Papa. Thomas Deschamps, the proud oak of a man, was never meant to topple. If Manon was called to help and wouldn’t leave his side, it had to be grave.
“Of course I’m coming.” Claudine folded the last length of silk with care, but not much precision. Gabrielle would see to it. “Please send word with someone to Laurent that I may be late.”
“Consider it done.” Gabrielle patted Claudine’s elbow and opened the door for her company, accepting a distracted kiss on the cheek from her brother as he left. Under other circumstances, the brief display of affection between brother and sister might have given Claudine a pang of envy for her two big brothers left behind in France so long ago. Now she only wished to hurry the departure. She’d make up the inconvenience to Gabrielle later.
Claudine couldn’t bring herself to chat over the pounding of the horse hooves over the dry earth. She clasped Nicole’s hand in silence and willed the horse to fly over the hills to her parents’ little stone house.
Once there, Claudine and her sister crowded into the bedroom with Manon and their mother, Bernadette. Thomas’s face was ashen, but his breathing was even. He slept peacefully, so they spoke in whispers.
“I think it was something to do with his heart. His heartbeat seems strong now. . . .” But you can’t tell us if it will stay that way. Of course you can’t, but thank God you were close by. Manon applied a cool cloth to his wrinkled forehead, tanned from too many hours toiling in the sun. Too much work and too few sons to help.
“We should have hired some help for him,” Nicole said, as if reading her sister’s thoughts.
“He wouldn’t have accepted it anyway. You know how stubborn your papa can be.” Bernadette directed the words at her daughters but her eyes never left her husband’s face.
“He’ll have to after this,” Manon said. “Once the heart gives a man trouble, it’s likely to do worse in the future. Doubly so if he overtires himself.”
“It will take some convincing, but he’s nearly sixty. He can’t work like a boy anymore.” Nicole took on the stern voice she used with the children, even Alexandre at times when he was being contentious. She was likely adding up her monthly accounts to think where she could scrimp to allow for extra field hands.
Claudine nodded in agreement. If you want to arrange all this, do so by all means. But what of Maman? Bernadette’s face had aged in the two months since Claudine had ventured to the farm. Her lines were deeper and her eyes fatigued. The slump in her shoulders never fully went away. Though Bernadette had always seemed “ancient” to Claudine, this was the first time she’d recognized that her mother had actually become an old woman.
It was a long trek to venture this far afield with any sort of regularity, but her parents had only seen little Zacharie four times that year. Winter was never far off and the visits would become less and less frequent.
I must do better. All I could think about for years was escaping the farm, and I never once thought of the hard work my parents endured to give me any sort of comfort. I must do better for them. I will do better.
* * *
By four in the afternoon the floor of the Deschamps farmhouse gleamed like the marble galleries of the Palace of the Louvre, or so Claudine imagined. The stew was warming on the fire and two big loaves of good Beaumont bread graced the table for the evening meal. Two weeks had passed since Thomas fell ill, and he was still unable to stir far from bed without fatigue. Bernadette used every last fraction of energy to tend to him, which left Georges and the house in need of attention. Claudine’s younger brother, a sturdy lad of thirteen, helped without complaint, but by the end of the day, Claudine was so tired she was certain she would sleep a week, but knew she would force herself awake at dawn and be back before breakfast the next day.
“Stay for supper, sweetest,” Bernadette cajoled. “You must be starving.”
“I should get home to Laurent and Zacharie, Maman. They’ll miss me if I don’t join them for supper. I’ll be back in the morning.”
“Really, Claudine, you don’t have to come so often. Georges and I can get by.” Bernadette shifted an errant lock of hair from Claudine’s forehead behind her ear.
“Papa needs you to tend to him, so someone needs to tend to you and Georges.” The tone of her voice left no room for argument. Nicole isn’t the only one who can take charge. She’s seen to your fields, I’ll see to your house.
