Sanctuary

by Jennifer McKissack

  Blanche didn’t ask how long I was staying. And so I just stayed.

  The kids were always underfoot, following me when I walked across the meadows, or went to get water at the well, or helped their mother with the garden. They all had their chores, and school, which they walked to, but when they were home, they tailed me and riddled me with all sorts of questions I didn’t know the answers to, about the sky, about other places and frogs, about me. It felt right here, as if I belonged. It was easy and light, unlike Sanctuary. But Sanctuary hadn’t released its hold on me. A sharp longing pierced me with every breath.

  The weather grew cold. Snow visited a few times. And still, I held Amoret inside of me, not wanting her out.

  I took long walks, trying to re-create what my mother might have felt growing up here. How different her experience had been. She’d turned her back on her home and never returned and never wanted to. I wondered if she ever felt a pull back to it. I wondered if she resented Mamie and her fate so much that she disliked Acadie too.

  The sea drew me to her. On cold windy walks along Minas Basin, I looked across the water and was comforted by the sight. I also thought of Eli and felt a heavy empty feeling at the loss of him. I wondered what he was doing and if he thought of me. I tried to shut him away, but he wouldn’t disappear. There he stayed, in front of my eyes, and in the beats of my heart, intertwining my thoughts with his voice, his smile, his touch. Slowly, I was forgiving him. I loved him. It was very clear to me how much I loved him. But I didn’t feel whole, and I couldn’t be with him while I was in this state.

  One night, after I’d been in Grand-Pré for almost a month, the kids were asleep and Blanche and I were on the swing outside. It was a quiet, cold night, and we were bundled in blankets.

  “So when are you going to ask me, Cecilia?”

  “Ask you what?”

  She was silent, but she laughed so much, I could almost hear her laughing softly in the silence.

  “About my mother,” I said.

  “About all of it.”

  “I’ll be back,” I told her, quietly sneaking upstairs and into the bedroom so as not to wake the girls, and retrieving the journal from where I’d put it in the dresser drawer given to me.

  Blanche had moved inside and was in front of the fireplace. She stoked the fire and then settled in one of the chairs. “What’s this?” she asked, taking the journal.

  I curled up in the other chair. It was warm by the fire, but I still snuggled in a blanket. “It’s a journal written by William Clemson, a doctor on one of the ships that stole away the Acadians.”

  “Really?” she asked, intrigued. Opening it, she began to read.

  And there we sat in front of the fire, while she turned the pages. I stared into the flames, suddenly surprised that I was doing so. I hadn’t been able to sit in front of a fire and relax and not think about Tess and Mamie before.

  I must have dozed off, because I awoke with Blanche watching the fire, deep in thought.

  “What is it?” I asked her.

  She looked over at me, still someplace else in her mind. “It’s sad.”

  “Amoret was strong, though.”

  She cocked her head. “I don’t mean Amoret.”

  I was quiet for a moment. “You don’t have sympathy for Amoret?”

  “I do, of course. What happened to the Acadian people is a tragedy. But for most of us, life went on. But your family …” Her voice drifted off.

  “Couldn’t let it go,” I said.

  “Some of them couldn’t. Some of them learned Amoret’s story and it didn’t affect them. But it touched deep inside of others. Your grandmother was one of those people.”

  “Why do you think? Why did it affect her in that way?”

  “Isn’t that the way of all of our beliefs? Their mystery. How they embed themselves in the souls of some, but not others.”

  “Not in my mother. Maybe in Aunt Laura?”

  “Your aunt was very sweet and malleable. Marie—your grandmother—was a force of nature, a hurricane come to life. And I think she was surprised by Cora. She wasn’t used to people standing up to her, much less her own daughter. People were afraid of your grandmother.”

  “I wasn’t … well, maybe a little.”

  “Did you know your grandmother was born Marie Robicheaux? She used to say she married a Lancaster to show she’d forgiven the past.” Blanche smiled wryly. “But every time she was angry with your grandfather, she’d throw up her hands and say, ‘I expect no less from a man whose ancestors pushed out my people.’ ”

  “Did she love him, you think?”

  “She would never have married a Lancaster without love. She was a strong, strong woman.”

