnatural—something wrong—like the dust flying off her father’s barren field when she was a girl.
The fragile woman took a rasping breath, exhaled, and did not take another. Grim-faced, Manon closed the woman’s eyes. She stood, took the basket from Claudine, and returned to her cauldron over the fire where she added new flowers to the mixture.
Emmanuelle and Gabrielle now stood next to Claudine, and their eyes followed Manon as well. Claudine summoned the nerve to look at Nicole and raise a questioning brow. Nicole looked up from the deceased woman and crossed to the waiting girls.
“That woman was Manon’s adoptive mother,” Nicole whispered in explanation. Claudine looked at Manon, who knelt, seemingly transfixed by the simmering cauldron. Poor girl. No one deserves to lose a mother so young. There were no words or gestures that Claudine could conjure up that didn’t sound ridiculous, so she stood in place and waited for someone to offer up an order. It was perhaps the first time in her life she would have been glad of a useful occupation and, consequently, the first time one wasn’t eagerly waiting on the tip of her mother’s or sister’s tongue.
After a few agonizing minutes of standing idle, a few men, mostly older, entered the longhouse. The man at the front was tall and imposing, with a face that bore more lines of experience and labor than Claudine had ever seen in her life. He was only a fraction as intimidating as the man to his right. Years younger, several inches taller, and clearly furious, he was not a man Claudine would ever dare to speak to, let alone provoke.
Claudine clutched her skirt to hide the trembling of her hands. Her breath stopped short in her chest, the lack of air causing the fire to take on an eerie halo. We’re all going to die here.
Manon stood and approached the men, no fear discernible in her face. The oldest man spoke a few words in his language, and Manon nodded. The conversation continued a few moments longer, until a young boy, perhaps seven years old, ran to where she stood and flung his arms around Manon’s waist. She spoke several words in return. Though Claudine could parse none of the words, she recognized authority and confidence when she heard it. Were it not for the crackling fear in the air, Claudine was certain she’d feel a prickling of envy at Manon’s bravado.
The men exited the longhouse, the younger man lingering a few moments. He said a few words to Manon, kind ones, if Claudine interpreted correctly. She returned a terse, quiet reply and turned her back to him. The fierce-looking man’s face seemed to soften for a brief moment, but almost as quickly he reclaimed his mask of hostility and followed in the footsteps of the tribe’s elders.
Manon knelt before the boy, who now wept openly in her arms. Her brother, Claudine presumed. He buried his face in Manon’s shoulder and sobbed for his mother. Claudine swallowed back some tears, not entirely sure why they were there. This was not her grief.
“Darling, what can we do?” Nicole said at length.
“Help me gather our things and take me into town so I can find work, please.” Manon’s confidence was gone, her words a mere whisper.
“Why?” Claudine blurted out.
“That man was the Chief of this clan. He has ordered me to leave. He believes the fever to be my fault.”
“How positively idiotic. . . .” Claudine rolled her eyes in the direction of the door.
“Be that as it may, he is the Chief and I am no longer welcome here. I was only allowed to stay under his sister’s protection as it was, and now that she is gone, I must leave.”
“His own sister is dead and his first act is to banish the child she chose to raise as her own?” Nicole’s jaw set, her teeth visibly clenched. This look never boded well for the person who caused it. This time, Claudine feared her sister’s wrath might bring down the fury of the entire Huron Confederacy on the five of them. Calm yourself, sister.
“So it would seem. Would you help me?” Manon’s look was at once proud and pleading. What options did she have but to ask for help? A life foraging in the woods would be no life at all.
“Manon, you needn’t even ask. You will stay with us as long as you wish. We’ll leave at once.”
“Tawendeh must come as well. I promised Mother Onatah . . .”
“My dearest girl, I could not ask you to abandon your brother. I daresay there is always room for one more in the Lefebvre nursery.”
“Thank you,” Manon whispered.
“Let’s be on our way,” Nicole urged.
Claudine nodded, her agreement as fervent as it had ever been. She, Emmanuelle, and Gabrielle gathered up Manon’s and Tawendeh’s sparse belongings. In all her life, Claudine was never so thrilled to find herself in the back of a rattling wagon on a bumpy road. She hoped for Nicole’s sake her brother-in-law would be as happy with the new additions to his family.
* * *
Back at the Lefebvre house, Nicole went off in the direction of Alexandre’s study, Manon and Tawendeh in tow, presumably to tell the master of the house of the way the Huron chief had cast them all out and why he had two more mouths to feed. Part of Claudine would have liked to hide in the curtains to hear that conversation, but she didn’t want Alexandre to know she’d had any real part in the whole debacle.
“Why don’t we do another fitting on your gown?” Gabrielle suggested. Gabrielle had remarkable talent as a seamstress and had been commissioned to make Claudine’s gown for her entrée into society, looming only a few weeks away. She was almost eighteen now and the hour was already late for such an affair. It was nothing so grand as a true coming-out ball, Alexandre had explained, but there would be dinner and dancing. It wasn’t Paris, but it was the best she could have in their fledgling town. A good deal more than she would have had back in France, where the only future that awaited her had been starvation and poverty. It was the stuff of her nightmares.
Claudine nodded enthusiastically at Gabrielle’s suggestion. After a morning trekking around in the mud and wallowing in weeds, something as civilized as a dress fitting seemed positively luxuriant. “Lunch and a good scrubbing first, though.”
The staff provided the girls with a simple lunch—some ham and cheese with a loaf of the best bread from the Beaumont Bakery and s
ome chilled cider. By the time she’d eaten her fill and washed her face and hands in a basin of heated water, Claudine felt almost herself again.
Emmanuelle curled up in a chair with her book while Gabrielle helped Claudine into the daisy-yellow silk confection she would wear for her presentation to Quebec society. It was just the color to bring out the brilliancy in her chestnut hair and the gold flecks in her brown eyes. Her eyes never wavered from the looking glass.
I doubt the girls in Paris have ball gowns any more fashionable than this. I can’t wait to see their faces as I make my entrance. After the ball I won’t be little Claudine Deschamps any longer. I’ll be known as the protégée of the Lefebvres and the celebrated beauty of our little town.
“I’m so sorry things went the way they did with Manon,” Gabrielle said, her voice muffled by the fabric as she worked her way around the skirt, making sure it lay perfectly before she tacked the hem with basting stitches. “She looked upset to be separated from her people again.”
“She’ll manage to get over the separation, I daresay. She’ll get to live here in comfort rather than in some drafty longhouse with dirt floors. I’d think she’d be ecstatic to live in a proper house.” Claudine strived to keep the exasperation from her voice. It spoiled the effect of the dress. She had to be perfect.
“There’s more to life than a fine house, Claudine,” Emmanuelle chastised from her seat in the corner. Gabrielle stayed focused on her hem, but Claudine could hear a small grunt of approval from the floor. “Imagine what it must be like to be cast out like that.”
“To give up all your friends and most of your family? Really, Emmanuelle, do you think I cannot imagine such a thing?” Claudine broke her gaze from the mirror and looked at her younger sister. They had been young when they left France, but there were friends, aunts and uncles, not to mention their older brothers and their families whom they would likely never see again.
Duty to the Crown Page 3