Outil put an arm around her mistress and gently coaxed her toward the front door of Claude’s home. “Come, Lady Vadnay, Master Claude is right. You need to get out of the cold.”
She took a few steps with Outil, then stopped and turned around. Claude was shaking arms heartily with Otetiani and his companion. They spoke in low tones, some in French, some in what Marguerite guessed was Iroquois. She walked up to the three men and curtsied low.
“Thank you, Monsieur Otetiani, for your service and kindness. It will not be forgotten.” She smiled as prettily as she could and tried not to think about the state of her face, hair, and clothes. She was a Lady of France, and no matter how many court marshals she faced, she would still behave like one in good company.
“It was my pleasure to serve any friend of Monsieur Claude’s, Lady Vadnay.” His somber face broke into a crooked smile, and Marguerite knew it was time for her to leave before she swooned again. She nodded to his companion who nodded back, then she turned on a dime and marched herself into Claude’s home.
The main room was bigger than she expected. The kitchen, sitting room, and dining room were all one large space. A fire was dying in the hearth of a rock fireplace that sat in the middle of the room. Outil immediately grabbed a few logs from a stack on the floor and stoked it back to life. Marguerite let her eyes wander over the simple, sparse furnishings. She noticed a rocking chair in one corner that looked more comfortable than anything else. Nothing was upholstered. Everything was handmade; she suspected by Claude.
She was correct; the chair was comfortable even though it wasn’t soft. And the fire roared to life quickly. She heard a clicking sound and a whir from somewhere in the chimney. She got up to investigate and found a fan of sorts attached to the stone wall. A small box next to it was rigged with some sort of wiring and a thermometer. “Brilliant, as usual,” Marguerite said.
“What is it?” Outil asked.
“Claude has rigged a thermostat and a fan into this fireplace so that it will blow the warm air back out into the room when it reaches a certain temperature. What will he do next?” The front door opened, and Claude walked in with his lamp. Marguerite heard the steam cycles roar to life outside and then recede into the distance. She couldn’t help it. She made her way back to his side and hugged him again.
“Oh, Claude! It’s so good to see you! I swear you’ve grown taller,” she whispered in excitement. He was still the same height, but his face was tanned a deep brown, and his clothes were shabby and worn. He had the look of a man who spent many, many hours working out of doors. Of course, he’d grown up working outside, putting in long hours, but he still had the carefree smile of youth.
“It is good to see you too, Marguerite. But I swear you are much dirtier!” he teased. He smiled down at her, but as a voice came from the back of the house, his expression turned dark, and he immediately let his arms fall from about Marguerite’s slim frame.
“So, this is the famous Lady Vadnay?” A female voice filled the room.
Marguerite turned to see a girl about her own age standing at the doorway of what must be their bedroom. She was small as well, but thicker in frame. Her light brown hair hung in an unkempt braid over her shoulder quite a ways, and beneath her white nightgown, her belly protruded in a huge, round bump.
“I’ve heard so much about you. You just can’t imagine what a treat this is for me.” Her words were welcoming, but her tone was annoyed.
Marguerite faltered for a moment, and then bowed to her hostess and smiled. “I’m ever so glad to make your acquaintance,” she lied.
“Louisa, you should not be out of bed.” Claude rushed to her side and put an arm around her, a worried look on his face.
“No, I really should have on my finest to welcome Lady Vadnay to our humble home, but as you can see, it is the middle of the night, and we weren’t expecting you. I hope you will forgive us.”
“Of course,” Marguerite answered quickly. “There is nothing to forgive. We are so sorry to intrude on you at such a late hour, and in your condition.” Marguerite indicated the woman’s protruding belly. “Claude, I had no idea! I suppose congratulations are in order?” She kept her tone light and civil, but her heart clenched in a fit of emotion. Claude was going to be a father.
“It’s quite alright. We’ve just had a few complications, and Louisa is supposed to stay in bed until the baby comes, but she keeps insisting on getting up.” He laughed nervously.