“It’s good to have Claudine back so much,” Georges interjected from his seat at the table, where he sat figuring sums. Even with an ill father and a preoccupied mother, Claudine wasn’t about to see Georges’s studies fall behind. Rose would be furious with her former pupil for allowing the lapse, aside from the disservice she would be doing Georges himself. As the sun slipped low in the sky, she kissed her mother’s papery cheek, and ruffled Georges’s hair as she issued his standing orders:
“Help Maman, study, and don’t get into trouble—or you’ll have my wrath to contend with.” Her admonition was met with a defiant raspberry from Georges’s tongue and a roguish wink. For all his bravado, he was the most obedient of the Deschamps children, with the possible exception of Emmanuelle.
Laurent saw her equipped with a sturdy horse and wagon for her treks to and from the town. She wasn’t much of a horsewoman, so driving the wagon was less daunting than riding on horseback. She clutched the reins, feeling the blood pulse in her hands at the exaggerated grip, and willed herself to stay awake the entire ride. It would be my luck to fall asleep and fall out of the wagon and break my fool head. One more person to take care of. Exactly what the family needs now.
By the time she arrived home it was a full hour past their usual dining time. She passed the horse and wagon off to the stableman without comment and walked into the house through the back door that the servants used for transporting groceries and firewood.
“There you are!” Laurent bounded over to her as she entered the foyer by way of the kitchen. “I’d been worried for the past two hours.”
“Papa was worse today. I stayed late so Maman wouldn’t have to make supper.”
“Darling, you work far too hard. You look exhausted.”
“I am exhausted, and I should be ashamed. A day of work never fazed me like this before. I’ve grown soft.” She handed her basket off to the waiting maid and removed her cloak.
“I’m glad to hear it.” Laurent wrapped his thick arms around her and kissed her forehead when she was free of her outer garments. “What else is a man good for if not ensuring that his wife’s life is one of comfort?”
“Papa doesn’t have that luxury. He never has.” Claudine turned away to straighten the cloaks as they hung on their posts. Laurent took her hand and turned her back to him.
“That was insensitive of me. I didn’t mean to insult how well your father has provided for his family.”
“I know you didn’t.” Claudine kissed his cheek reassuringly. “You’re the kindest man to ever draw breath, but they need my help. I can’t ignore them. I haven’t the duties that Nicole has, so I must do what I can for them. There’s no one else.” Were Emmanuelle alive she’d be there day and night. And God forgive me, I’d have let her.
“What do you need, my love?” Laurent whispered in her ear and kissed the soft patch of skin directly below her earlobe.
“Supper and bed.” Claudine spoke into the breadth of his chest, but clear enough for him to call an order for the maid that Madame needed her meal at once.
“You will have already eaten,” Claudine said. “You needn’t keep me company.”
“Of course I wouldn’t dream of eating without you when you were expected home. Though I suspect Cook is angry with us.”
“I’ll make my apologies in the morning,” Claudine said. “I can imagine it was an inconvenience to her.”
“Never mind that.” Laurent pulled back a chair for Claudine to the right of the head of the table and took his usual seat next to hers. The maid placed some roast ham and elegant little corners of toasted b
read before her. It looked like it would have been far more appetizing an hour before, but Claudine made no objection. She picked idly at the food, and though she should have been ravenous, she could hardly bring herself to eat. Claudine made an attempt to converse with Laurent, but her responses were scattered and vague. The battle to keep from yawning at the table took the majority of her concentration. As soon as the meal was cleared away, Laurent stood and offered her his arm.
“To bed. And, my dearest love, you must promise me to stay home tomorrow. I won’t have you falling ill yourself.”
“You know I can’t. Maman needs me.” She clutched to his arm as they began their ascent up the stairs.
“Others need you as well, darling. And none more than me.” He patted her hand that he cradled in his arm.
“You’re so sweet—”
All she felt then was falling against him and his strong arms lowering her to the floor before she collapsed.
