“No.” Pascal’s voice rang with a man’s confidence. “Of all the promises a man can make to a woman, that’s one I could never make, because it’s the first I’d be forced to break.”
“Lovemaking has made you philosophical.” Manon chuckled as she conceded the point, but not her grip around his muscled torso.
“And you are a philosopher always. It’s why we’d make a good match.”
“You aren’t wrong. But I’m not the right girl for you.” Manon buried her face against his chest.
“I think I’d rather be the judge of that than this mysterious ‘they’ you think might disapprove. Frenchmen have been marrying native girls here for over half a century. What choice is there when there are so few Frenchwomen to be had?”
“If by marriage, you mean Frenchmen have taken native mistresses. . .”
“That’s not what I meant. You know there are legal marriages, too.”
“A handful.”
“So let us be one of the few. It might be unusual, but it won’t be scandalous.”
“Pascal, you’re under the wing of Alexandre Lefebvre. You stand to run one of the largest estates in New France as his agent. You could have your choice of a dozen French girls. He could import one for you for all I know. And it would be far better for your social standing to make a smart alliance with a Frenchwoman than with me.”
“You speak of importing a woman like he might import a length of silk from the Orient. That sounds awfully coldhearted for you. And I don’t care a fig for ‘smart alliances’ as you call them.”
“I’m thinking about your future, Pascal, even if it sounds coldhearted to you. You may not care about alliances and making a good match now, but the time may come when you wish you had cared a good deal more. What if your involvement with Lefebvre puts you in line for an estate of your own? Do you think the governor will give holdings to a man who has married a native woman?”
To this, Pascal had no reply.
“Don’t you see? I won’t stand in the way of you making a grand future for yourself. Of all the people in the settlement, there’s none who deserves an estate and a name more than you. It won’t happen if I’m your wife.”
“You’re the ward of Alexandre Lefebvre and his wife. You’ve been convent-educated. Do you honestly think any of the Frenchwomen in the colony can boast much more, if we must look at things this way?”
“Possibly not,” Manon admitted. “But be sensible. No one in town outside of our families will see beyond my brown skin. They don’t care if I read Latin and Greek or with whom I’ve lived. They’ll only see an Indian girl. And if anything, my education will make them more dubious.”
“If you think that being Lefebvre’s ward won’t have influence on the governor’s opinion, you’re mad.”
“It’s not worth the risk,” Manon said, finally listening to her inner voice and searching for her chemise. “I won’t gamble with your future, and neither should you.”
* * *
Pascal had asked Manon to coax his sister out of the house, and she felt she couldn’t fail him in such a simple request. Gabrielle had expressed that she didn’t feel it was appropriate for a married woman expecting a baby to continue with her lessons, but Manon and Claudine arrived at the Beaumont house prepared to pull Gabrielle to Rose’s classroom by force if she wouldn’t submit to an afternoon out. Gabrielle, mercifully, didn’t put up much protest and accompanied her classmates to the home of the younger Lefebvres.
If Rose were surprised to see Gabrielle return to the classroom, she said nothing and masked her astonishment with the expert skill that took years on the stage—or as a parent—to master.
“Why don’t we just work on our sewing and have some spruce beer today. You’ve been working hard lately.” Manon nodded in agreement with Rose’s impromptu curriculum change. Manon and Claudine had in fact been working very hard over the past weeks, Claudine’s dedication a shock to all who knew her, and there would be no way for Gabrielle to keep up after her prolonged absence.
Both Gabrielle and Claudine produced small garments in need of finishing ruffles and lace. Claudine’s was destined for her small nephew and Gabrielle’s for her unborn child. Manon, having no such enticing project, pulled out one of her own skirts that was in need of a new hem, having rent the last one while out riding with Pascal some weeks back. She thought of the babies from her imagination, black-haired and tanned in the past, but now fairer and tawny-haired like Pascal, and could not repress her pang of envy. Little Tawendeh grew to be little Théodore more and more each day. He grew to be a Lefebvre, and not a child of the Big Turtle clan. He grew further away from his sister as well.
