CHAPTER 11
Manon
April 1678
The Robichaux parlor, while charming in its simple elegance, did not aspire to the same grandeur as the Lefebvre sitting room. It was for this reason that Manon preferred when Emmanuelle hosted them for refreshments and handiwork. It was to everyone’s advantage when fully considered, for Manon and Claudine had far more time for social calls than Emmanuelle, who now had a husband and the running of a house to attend to. Manon imagined Claudine was happy to have a few hours out of the Lefebvre house. While it was clear Claudine was happy to be settled back in town, the peace between Alexandre and her was still a fragile one.
“How are lessons at Rose’s?” Emmanuelle asked, leaning forward in her seat.
“Rose pines for you,” Manon answered. “It’s not the same with just the two of us to teach.”
“No, it’s not,” Claudine agreed. “I think it’s a shame you’ve had to quit.”
“It wouldn’t be seemly for a married woman to continue her schooling,” Emmanuelle said, though she hid the longing in her face poorly. “And at least Laurent has a good library. I haven’t had to take up Nicole on the use of theirs yet.”
“That is a compliment to Laurent’s collection,” Manon said. Books were not plentiful in the colony, but those who could read had at least a few volumes. Alexandre’s library had to be one of the largest in the colony outside of the seminaries and convents.
“I’ve thought of bringing up the idea that she invite some more girls to tutor. Manon and I will have to move on eventually, as you and Gabrielle have.” Claudine’s knitting needles clicked furiously as a blanket unfurled at a steady pace.
“An excellent thought,” Manon said. She was no more eager to give up her studies than Emmanuelle had been, but the time was coming, and soon. Not only for her own good, but Rose’s as well. If the Church or any other authorities got it in mind that Rose’s lessons were enticing women away from marriages, they would put an end to her little school. There would always be “visits” where they might discuss topics of greater interest than the price of flour at the market, but it wouldn’t be lessons as they had in the past.
“Are you still waist-deep in all of Alexandre’s medical texts?” Emmanuelle asked. The quaver in her voice caused Manon to look up from her hemming. “I’ve been meaning to ask you for some time now.”
“On occasion,” Manon said, placing her work in her lap. No one really asked about her interest in the tomes out of more than idle curiosity or vague amusement that she’d taken a fancy to medicine. “I’ve read most of what Alexandre has in the way of medical texts already. I’ve not been able to learn any more about the spread of disease than I didn’t know or hadn’t supposed to be true already.”
“Have you considered studying something other than poxes and such?” Emmanuelle took a long breath and set aside her work, which appeared to have been neglected the entire visit.
“Emmy, what’s wrong?” Claudine demanded. “If something’s the matter, send for Guérin.”
“Nothing’s wrong, Didine. It’s just . . . the midwives I’ve met here don’t strike me as kind women. I thought Manon might be better suited for the work.”
Claudine shrieked and crossed the room to plant a kiss on her sister’s cheek as soon as she’d registered the significance behind the statement.
“When do you expect the little one?” Claudine asked.
“I really have no idea,” Emmanuelle said, laughing quietly. “It’s not as though Rose ever covered the topic in our lessons. I’m no longer sick in the mornings and have a bit more energy back.”
“Why have you said nothing?” Claudine asked, clearly exasperated.
“I wanted to be sure,” Emmanuelle said. “It’s so terrible when mothers announce their news only to have their hopes dashed.”
“Have you spoken with the doctor?” Manon asked. Birth was the province of midwives, but it wasn’t unusual to have a doctor oversee the pregnancies of ladies of standing like Emmanuelle.
“Oh, old Guérin has no interest in seeing women safely delivered of their babies. He says he’ll intervene if there is a problem, but he says more often than not there’s nothing to be done. If a birth goes badly, it’s just God’s will and we’re not to question His why. Or so the doctor says.”
“What a pompous . . .” Claudine muttered, saying the oath under her breath, so as not to disrespect her sister’s home.