  “Like Amoret.”

  “She would have taken that as a great compliment. Your grandmother thought Amoret had magic in her. But what magic is as lethal as dark human emotion? Betrayal, rage, envy, hate, fear … they change people’s lives.”

  “But why did Mamie even think that about Amoret? Was it lore passed down?”

  “Yes, it was,” she said, looking at me in the firelight. “Would you like to go on a midnight hike?”

  My eyes lit up. “In the snow? Yes!”

  THE PURE WHITE SNOW CRUNCHED UNDERNEATH OUR FEET, UNDER A FULL moon. We didn’t turn on our flashlights until we reached the dark of the woods. We were quiet as we moved through the brush and under the branches of the trees. I struggled holding the light with my thick fur-lined gloves. My free hand was buried deep in my wool pocket. The cold stung my face, but I welcomed it.

  The trail ended at a sandy beach spilling into the bay. The moon was bright and hovering, its reflection upon the water a stunning path of light, beckoning us to follow it to the ends of the earth. A fierce cold wind whipped my hair into my eyes. I tucked the wild strands under my hat and pulled my scarf tighter around my neck.

  Carefully we made our way over the slippery, snowy rocks until we came to a delicate icefall guarding an entrance to a cave. We ducked under the ice. Blanche kept walking into the cave, but I staggered forward, stunned by both a deep longing and a fierce hope that the longing was about to be fulfilled. The desire was strong and salty, encased in love for the sea. Recovering, I went into the cave, hiding my feelings from Blanche. I knew she wouldn’t understand. I didn’t really understand.

  Blanche stopped in front of the cave wall, illuminating a figure that was carved out of the rock. I didn’t have to see the face to know it was Amoret’s likeness. I felt enchantment emanating from her. Blanche seemed immune. She studied the sculpture under the light, putting her hand upon one of the woman’s outstretched palms. Amoret was covered in what looked to be offerings, seashells and rocks placed at her feet and ribbons of many colors dripping from her hair and arms—bloodred, sunflower yellow, white as bone, soot black, gray as rock, and orange as a sea sunrise.

  Blanche looked back at me. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes,” I said, shaking. My eyes stung, and my cheeks hurt. No, I thought, I’m not all right. I’m both better and worse than all right.

  Blanche stared at me for a beat longer, then turned away silently. Maybe she was frightened by my reaction, realizing I shared the family curse with Mamie. I believed in Amoret’s spirit.

  “This has been here a long time,” Blanche explained. “The sculptor was very skilled. See the definition of the eyes and hands.” She ran her fingers along Amoret’s eyes. “And look at the strands of her hair.” Blanche was enthralled by the artist’s skill, but she didn’t seem to be spiritually affected by the cave and the figure. Not like I was. She shone her light here and there over the statue. “Believers leave ribbons and buttons and things for Amoret.”

  “They worship her?” I asked.

  “No, not exactly. She’s not believed to be a deity. More of a gift.”

  “A gift?”

  “From the sea. For many, she represents the feminine power of Acadie. They believe the sea was so pleased with the Acadians and the way
they treasured the land and befriended the Mi’kmaq, she gave them a sea child, Amoret.”

  “And the sea child was stolen by the British.”

  “To some, she’s like the Acadian Joan of Arc, in a way. Not a warrior who led armies. But a woman who should never have been taken from her home.”

  “There are still believers?”

  “Oh, yes,” Blanche said, looking around us. “They have ceremonies here in the spring, but you can see they visit her year-round. They have not forgotten her.”

  I walked to a fire pit in the middle of the cave, something wounded stirring inside of me. “What kind of ceremonies?”

  She came to stand with me. “Their ritual involves fire, but it’s very secret. You have to be part of the group to know what it is. They are very loyal to one another. They call themselves Amoret’s Daughters, or the Daughters.”

  The walls of the cave shimmered, emitting female voices softly chanting. Blanche didn’t hear them, it was clear, but she spoke almost reverently, as if we were in a holy place. “It is in their lore that two groups of Daughters disappeared. One sailed from Nova Scotia in the late eighteenth century, searching for Amoret. The second group in the nineteenth century. None were heard from again.”