“How are you feeling these days?” Claudine asked. “Emmanuelle said the first months were simply exhausting.”
“She wasn’t wrong,” Gabrielle said. “I hardly can get through the day without falling asleep on my feet. I tumble into bed at night as if I’d been plowing the fields all day.”
“And so you have been, more or less,” Rose said, smiling. “Making babies is hard work.”
“Amen,” Gabrielle agreed. “And I am so sorry about Emmanuelle, Claudine. I wish I could have been here for you. And to pay my respects.”
“You had your own burdens to bear,” Claudine said, her voice dropping as it tended to do when she spoke of her sister.
“Speaking of which, I heard that the elder Seigneur Lefebvre was going over to counsel you on . . . your legal matters.” Manon hesitated to mention the separation aloud. “Did you make progress?”
“As much as you might expect. We’ll have to present to the judge. We’ll have to show proof of cruelty. It won’t be easy.”
“But you’ll have our support,” Claudine vowed. “We’ll not see you sent back to that monster.”
“Thank you.” Gabrielle wiped her eyes on a scrap of cloth and giggled into it. “I’ve never been one to blubber, but these tears are always at the surface anymore. It’s so ridiculous.”
Rose returned the giggles as she handed Gabrielle a spare handkerchief. “Oh, I remember those days. It’s maddening to feel as if you don’t have a grasp on your own feelings.”
Gabrielle smiled and nodded in agreement. “Let’s change the subject, shall we?”
“Do let’s. It seems as though my brother-in-law is very pleased with your brother Pascal’s work. I’m hoping he’ll name him as his agent.” Claudine barely looked up from her stitches, so focused she’d become on her task.
“That would be a wonderful chance for him,” Gabrielle said, the clang of pride unmistakable in her voice. “It seems like he’s born for management. You’ve been a good deal of help to him, Manon. I’m grateful to you.”
“Not at all,” Manon said. “I’ve just helped him learn the various types of native plants and a few of the better techniques my people have used on their farms. We know the land, but you French are the real farmers.”
“All the same, I appreciate it. To see him make his way in the world gives me pleasure when I didn’t think I could feel it again.”
“I’m happy to help,” Manon said, going back to her hem. And for your sake as well as his and my own, I will not allow him to pay me court anymore.
“He did seem out of sorts on Tuesday, however,” Gabrielle continued. “I suppose there was some unpleasantness with a tenant?”
“You might say that,” Manon answered. “But these things always figure themselves out. It just takes time.”
Gabrielle returned to the Beaumonts’ on her own, and Thursday afternoons saw Claudine nestled in with her nephew, so Manon took the opportunity to run errands for Nicole. While Manon had no particular love of marketing, she was happy for a diversion that day. Being among people would keep her from dwelling overlong on her thoughts. Over the last two days, she’d come close to running to the Beaumonts’ home, seeking out Pascal and begging him to renew his offer.
She knew he would.
She still knew it was wrong.
She let t
he daily details of marketing for meat and cheese claim her mind since her more academic pursuits could not keep her distracted. The Lagranges’ cheese shop was impeccable, and the family who ran it one of the most respected in town, but Manon had no great desire to visit since her encounter with the patroness when she first returned to live with Nicole.
Two people waited in line before Manon, so she admired the attractive display and well-ordered shop. When the other customers trundled off with their odiferous goods, Manon approached the counter and offered Madame Lagrange a shallow smile that did not reach her eyes. Her efforts were rewarded with a scowl.
“Madame Lefebvre would like a wheel of the country cheese and a crock of the cream cheese, please.”
“Madame Lefebvre has put you to work, then? Can’t say as I blame her. Damn kind of her to take you and that brother of yours in at all. I’d have you scrubbing the floors, make no mistake of it.”
“Have you any other suggestions for me to relay to Madame Lefebvre?” Manon’s voice seeped ice like a stream in early spring.