* * *
“She’ll need her rest, but she’ll be well in time.” Manon’s calm voice pierced the blackness. Claudine’s eyes protested against the light. She tried to sit up, but the wave of nausea thrust her back against her pillow, hoping the contents of her stomach would remain where they belonged.
“Don’t try to sit up,” Manon urged, approaching the side of the bed.
“I won’t, I assure you.” The room still spun violently, and Claudine shut her eyes against the spinning.
“Laurent tells me you were overtired, but did anything else ail you?”
“I’ve not had much of an appetite,” Claudine confessed. “I’ve been working harder than I’m used to and so tired, I suppose I just haven’t felt much like eating.”
“Why don’t we delay the questions for now until she’s had some rest?” Laurent’s tone was sharper than she’d ever heard, his face white with fear. I’m going to be fine, my dearest. Don’t fret.
“Just one more. How long ago did you last have your courses?” Manon’s dark eyes looked ready for calculation. Claudine’s widened with comprehension at the significance of the question.
“I . . . I haven’t really kept track.” She sat up, waving against Laurent’s protests. This time, her supper made no threats to reappear. “Oh heavens. It was May. Mid-May.”
“Well then, I expect you’ll be welcoming Baby Robichaux sometime in February. Our little ones will be playmates.” She patted her own small bump with a smile. You and Pascal wasted no time. You’ll be rocking your cradle by Christmas.
Claudine lay back against the pillow. It was only a matter of time. This is why women marry, after all.
“Do you feel faint again, my dearest?” Laurent’s eyes searched her face for any clue as to how he might help her.
“No, no. Just surprised, I suppose. It didn’t occur to me. . . .”
“You’ve been far too busy with your family to think about yourself.” Manon gripped Claudine’s hand reassuringly. “I’m sure you’ll feel just fine if you rest. I promise I will see to your father as often as I can. I’ll be back to check on you later in the week.”
“Th-thank you.” Claudine wiped her hair from her forehead as Manon left with a quick smile. Papa and Maman. What terrible timing, little one. My energy is needed elsewhere. You’ll have to learn to share.
“Are you sure there’s nothing I can get for you?” Laurent took her hand, sitting gingerly on the side of the bed, careful not to jostle her. “Anything you want. It’s yours.”
“Just you, my dearest. Come lie down with me.” She took his hand, kissed the back of it two or three times, and rubbed it against her cheek.
“I don’t want to hurt you or disturb your rest.” Laurent returned the gesture to the back of her hand, concerned, but not ready to leave her alone.
“I’ll rest better with you by my side, love. I swear it.”
“Very well, you little vixen. You know exactly how to get what you want from me.” He stood, removing his cravat and waistcoat, placing them on the bedside chair for the maid to attend to.
“It’s easy when it’s something you crave as well.”
“You speak the truth. I do crave you.” He crawled into the bed, wrapping his arms around her. “Truly you feel well?”
“Tired and overwhelmed, but yes, I do feel well enough. I’m surprised little Baby Robichaux has been so long in coming.” Claudine curled herself against Laurent’s warm body, kissing the bare skin where the neck of his chemise gapped.
“I confess I was wondering what was taking so long myself, but I admit I was a bit relieved with the delay. I hate to say it, but it’s true.”
“My love, just because it happened to Emmanuelle doesn’t mean . . .” Claudine took Laurent’s hand in hers and pressed her lips to his knuckles.
“I know. It just frightens me. . . .” Laurent tucked her hair behind her ear and pulled her close to his chest.
“Then don’t think of it, beloved. Think of our child. He or she will be healthy and happy and well cared for. The most beloved baby in New France, along with our little Zacharie, of course.”
“I’m going to insist you keep your word, Madame Robichaux.” Laurent rolled so his torso was over hers and kissed her deeply. “And you must promise to rest. We’ll find a way to tend to your parents without you going out there every day.”
Claudine wanted to protest, but she was too weary to consider a trip into the country the next day. She would send a maid with some food and instructions to help with any chores that needed tending.