“That’s not entirely true,” Manon said. “I confess I didn’t read all the information on childbirth in the volumes I read, as it wasn’t the information I was after, but there are things midwives and doctors can do to help a mother or baby in distress.”
Emmanuelle stood and sat beside Manon on the settee. “I knew you’d have answers. You’re always so clever, Manon. And calm. The way you nursed Frédéric back to health after he ate those cursed berries, you were like an anchor to us all. Please say you’ll help me when my time comes?”
“I can certainly study and learn what I can,” Manon said. “I’ve only seen birth twice, when Mother Onatah was asked to help. I am no trained midwife.”
“You have three times the brains of anyone in this settlement,” Claudine said, patting Manon’s knee with vigor. “You’ll read enough to be a trained surgeon in Paris before her time comes, I’m sure.”
“I’ll do it,” Manon agreed. She had few dealings with the town midwives, but they did seem a surly lot.
“I think you could be wonderful at it,” Emmanuelle said. “I’m sure half the women in town will seek you out.”
Manon shook her head. “No they won’t, Emmanuelle. The Church will never give me a proper license and not everyone is as kind-spirited as you are. But I expect I can be of use to a few. Women like Gabrielle who are so far afield must go wanting for help when the time comes.”
“True,” Claudine agreed. “She may be in need of your services before much longer.”
“Oh, I wish she were closer. I would love for our children to be friends,” Emmanuelle said, sighing. Emmanuelle looked visibly relieved to have enlisted her friend’s help, and Manon now wondered how she had missed the obvious radiance of an expectant mother. Emmanuelle’s abdomen would begin to swell noticeably with child very soon. She had less time to study than she would have hoped, but at least she had some texts at her disposal that would be of use.
The trio parted ways not long after, with Manon promising to spend her hours studying that week and to return in a few days to assess when the baby might arrive and to start giving her an idea of what to expect when her time came. Emmanuelle was born on a farm, so she understood the rudimentary principles behind birth, but she had been quite young when Georges was born, and not allowed to be of use to her mother.
“Thank you,” Claudine said as they reached the top of the Lefebvre house and were just about to part ways to change for supper. “Emmanuelle is such a gentle soul, she can’t have some vicious old crone to help her along.”
“I’m happy to do it,” Manon said. “I hope I can help her through the ordeal with as little worry as possible.”
“If anyone can do it, you can,” Claudine said, her voice confident. “She’ll be lucky to have you.”
Manon spoke no thanks, but gave Claudine a brief embrace and retreated to her room. She longed to dive into the medical texts, but dinner would not wait. She had never envisioned making a life for herself as a midwife, and she was certain she would never get the blessing from the Church to serve as one in any real capacity, but the trust that Emmanuelle—and Claudine—conveyed in her ability was humbling.
Once dressed for the evening meal, Manon caressed the spine of her favorite medical text with her index finger lovingly, with a promise she would return by candlelight to learn its secrets.
CHAPTER 12
Claudine
July 1678
In the hour after supper, Claudine and Manon watched as Frédéric and Théodore played companionably with the youngest Lefebvre
children as Hélène directed the scene. They waged a dramatic war between the girls’ cloth dolls and the boys’ toy soldiers. The dolls fared better than one might expect against a well-trained military regiment, wooden or otherwise. Claudine had to battle valiantly to keep her smile in check, lest the children believe she didn’t take arbitrating the skirmish seriously. Were that the case, Nicole or even Alexandre might have to be summoned to take her place, and while these wars were terribly important to the smallest members of the Lefebvre house, they were less compelling to the older residents who had other, though far less dire, matters to attend to.
Just as the wooden soldiers were preparing to unleash a brilliant counterattack on the dolls’ fort, a soft knock at the door was immediately followed by Nicole’s entry into the nursery.
“Dear, the Robichauxes’ man has just come for the both of you. It sounds like Emmanuelle will be wanting you soon.”
