“Wise,” Manon agreed. “But you’ll earn no affection from the judge if you’re late.”
The hearing had created enough gossip in town that quite a crowd had gathered in the little courthouse. The judge had the right to decide if the hearing would be public or private, but chose to admit as many people as the room would hold, seemingly uninterested in keeping the private affair from becoming a public spectacle.
“It’s just as well,” Alexandre said. “It’s better the gossips hear the news firsthand. The more witnesses we have, the less opportunity they have to embroider the tale.”
Gabrielle nodded, but wasn’t convinced. These were not the details of his personal life being brought out before the town. He could afford to be objective.
Patenaude took the stand, cleaner and more respectable-looking than he had appeared on their wedding day. He was the very image of the hard-working homesteader as he stood before the judge, though he’d never sown as much as a single seed in his life. Even his scruffy friend Jacques Verger appeared to have taken a bath, though despite a good washing, he hadn’t been able to scrub the sour expression from his face. Gabrielle forgot the old man and fixed her eyes forward as the judge questioned her husband.
“Monsieur le Président, I haven’t the slightest inkling as to why my wife is seeking to break up our home. I’ve done what I can for her. I work from sunup to sundown every day but the Sabbath, and many’s the time I’ve come home with no proper supper to eat, nor any kind attentions from her, if you understand my meaning.”
Shiftless lout, you helped yourself to my “kind attentions” whether I was willing or not.
“Madame Patenaude claims you’ve hit her to the point where she blacked out. Is that true?”
“Never once, Monsieur le Président. If she fainted, it was because she took to the drink when I wasn’t looking. I know her father was powerful fond of it, and I fear she’s gone the same way. It’s the devil’s nectar, and a damned shame if you ask me. Begging your pardon, monsieur. Wish I could have kept a closer eye on her, but a man has to earn his way.”
“You liar!” Gabrielle stood from the hard wooden bench across the courtroom and pointed her finger at her husband. “That man fills your ear with lies, Monsieur le Président. I’ve never drunk to excess in my life. Even if I had the taste for it as he claims, I never had so much as sou for bread, let alone drink.”
“Quiet, madame. We will question you in due course.” Judge Arnaud grimaced as he shifted in his seat and glared at Gabrielle for her outburst. Claudine took her hand in solidarity, both shaking in anger at the judge’s censure.
“You see what she’s like, monsieur. There ain’t no pleasing a woman like that.”
The judge said nothing, but his expression looked sympathetic. Gabrielle guessed Madame Arnaud was not the dutiful wife the judge yearned for. She listened to the rest of the judge’s questions with only vague interest. Patenaude had won the sympathy of the courts and she could say nothing to change his mind. He is going to punish me to make an example. I’m absolutely finished. Still, she stood dutifully when called by the judge. She would not admit defeat while she had a small chance at freedom.
“Madame Patenaude, with what implements did your husband hit you?” The judge’s dark eyes bored into her, looking as though he were furious with her about her imposition on his time. Her palms slickened with sweat and the taste of metal coated her mouth.
“His hands, mostly. His belt on occasion.”
“I see. And were these lashings, as your husband says, as a result from you neglecting your domestic duties?”
“Monsieur le Président, if ever my husband was denied his supper, it’s because there was none to prepare. More than once I went without so that he might eat.”
“Because she’s a poor manager, that’s what.” Patenaude stood up from the bench. The judge made no move to silence him. “I always gave my wife the means to keep a proper home. I don’t know what she did with the money, monsieur. I can only suspect.” He made a motion as though he were taking an imaginary cup to his lips.
“Monsieur le Président, I never misspent a sou of my husband’s money because I was never given one to spend. He would bring home the odd kill when he couldn’t sell it. A sack of flour or vegetables on occasion. Otherwise we lived on the hampers from the Beaumonts and my own poor attempts at farming. I confess, monsieur, I am not much at cultivating the land, but I had no help from my husband on that score.”
“That will be all, madame.”