It wasn’t long before Laurent’s breaths grew deep and even in restful sleep.
I love you more than you know, dear man, though I’ve no idea what I’ve done to deserve you.
CHAPTER 28
Gabrielle
July 1679
I am his mistress.
It was the hour before dawn, and Gabrielle stretched against René’s muscular frame as he languished next to her in the warm bed. The words tumbled over and over in her head, but she forced them away. The occasions for him to spend more than an hour or two alone in her company were rare, but Madame Savard had taken another brief trip to Trois-Rivières to visit friends, so the trysts grew longer and less guarded. Never before had she the luxury of waking in his arms after a night of lovemaking. She would not ruin their time together. There would be plenty of solitary hours later in which she could nurse her qualms and misgivings.
“I ought to get home before anyone notices my absence.” His words sounded resolute, but he wrapped his arms tighter around her.
“You ought to, but I’d prefer you stay the day complete.” Gabrielle buried her face in his chest, breathing deep. Clean, expensive soap . . . not the smell of horse and sweat that seemed to perfume other men.
“I’d love nothing better, little dove. A morning in your arms. A picnic by the river. A stroll through town with you on my arm. But I won’t see you ruined.” His lips found hers and drank their fill, though she still thirsted when he pulled away and pulled on his breeches.
“Will you be back tonight?” Gabrielle traced the sinews on his back that flexed as he pulled on his boots.
“If at all possible, sweet one. I’ll be here after dark if she hasn’t returned.”
“She.” He never uses her name. Out of respect? Contempt? Fear?
And as he’d done all week, he slipped from her bed out into the darkness, hoping no one would suspect where he’d been.
Gabrielle knew she was the only one with anything to lose, and aware that there was precious little left. Her reputation, and even that was tarnished. From the way people eyed her in town, they still wondered why she had sued for separation from her husband. Whether she was truly blameless in his death.
They cannot tarnish my happiness. They cannot take this from me.
He had been gracious enough to escort her home after the ball at the Robichaux house. Her head full of champagne bubbles, chocolate mousse, and dancing, she had invited him upstairs. Since that night, they found a spare hour whenev
er they could to indulge in each other. The guilt weighed in her stomach like a stone most of the time, but his smile and embrace were enough to keep her trepidation at bay long enough for her to make more foolish decisions.
It’s all well until you find yourself with a bastard child to feed and no means to do so. Gabrielle chastised herself for the ungracious thought. She could never use such a term about a love child with René. René’s child, surely a strapping boy, would be all golden curls and mischievous smiles. And René said he had been very careful not to risk a child. She wasn’t sure what that meant, and was afraid to ask.
But he would still starve. No one would give you so much as a pair of trousers to mend if word broke out.
Gabrielle abandoned any pretense of sleep and ate her solitary breakfast in the weak light of morning that streamed into her minuscule kitchen. She was unimpressed with the radiant display of color that peered in through the small window. It seemed pale and gray in René’s absence. Her bread and egg sated her appetite, but she wasn’t sure she’d tasted a morsel of it.
Uncertain what else she could do to delay the start of the day, she set to cutting out the dark, inky blue wool for Claudine’s winter suit. Manon had let her know of the impending arrival, so she fashioned the skirt and bodice to allow for her expanding stomach. The wool was some of the highest quality she’d come across in her life. It was a delight to sew on, being soft to the touch, but not nearly as temperamental as silk.
Just as she was about to take scissors to the fine wool, the shop door creaked open without preamble. She tossed the scissors down in frustration, but she was glad her start had not caused her to ruin the fabric.
“Are you Madame Patenaude?” A tiny woman, lilting and blond like a spring flower that would never weather a heavy rain, stood just inside the shop door. Her clothes spoke of generations of wealth and taste. Small wonder Gabrielle had not made her acquaintance. Gabrielle stood and crossed to where the woman stood and offered her hand.
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