“When we have important company like this, I can’t very well stay in my bed and miss the fun or make them feel uncared for.” She smiled at her husband, but the smile did not meet her eyes. “What can I get for you two?”
“Nothing at all,” Outil was quick to speak. “We are quite well. Lady Marguerite will need a place to sleep for the night, and I will await daylight to recharge.”
“Of course, she will,” Louisa said. “Claude, dear, can I speak with you in our room?”
Marguerite sat down in the rocking chair as the couple left the doorway to talk privately. She rested back in the fine wood and closed her eyes as she heard bits and pieces of their conversation. Things like, “Who does she think she is?” and, “I suppose you are going to give her my bed? They are not sleeping in my baby’s room,” came from the behind the closed door in a shrill female voice. Claude’s voice was much calmer and measured, but she heard him say, “She can’t be expected to sleep in the barn like a common mule,” and, “Of course I don’t want to share the bed with her! Don’t be obscene.” At that, Marguerite looked at Outil and stood.
“Claude, we’ll be heading out to the barn now so you can get some sleep. We can talk in the morning. So very sorry we bothered you tonight,” she called. Claude came jogging out and put an arm on her shoulder, his face apologetic. “No, no. That won’t be necessary. There is no heat out there, and we’ve run out of straw. The loft is warm and dry. There are no mattresses yet, but we have quilts and pillows to spare.” He directed them to a ladder off the kitchen wall. “I’m so very sorry, Marguerite.”
“Claude, stop. You had no idea we were coming. I’m just grateful to be here and to be safe. Thank you for having us. I’ve slept in far worse places over the last month. Believe me.”
“Oh, I do,” he said with a smirk. “I can’t wait to hear your tale in the morning. Sleep well.” Marguerite climbed the ladder while Outil chose to stand at the window in order to soak in the first rays of sunlight to recharge her battery. The loft was warm and dry as he’d said, and a stack of neatly sewn quilts sat in one corner. Marguerite set to work making herself a bed, and Claude eventually tossed a pillow and her pack up to her.
She thanked him and set to work peeling off her boots. She decided while she was at it, she would get out of the wretched flight suit as well. She tossed it in a pile by the ladder, along with her socks and boots. Outil would be able to wash them in the morning. In the meantime, Marguerite would curl up in this giant mound of quilts and sleep until she couldn’t sleep any more.
Marguerite awoke to random voices and the sounds of pots being banged around. She smelled something delicious, but she was too tired to get up. After rolling over and sleeping a few more hours, she finally yawned and stretched at midday. She felt so much better; she almost forgot where she was, why she was there, and the state of her hair.
She rolled toward the ladder and noticed her flight suit was gone. There were no voices coming from below, so she wrapped up in a quilt and carefully climbed down the ladder to find out where her clothes were and if there was any of the source of that amazing smell left to eat. Just as she set foot on the wood plank floor, she heard a gasp. Marguerite turned to see Louisa, fully dressed now in bonnet and prairie skirts, standing at the fireplace staring at her.
“Good morning. I was wondering if you had any idea where my clothes may have got off to?” Marguerite smiled and tried to keep her voice light. Louisa did not.
“Your clothes have been burned. They were making the
whole house smell of rotted animal carcass, and I just can’t have that in my condition.”
“Right. I’m so very sorry about that. Should you be out of bed?”
“No, I should not. But who else is going to wait on your needs, m’lady?”
“I have Outil for that. Do you know where she might have gone off to?”
“She’s with Claude in the barn. But you cannot go out there like that.” She indicated the quilt. “And I’d rather not have you traipsing around my home dragging my grandmother’s handiwork all over the floor either.” Marguerite adjusted the bottom of the quilt, pulling it off the floor and tighter around her shoulders. This was getting ridiculous.
“I’m sorry, Louisa, but what would you have me do? Hmm?” Marguerite was beginning to lose patience. Her stomach ached for real food, and her head ached from the rough week. She just wanted a moment of peace.