Alexandre, Gilbert, and Henri all came to Gabrielle’s defense. They spoke of the lack of provisions, the abuse. The judge spent the entire hearing with pursed lips, clearly unimpressed with the tales of her plight.
He took no time to deliberate.
“I have heard no proof of wrongdoing on Monsieur Patenaude’s side. He is free to discipline his wife in the manner he sees fit. So long as he does not beat her with a switch thicker than his wrist, it is not for this court to tell any man how to run his house.” Gabrielle looked over at her husband’s hands and arms. A few blows with a switch that large would have killed her. So kind that such stringent laws are in place to protect women from the cruelty of men. “Madame Patenaude will return to her home with her lord and master, and I suggest that she use the voyage to contemplate how she can better fulfill her duties as a wife, rather than troubling the courts with her complaints.”
You’re sending me back to my death, you heartless monster.
While Gilbert looked as though he would gladly throttle the judge in front of the entire courtroom, the rest of the men circled Gabrielle, shielding her from Patenaude. Claudine and Manon stood beside her, as though ready to defend her against him right on the very courtroom floor.
“Just let me go,” Gabrielle said. “My life apparently is of no consequence to this court, so I might as well go and spend what I have left of it in misery.”
She made no respectful exit of the court, but spat in the direction of the judge, not caring what any of those assembled thought of her crass behavior.
Outside the courthouse, Pascal and the other men gave Gabrielle the wide berth she’d asked for, but blocked Patenaude from his cart.
“You will never lift a hand to my sister again, you piece of gutter sludge, or I will bury an ax in your skull. I swear it.” Pascal stood only a few inches from Patenaude’s face, this time with a public audience to witness his display.
“You can try, you scrawny girl,” Patenaude said, shoving Pascal out of the way. He turned and grabbed Gabrielle by the arm. “Get in the wagon, you tiresome slut. I’ve had more than enough trouble from you.”
At this, Gilbert’s fist, made strong from years hauling sacks of flour, connected with the sickening crack of bone. Blood poured from Patenaude’s nose and he doubled over on the street.
“Let me repeat what my son said. If you lay a hand on my daughter again, it will be the last act of your life. Do you understand me, you despicable son of a bitch?”
Patenaude stood up, nose still cupped in his hands, but a vicious look in his eyes still plain to see. Any normal man would understand that Gilbert was perfectly serious in his threats, but Gabrielle knew she would be the one to pay the price for Gilbert’s aggression.
* * *
The entire ride home through the snow and biting wind, Gabrielle refused to look at her husband, keeping her eyes on the decrepit horse or on the scenery that grew more and more savage as they left the town. Patenaude made no attempt at conversation and she was grateful for that small mercy. I’m sure you’ll have plenty to say soon enough.
Her instincts proved correct. As soon as they were indoors and the hamper of food Elisabeth had thrust at her placed on the dining table, he crossed the room and slapped her hard.
“You stupid bitch. How dare you make a fool of me like that?”
“Why on God’s green earth did you challenge it? You could stay here on your own and hunt all you damned well pleased. You’d have what you wante
d and you’d be rid of me.”
“Because people would think I let you get the better of me. The only women who leave their husbands are sluts, and I won’t let you free to whore about.”
“I’m not a slut, you babbling fool. I just want to go more than a day without you or anyone knocking me about.”
“Today ain’t that day.” Patenaude struck her across the cheek so hard she fell to the floor. Then he went to work with his boots. Kicking everywhere but her face. She covered her abdomen, but his boot found its mark more often than not.
When he grew tired of beating her, he threw her on the bed and forced himself atop her. She gripped her eyes shut and tried not to cry out when his rough treatment upset her fresh injuries. You will not have the satisfaction of hearing me call out, you worthless shit. You will not.
The following morning, Patenaude arose with the sun and helped himself to the bulk of the contents of Elisabeth’s hamper. He ate a generous breakfast from it and put the rest in his knapsack.
“That damned hearing of yours cost me almost a week on the caribou hunt. I’ll be back in the New Year. Be here when I get back or you’ll be sorrier than you are now.”