Claudine kissed her nieces and nephews, Manon kissed Théodore’s cheek, and they left the flurry of questions about Auntie Emmanuelle directed to Nicole. Manon’s case, fully stocked with supplies, was long-since packed in preparation for the day. Emmanuelle would soon bring the Robichaux heir or beloved daughter into the world. As promised, Manon had spent the last four months studying the best information on midwifery that Alexandre could procure from France. Claudine promised to go for support of both mother and midwife. While she wasn’t the scholar Manon was, she studied sections from the books that Manon had indicated were the most useful. She was both excited to be of use in the delivery and terrified of it in equal measure.
Claudine fought to steady her breathing as she settled into the Lefebvre carriage. Manon sat, seeming placid and calm as ever, but Claudine saw how her hands clutched the handles of her case. She was ready to pounce out the door the minute the horses’ hooves slowed. Claudine offered Manon her hand and gave a gentle squeeze as she interlaced their fingers.
“We’ve got to calm down. I know I won’t be any use to her if I don’t.” Claudine took a deep breath and focused on the rhythm of the horses’ hooves as they sped along.
“Quite right. Just focus on her and what she needs. She’ll be grateful you’re there.” Manon’s lips turned upward slightly.
“I hope you’re right. Please be sure to tell me if you need anything when—when the time comes. I want to help.”
“Depend on it. Things happen quickly at the end and I’ll need an extra pair of hands.” Manon offered Claudine a smile and was pleased to feel the slowing of the carriage as the Robichaux house came into view.
As Claudine expected, Laurent paced the floor in the Robichaux foyer, looking as lost as an abandoned child. Poor man, the world has taught you that you must have the answer to every question and the solution to every problem, but you find yourself for the first time in the dominion of women and can do nothing. Like all fathers, though, you’ll come through the birth unscathed. Perhaps a little more humble?
A maid saw the young ladies to the birthing room, where Emmanuelle lay panting through the pain. She managed a weak smile for her sister and friend, clearly relieved to have more support than one worried-looking servant.
Claudine held her sister’s hand and talked her through the surges that already grew in frequency and intensity as Manon emptied her medical supplies from her case onto the top of the bureau and organized the room. The labor escalated faster than the books had said they should anticipate for a first child, but Manon did not seem overly concerned. Claudine only hoped she wasn’t concealing any fears for Emmanuelle’s sake.
Less than a half hour after their arrival, Emmanuelle writhed on the bed and shouted for relief when she could draw enough breath to speak.
“It’s time to push, Emmanuelle,” Manon said. “Don’t pull any faces, just take a deep breath and focus all your energy on pushing.”
Emmanuelle nodded, unable to speak, and within twenty minutes, the Robichaux heir took his first breath in Manon’s arms. He was a fat young lad with a mop of black curls to match his father’s. Claudine took the little one in her arms and cleaned and dressed him so he could be presented to his mother and father properly. She kept the baby in Emmanuelle’s line of sight as she worked so that mother could see the baby as Manon attended her. As Claudine swaddled the plump boy in the pristine linens, she felt a warmth rise in her bosom as she looked into his dark blue eyes.
So love at first sight is real, little man. You may not be my prince charming, but trust that I will dote on you as much as your parents will allow.
She placed a kiss on the baby’s soft forehead and went to place him in his mother’s arms, but as she turned to her sister, she saw that Emmanuelle’s color was far too pale. She placed the baby in his bassinet and rushed to Emmanuelle’s side.
“I can’t stop the bleeding. Nothing is working.” Manon did not look up, her hands working furiously to stop the flow of blood.
“Fetch the doctor! Now!” Claudine yelled out into the hallway where a throng of servants awaited orders.
“I’m so sorry, Claudine. It’s too late.”
The baby began to cry in his bassinet, his wails punctuated by Laurent’s anguished shout from the hallway, as Manon imparted the news. Claudine clutched the baby close to her breast and made no attempt to stifle the tears that flowed. She took the baby over to his mother and laid him on her chest. She took her sister’s hand and placed it on his back so he would feel secure in his mother’s embrace. She kissed her sister’s forehead and brushed the hair, damp with the sweat of her labors, from her brow. I know you longed to hold him, sister. I won’t let that be taken from you.