“I’d have you go back to France, marry a rich lord or prince, and stay there.” Louisa’s tone was serious. She hobbled to the kitchen and pulled a loaf of bread and a crock of cheese from the larder.
“I’m sorry, but I just don’t understand why you are so venomous toward me. This is our first meeting, and Claude is one of my dearest friends. I was hoping you and I might be friends as well.”
“You have a very funny way of showing your friendship. We are up here scraping by, day to day, trying to carve a life out for ourselves, while you sit down there in your fancy school with your bot and your riches, learning how to fly and generally making a mess of everything you touch,” Louisa practically spat out the last words. “I’ve heard all the stories about you. He thinks you walk on water. He thinks you are the best thing since the steam engine. He thinks you are going to rule the world someday.”
Marguerite couldn’t quite believe the waves of jealousy this woman was emitting. She had met a few people in her lifetime that didn’t like her, but this was a whole new level. And seeing herself through Claude’s eyes this way was making her a bit ill.
“But I—” She tried to defend herself.
“But nothing. Let me tell you what I think. I know your type. You are rich, spoiled, and careless. You think about no one but yourself. Do you know what we could have done with the money you took from us? Money you didn’t even need. Do you know that because we can’t afford bots or even the parts to scrap one together, that I had to work the fields through my last pregnancy and that our first baby didn’t survive? Did you know that this time around, I had to keep to my bed, and Claude had to harvest everything on his own when he couldn’t trade for help? Did you know that we owe so much to the Iroquois Nation now that we will never be able to leave this place? I wouldn’t be surprised if they showed up at the door and demanded our child next.”
Louisa was red in the face now. Sweat trickled down her forehead, and she sucked in heavy breaths while she held the counter’s edge for support.
“Listen,” Marguerite said, “I’m terribly sorry. I didn’t know about any of that. There are a lot of things I can help you with, but I think you need to lie down now. I can tell you the whole story, and we can start fresh. I can even have money sent here as soon as I can order it.”
“Of course you didn’t know.” She slammed the bread down hard on the table. “Claude would never in a million years ask you for any help; he had to work his whole life to get away from you. A good friend would know that.” She held her belly and grimaced.
“I really think you need to lie down,” Marguerite tried again.
“Don’t you tell me what I need.” Louisa waddled past her, still holding her giant bump, and went back to the bedroom. After a moment of bewilderment, Marguerite’s stomach won her battle of conscience. She didn’t want to disturb the woman any further by following her around defending herself, and even if she was going to stand her ground, she needed food first. She went to work cutting off a piece of bread. It was perfect and fresh, made that morning. The cheese must have been from their goat. It was creamy and soft and smelled wonderful. She slathered it on thick and was about to take a bite when she heard Louisa cry from the back room.
“If you want to remain at my house, you’d better come here.”
Marguerite took a bite, gathered her quilt up again, and tiptoed into the back section of the home. A small bed sat in the middle of a good-sized room. The bed was just right for two, but not nearly as big as her bed back home in France. In the center of it lay Louisa. Her breathing was still heavy, and beads of sweat dripped down her pale brow. Her whole face had turned ashen, and she squeezed her eyes shut.
“My goodness,” Marguerite exclaimed. “I know you hate me, but won’t you please let me fetch you something to ease your discomfort? I’m not completely useless, you know. I can fetch Claude or Outil.”
“First, put that on.” She opened her eyes for a moment and pointed to a dress that had been thrown on the end of the bed. It was light blue and had mud stains along the hem, but it was soft and just about her size. Anything was better than a quilt at this point. “Then you can get Claude, and he will take care of me.”
“Are you certain you are going to be alright? You don’t need a midwife or some such?”
“There’s a wash house out back. You can heat water there, and there is soap and a tub for bathing. There’s a cloth for drying as well.” She moaned a bit and shifted on the bed.
“Is this for the baby? Do you think the baby is coming? I am in no way qualified to deliver a child.”