He shut the door and left into the cold and snow. Gabrielle sat up and made to stand from the bed, hoping to salvage something like a breakfast from the remains of the hamper. As soon as she stood, she doubled over. A pain, like a hot knife buried in her midsection, sliced through her and she collapsed on the cold floor. She felt the warm blood gush from her sex and knew that Patenaude had exacted the worst possible revenge upon her.
I am so sorry I couldn’t keep you safe, little one. He can’t hurt you anymore though, my darling. No one can.
For a long while, she lay on the floor, unable to summon the strength or the will to move. She let the sadness have her and reveled in it. Her sweet baby, who Patenaude never knew existed, deserved a mother’s grief.
She wasn’t sure how long it was before she stood and made some attempt to gather herself. The pain in her abdomen was still sharp, and her joints stiff from too long lying out on the floor. She bathed herself as well as she could and tore her chemise to strips. There would be no salvaging it, and it would serve her better as rags to stem the flow of blood from her broken body.
Where do I go now? She could not petition the court again. The judge would send her right back, angrier than before with her for disrupting the natural order of her marriage. He would expect that Patenaude would have punished her. Would dismiss the loss of her child as an act of God—or worse—the result of her own stubborn and unfeminine temperament. No one would show her clemency from her own marriage.
Were she to return to Elisabeth and Gilbert, the town would find out and alert the judge. It might allow her a week or two of sanctuary, but no more.
By nightfall she was dressed, clean, and able to control her grief with some small success. She still ached with every movement, so she sat in one of the stiff kitchen chairs and surveyed the room. The gleam of the muzzle of the musket she returned with all of Patenaude’s belongings caught the sun and commanded her eye from across the room. Beckoning. Thank God Gilbert kept me from selling it.
Patenaude had claimed this one had misfired one too many times, and spent money they did not have to spend to replace it.
It looks in good enough repair to me. Good enough for one last shot.
CHAPTER 19
Manon
December 1678
Say what I might about the French, their Christmas is a marvelous way to muddle through the middle of winter. Manon helped Nicole festoon the parlor with fragrant boughs of fresh evergreens accented with squat cream-colored candles that would give off a warm glow to ward off the chill of the December evening. The smell of molasses and cooking spices wafted in from the kitchen, and Manon felt more relaxed than she had in weeks. In the years she spent with the Huron, Christmastide was the only time she really yearned for the French.
The Lefebvres had cultivated a custom of hosting an intimate gathering for their friends and family two days before the church services would keep them occupied. The feast was the most magnificent of the year, and the company far more enjoyable. No governors, deputies, judges, intendants, or other royal envoys. The younger Lefebvres, the Beaumonts, Claudine, Laurent Robichaux, and a handful of other friends welcomed in the splendor they would otherwise reserve for the likes of King Louis himself.
“Perfect,” Nicole declared once the last of the boughs were placed. “We’ll have Nanette light the candles at the last moment so we don’t risk fire. It will be lovely.”
“As usual,” Manon agreed. “The smell. It’s a shame we can’t contrive a reason to keep boughs indoors all year long.”
“Then we’d soon grow immune to the scent, and that would be a real tragedy,” Nicole said with a smile. Nicole wrapped her arm around Manon and kissed her temple lightly. “Now go get dressed. We’ll have company before you know it.”
In her room a gown of velvet, the color of her beloved evergreens, waited for her. Gabrielle was not in town to fashion it, so another, far less capable seamstress had taken the task. Though the services of a lady’s maid were available at her request, she and Claudine preferred to help each other dress and style each other’s hair. Manon examined the tall woman with rich brown skin and almond eyes, who looked in contrast with the rich fabrics and European fashion. You can’t exactly go down in deerskin. Just smile and make the best of it.
Rose and Henri had already arrived when she descended the stairs, and they stood in the parlor with glasses of fine port. Manon soon found a glass in her own hand and sipped at the rich wine, glad for its restorative warmth and pungent sweetness as it trickled down the back of her throat. Pascal entered with the Beaumonts a quarter of an hour late. I’m not sure I’ve had enough port for this, but I’m not going to make a fool of myself.