“What . . . ?” was all Laurent could stammer as he entered the room.
“She always . . . I just thought he should know what his mother’s arms felt like. . . .” Claudine explained. He’ll think I’m daft.
Laurent nodded in understanding, or at least in acceptance. Claudine took the babe from Emmanuelle’s arms and handed him to his father.
“You have a healthy, beautiful son, my dear brother,” Claudine rasped.
“But at what cost?” Laurent did not look down at the boy in his arms, but rather at the lifeless form of his wife on the bed.
“It was one she was willing to pay to give you a child. Repay that sacrifice and love him for the both of you.” Claudine stroked the baby’s cheek as he settled back to sleep in his father’s arms.
“I’m not sure I have it in me, Claudine. I’m not sure I can.”
“Then I can help you love him, brother. For Emmanuelle’s sake. For his, too.” Claudine took the baby from her brother, seeing the wet nurse had arrived and was waiting for her charge along with the nanny who would oversee his care. She handed him to the young woman, who looked appropriately mournful.
“Take good care of this boy,” Claudine ordered. The nurse nodded and departed for the quarters designated for her and the child. He is more precious than you could ever realize.
Laurent stood at Emmanuelle’s side, his face pale and beyond emotion. Still trying to wrap his mind around his loss. He would sit with her for hours, until they took her body from the house, Claudine imagined.
“Brother, I know this is cruel to ask, but I would very much like just a few moments with my sister before I leave you with her.” She cringed at her own words, knowing it was the last request he wanted to grant in that moment, but it would be her only chance to be alone with her sister.
“Of course,” he whispered, his voice soft as gravel. He exited the room, and from the sound of scurrying feet in the hallway, Claudine knew he had commanded the remaining servants to await their orders elsewhere until he could return to his wife.
Claudine pulled a chair over to the side of the bed where Emmanuelle lay, so peaceful and calm. She looked precisely as she did on the rare occasion that Claudine woke first and had to rouse Emmanuelle in the next bed over. The days of lazy Saturday mornings had passed already. She had already mourned for their girlhood late-night chats as they braided e
ach other’s hair and ruminated about the wonders in their future. Now she mourned for Emmanuelle as a woman, a person she’d just been getting to know. She mourned for a life that wouldn’t be lived.
She took Emmanuelle’s hand in hers and kissed the cool skin of her knuckles.
“I will miss you so much, Emmy. I know your Laurent is about ready to pull me from the room by my hair, but I promise I will take care of your boy. I’ll see to it he has every happiness I can give him. And I’ll try to do more. To be better. To be like you. I love you.”
She took a few moments to commit to her memory the exact shade of her maple-brown locks, the curve of her long lashes, the angle of her proud nose contrasted with the swell of her soft cheeks. That she would never see a smile on her lips or laughter in her eyes burned a fire in her gut she was sure would never be quenched.
She could have stayed for hours, but Laurent had to be given his rightful place. She dried her tears on her apron, knowing he didn’t need to shoulder more grief than his own, bent down and kissed her sister’s forehead for the last time, and went to Laurent’s side.
“I will never be able to thank you enough for letting me have those few minutes, my dear brother. Go to her now.” Laurent clasped her bicep briefly, a sign of appreciation, and walked past her into the room that held the worst of his nightmares come to pass.
There must be something that needs attending to. Claudine hurried down the stairs in search of an occupation; Nicole nearly collided into her as she raced up to Emmanuelle. Any trace of composure was gone. Her face was lined with tears, her hair askew.
“A maid came.... It can’t be true, Didine.” Nicole’s voice warbled as she fought to speak intelligibly.
Claudine shook her head and took Nicole in her arms.
No, it can’t be . . . but it is.
CHAPTER 13
Manon
July 1677
Duty to the Crown Page 13