Louisa took a deep breath and calmed herself then looked at Marguerite. “I wouldn’t let you anywhere near me or my baby; it’s for you to take a bath. You smell horrible, and I can’t stand it another minute. I’ll shut my eyes, you get dressed, and for the love of all that is a turned stomach, get cleaned up before you come back in my home.”
Marguerite gritted her teeth, forcing herself to be civil to the sharp-tongued woman in front of her. She moved quickly to the side of the bed and dropped the quilt while slipping on the dress. Marguerite was tempted to leave grandmother’s handiwork in a heap on the dusty floor, but she decided to have pity on the ornery pregnant woman, picked up the quilt and folded it nicely, then laid it on the end of the bed. She was about to leave when Louisa, eyes still closed, said, “You can keep that dress. It’s no use to me now.”
“Alright, but please, just know that I love Claude like a brother, and I didn’t mean for any of those things to happen to either of you. I will make sure you get his money back.” Marguerite was determined to show this woman that she didn’t know anything about her. She was a good person. She could do nice things and think of other people.
The answer was half moaned whisper. “Pretty words aren’t so pretty when they are too late. Just go take a bath and tell Claude to come see to me.” When Marguerite didn’t move right away, Louisa added, “Please?”
With that, Marguerite walked out of the room, grabbed her boots from the loft, and strapped them on as quickly as she could. Then she grabbed her bread and cheese and slipped out the door. Outside the air was warm and glowing with sunshine. She jogged to the barn as quickly as she could and called in.“Claude? Outil?”
“We’re here, m’lady!” Outil cried from somewhere deep in the back. The space was the same size as her father’s smithie shop back in France. Yet only half of it was set up for machine work. The other half was filled with the implements of a working farm. Marguerite found her way through the parts and plows to the back where Outil had called from, but she still couldn’t see the pair.
“I think something is wrong with your wife, Claude. You need to go help her.” She stood next to an old autocart with one hand resting on it. Claude’s head suddenly appeared at her feet.
“Oh!” she jumped back in alarm. “What are you doing down there?” He pushed himself out from under the car, covered in dirt and bits of straw. Outil came out next.
“Sorry, we were just working on this old beast. Trying to get it running before the baby comes. What
did you say is the matter with her?” He was brushing off his clothes furiously as he asked.
“Well, for starters she hates me. I don’t know what you’ve been telling her, but she didn’t like the sound of any of it. Second of all, she got herself all worked up into a big hissy fit and then started sweating and grabbing at her belly. She wouldn’t let me do a thing for her. She said I smelled horrid and ordered me to bathe.”
Claude’s face was knit with concern. “Outil has been telling me your story. I really can’t believe you, Marguerite. You’ve got more backbone than brains. But yes, I’ll go see to my wife, and then we can work out a plan. We’ll have you back in the air in no time.” He started to jog toward the house. Then he turned backwards and shouted back at her. “You really should take a bath!” Marguerite folded her arms and made a very unladylike noise of frustration.
“I believe the wash house is this way?” Outil offered.
“Not you too. It’s as if you all think I had a choice in the matter. Did you tell him I’d been imprisoned?” Marguerite pouted as she followed her bot.
“Yes, I did.”
“And did you tell him I nearly died about five times in the last week?” she asked.
“Yes, I did.”
“Outil?”
“Yes?”
“Do you think Louisa is going to be all right?”
“I do not know many facts about human childbirth, but I know it can be a precarious situation at times.”
“I hope they are both all right,” Marguerite said.
“As do I,” the bot softly replied.
Chapter Twenty-Two
It took two full hours for Outil to work the last of the knots and pirate goo out of Marguerite’s hair and for Marguerite to get back to her idea of cleanliness. She was disappointed to have to put on such a worn old dress after having taken so much care to scrub and primp, but it was better than nothing, and it was clean.
Perilous Journey of the Much-Too-Spontaneous Girl Page 15