“None of your sass, girl. I won’t take guff from the likes of you.”
“Then give me her order and I’ll be on my way.”
With a spiteful look, the wiry woman thrust the cheese into Manon’s hands and stalked off to her back storeroom.
Shriveled old witch. If there were another cheese monger in town, rest assured I’d make sure the seigneur sent his custom elsewhere.
Manon shoved the cheese in her basket, not bothering to inspect her purchases. No one would dare sell inferior goods to the seigneur or his household, no matter who did the shopping.
The butcher was more convivial as he filled the order, but Manon’s ruffled demeanor did not inspire friendly chatter. Rather than retreat to the solace of her bedroom to pore over her books as she normally did, she passed her marketing basket off to the cook, Madame Yollande, and retreated back out into the October air, which grew crisper as the light grew feeble.
Manon pulled her cloak tight around her shoulders and walked aimlessly for nearly an hour until she found herself at the edge of the river. Not wanting to spoil the fine woolen cloak Nicole had commissioned from Gabrielle on the occasion of her return, Manon sought the cleanest, driest patch of grass she could find and watched the coursing water.
“Something bothers you, my dear pupil?” Rose’s soft voice caused Manon to start, almost painfully.
“And now heart troubles to make matters worse,” Manon said, rubbing her chest dramatically. “You’re stealthier than the Huron’s best hunters.”
“Well, it’s good to know I have employment opportunities if my teaching career fails me.” Rose winked as she pulled her skirts to the side and claimed the spot next to Manon.
“What brings you here?” Manon asked, not unkindly, though not particularly happy with the interruption to her solitude.
“You’re not the only one who enjoys mulling over her thoughts by the river.” The faraway expression on Rose’s face told Manon that she must be recollecting her previous visits. What her sweet-natured teacher had to ruminate over in years past, Manon knew not. Any other day, the question might fascinate her. “Truth be told, I’ve never seen you more distracted in class. I was picking up a few things in town when I saw you leave the Lefebvre house and thought you might need company.”
“You could have let me know you were following me rather than scaring me half to death.” Manon plucked a blade of grass and twirled it between her thumb and forefinger, watching the swirl of green against the rushing river.
“I didn’t mean to startle you, but I did think you needed to be alone with your thoughts for a while.” Rose tucked her legs beneath her in an attempt to find a ladylike posture.
I still do, if you don’t mind. “You’re not wrong.”
“So what have you told Pascal?” Rose didn’t make eye contact with Manon and kept her tone from sounding too prodding.
Manon sat up and looked over at her teacher. “Did he tell you?” Manon’s eyes were wide at the idea he’d spoken of his proposal to anyone, let alone someone so far removed from his usual circles.
“No. I have eyes. I have ears. I see you two driving off together every Tuesday. I can see as plain as the nose on his face that Pascal is in love with you. I’m shocked it’s taken him so long to propose, to be honest. All it took was a glimpse of your face to tell me that he had. And I’d wager he didn’t get the answer he wanted, either.”
You needn’t be so perceptive. It’s rather ingratiating. “I couldn’t chain him to a native girl. Not when he has such good prospects. If he were a simple farmer, perhaps. I won’t see him robbed of an estate for my sake.” Manon hugged her knees to her chest and looked out at the coursing water.
“I wouldn’t sever ties with someone I cared about because of something that may or may not come to pass in many years to come. Henri had to wait years for the governor to notice him.”
“And when the governor finally noticed him, he saw a man with a gracious upbringing who was married to a woman suited to his station. If the governor looks to Pascal and sees a man married to a native girl, he will look elsewhere as fast as his eyes can travel.”
“What does Pascal have to say?”
“He says he doesn’t care. He’s being foolish.” Manon found a flat rock in the grass with her right hand and threw it out into the rushing water.
“Most men in love are.” Rose patted her hand, but Manon withdrew it just as quickly.
“I care about him too much to break his heart.”
“My dear, I think you’re well beyond that point. Why don’t you take a chance? Lord knows I did and I’m much happier for it.”