She buried herself in conversation with Rose, but it only provided a diversion for so long. Pascal loomed about the edges of the room looking ready to pounce on Manon at the first sign of a break in the conversation. Mercifully, the butler announced dinner before he had his chance, and for the next two and a half hours they were treated to six courses of the richest, most elegantly prepared food in New France. Duck, fish, chicken, beef, cranberries, squash, and other dishes too numerous to remember laden down the table and were all paired with wines carefully selected by the seigneur himself. Manon only sampled a spoonful from each dish, but still found herself straining at her corset stays by the end of the meal.
You serve enough food to fifteen people in one meal to feed my clan for a week. Despite the excess, Manon could not find it within herself to scorn her adoptive family that night. Their celebrations might be more elaborate than those of her people, but they were entitled to their happiness. If only you would extend the generosity beyond your inner circles.
As the meal dissipated, the men assembled in Alexandre’s study to sample some cognac while the ladies congregated in the parlor. If I sit on the settee to gossip, I’ll never stand again. Manon made a signal to Nicole and escaped to find her cloak and boots in the hallway. There was only a thin layer of snow that night, so a quick turn in the evening air didn’t seem like such an unpleasant affair.
“Couldn’t abide the chatter?” Pascal said, catching up with her a few houses down. “I couldn’t either, truth be told.”
“You ought to be making up to Alexandre Lefebvre like a good prospective agent would,” Manon chided, keeping her eyes forward and not slowing her pace.
“It’s no night for business, is it?” Pascal asked. “Christmastide and all.”
“I suppose you’re right.” Manon pulled her cloak tight, having misgauged the coolness of the night air.
“I’m glad to have caught you alone.” Pascal’s voice dropped considerably.
“Please don’t, Pascal. I meant what I said.”
“I know you did. I know you still do. But I wanted to apologize. I’ve badgered you, trying to convince yo
u to do something you don’t want to do. No matter how much I want you to be my wife, how much I want to build a future with you, it means nothing if you don’t want it too. Haranguing you about it was unkind.”
“Thank you,” Manon said. “I’m glad you see it that way.”
“I didn’t say I agree with you. Far from it. But if all I can have is your friendship, I’ll take it and be grateful.”
“Friends,” Manon said, extending her hand.
He took it in his own, large hand, shaking it warmly and holding it just a moment longer than was decorous. “Will you accept a small gift for the season?”
“If you insist, though I have nothing to offer you.” The double meaning of her words caused her to draw in her breath. She had no wish to be cruel.
“Never mind that. Please take this and open it later.” He handed her a very small parcel. “Not until after the party, please. Speaking of which, I’m going to retreat back to the bakery for some sleep. It will be an early morning at the ovens.”
“Good night, Pascal.”
Without preamble, he placed a soft kiss on her cheek and turned in the direction of the shop.
Manon returned to the party before anyone else missed her and did her best to be charming for another two hours. The whole time the small parcel in her cloak pocket in the hall beckoned her. When finally convention allowed her to retire, she fetched the package and retreated to the privacy of her bedroom while Claudine was still occupied helping Nicole entertain the remaining guests.
Instead of tearing into the package, she decided to savor it. She placed the parcel aside and unburdened herself of her heavy gown and restrictive stays. She loosened her hair and reveled for a few moments in the comfort of her loose chemise before sitting at her dressing table with Pascal’s gift. Inside the package was a small wooden box, no doubt one that Pascal had carved himself. She spent several minutes looking over the extraordinary detail and estimated that it must have taken each spare moment he had for the last three months to complete it. Inside was a single pearl attached as a pendant to a thin gold chain. It was in the shape of a perfect teardrop and its luster could match the finest specimens in Nicole’s treasury. It must have cost him a king’s ransom. She clasped it on and admired the contrast of the warm ivory pearl against her tanned skin.
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