“I don’t love him the way he needs me to, Rose. He needs a woman who will love him with the innocence of a girl. I can’t do that.”
“I think you give him far too little credit for knowing his own heart, but I won’t press the matter further, darling. But remember, our time on this earth is fleeting and those who are able to sow some small seed of happiness while they are here are lucky beyond measure. Don’t throw it away unless you’re sure.”
CHAPTER 17
Claudine
October 1678
Though Laurent Robichaux was the most gracious of hosts, there was nothing that could make Claudine feel at ease while sitting in her sister’s place to Laurent’s right side at the supper table. While only the two of them dined, the cook prepared the finest dishes—good cuts of pork or beef in well-seasoned sauces, vegetables braised to perfection, good crusty bread, succulent pastries, and fine wine. Just when Claudine thought the meal would surely be coming to its close, another course was served, another glass poured.
“Zacharie is getting so big,” Claudine said to break the silence. Zacharie was their default subject of conversation, and while Claudine adored her nephew, there was only so much to discuss about a child whose development had reached as far as grasping a rattle and smiling.
“Indeed he is,” Laurent agreed, his face darkening. “I confess that it had been a few days since my last visit to the nursery. When I saw the two of you together today I could hardly believe the changes.”
“I’m sure your business keeps you occupied,” Claudine said, sipping at the rather remarkable red wine the servant poured. She was certain it was the same quality of vintage that Alexandre reserved only for the most important guests.
“It does, but that’s not what keeps me from the nursery. He reminds me so much of her.”
Claudine noticed that he had hardly touched this course, and the previous hadn’t been more than picked at, either. The wine bottle had emptied considerably, however, and not much due to Claudine’s efforts.
“I know. There is so much of her in his countenance. But it’s all the more reason to lavish your affections on him. She would want it that way.” She placed her left hand on his right, to which he placed his free hand atop hers and caressed it gently.
“Thank you. It doesn’t make the pa
in less, but it’s good to know that someone understands what I’m going through. Someone who loved her so dearly.”
Claudine didn’t bother to fight the tears that welled up in her eyes. It had been a week or more since her last good cry over Emmanuelle, and she was due for another.
“She was lucky to have a husband who cherished her so,” Claudine said, thinking of Gabrielle’s drawn face and barely concealed bruises. “You were good to her, and that thought should give you comfort.”
“I wish it did, but nothing does.” His hands still grasped hers, though she could remove it if she chose. She wanted to, but hated to hurt the feelings of a man so clearly in pain. “Your visits are the only solace I have.”
“Then you may depend upon them, dear brother. But you needn’t empty the pantry for my sake.”
Laurent barked a dry laugh. “The cook thought I was mad. I didn’t know what you might like, so I told her to prepare the best of everything. I want you to enjoy your visits here.”
“I do,” Claudine said. “But you mustn’t go to any fuss on my account. I’m family, not company.”
“Thank you, my dear. I can’t tell you how much your kindness means to me.”
“Think nothing of it. If there is anything else I can do for you, you must ask.”
Laurent’s probing brown eyes searched hers. Before she could react, he placed his hand around her wrist and pulled her to his lap. He lowered his wine-perfumed lips down to hers and drank from them as though she were an oasis and he a man who had been wandering the desert for a month. She wanted to protest, but she could not bring herself to voice it. She let him kiss her for some minutes, but did not return his ardor.
At once, Claudine found herself standing on her feet, Laurent bracing himself with a hand on each of her arms, catching his breath and cursing softly.
“My God, I’m so sorry. Please forgive me.”
Claudine nodded, her eyes wide, her brain unable to process fully what had just taken place. “I-I should . . .” was all she could stammer. She turned to the doorway and grabbed her cloak from the hall, drying her tears on her sleeve, praying her lips didn’t look too swollen from Laurent’s kissing. The last thing she needed was more gossip about her virtue as she left the house of a single man.
Duty to the Crown Page 17