  I shivered.

  She glanced at me, giving me a small smile. “So they say.”

  “So you don’t know what the Daughters are trying to do?”

  “I know what they’re trying to do. They want to call Amoret’s spirit back to Acadie. They’re secretive about how.”

  “I don’t know why, since they’ve obviously failed.” I felt Blanche’s eyes searching out mine in the darkness, but if she thought my comment strange, she didn’t say it. “Am I related to all these women?”

  “No. Some aren’t even Acadian.”

  “Do they live in the woods or something?”

  She laughed. “They have normal lives, with children and meals and sewing. The ones who left Acadia in search of Amoret are said to be related to her, generations of her granddaughters.”

  “And Mamie was a part of the group?”

  “Marie led them. Her mother—your great-grandmother—brought her into the circle.” She hesitated. “Marie said the ceremonies were useless to Amoret, that they only comforted the Daughters. She was called, she said, to go to Winship Island, following the path of those before her.”

  I thought about that for a moment. “Why here? Why did they choose this place?”

  “They say Amoret was found in the sand here, washed up from the sea during a storm, the waves crashing into the cave. This was the place Amoret was born. They believe the soul will always long to return to the place of its birth.”

  Blanche began to walk around the cave, as if she was giving me time with Amoret. I studied the figure under the light. I took off my gloves, stuffing them in my pockets. With shaking fingers, I touched her eyes, nose, and cheeks. The artist had captured her beauty and her strong spirit so well it seemed she might burst out of the stone.

  I knelt down and took a handful of sand. I expected it to feel wet and cold, but it was warm and full of life, as if cooled embers from a fire. It pulsed as if it lived. Home, I thought with wild relief and abandon. I saw Amoret’s face before mine, her reaching for me, as if she wanted to take it from me. Fireflies lifted from her palm. I opened my eyes, feeling ripped apart, as if I were home, finally home, and also not home. Both there and not there. I poured the sand into my pocket, breathing, breathing, breathing.

  THE ROASTED POTATOES AND SLICED HAM WERE ALMOST READY. THE TWO girls were setting the table while I finished the cooking. In my time here, I’d learned how to prepare a few things. Blanche was at the table, back to reading the journal. Peering over her shoulder, I realized what part she was reading.

  “You read French?”

  “Mm-hmm,” she said.

  “What does it say?” I asked her excitedly.

  “Well, give me a minute,” she said lightheartedly. Here this journal affected me so deeply and sorrowfully, and she—an Acadian—was able to read it safely from the distance of time and not feel the effects of it.

  Blanche whispered some of the words in French as she read, and I thought of Mamie. I remembered her talking to us in French sometimes, and oh, oh, didn’t … didn’t Tess talk with her? And my mother too. Sometimes, my mother too. I wondered if she’d spoken French growing up.

  “Blanche,” I said.

  She broke from her reading and looked at me.

  “Who wrote those pages?” I’d assumed Amoret had written them. “The ones in French? Mamie?”

  Blanche looked at me almost sadly. “No, Cecilia. It seems your sister did.”

  “Tess?” I whispered, wanting to reach out and touch the words she’d written but keeping my hands tucked tightly by my side. “What does she say?”

  Blanche folded the book closed. “Let’s talk after supper.”

  After we finished eating, I went out and sat in the swing. It was freezing, and I had bundled up well. Blanche joined me.

  “So tell me.”

  “They all believed—your grandmother, your mother, your sister.”

  “Believed what, exactly?”

  “That the spirit of Amoret was trapped in Sanctuary.”

  Blanche didn’t believe it, I could tell. “How did her spirit get trapped?”

  “Tess writes that Cora felt very close to Amoret’s spirit,” Blanche said, flicking her eyes to me.

  I couldn’t reveal that I felt closer to Amoret than even my mother.

  “And that she tried,” Blanche was saying, “to make your grandmother see that the deaths of the captain and Amoret didn’t happen the way she’d always believed. Mrs. Lancaster was insistent the captain’s murder of Amoret was the tragedy that anchored her to Sanctuary.”

  “That was why Mamie forced my mother and aunt to the island?”

  “She thought your family would never have peace otherwise. She referred to it as La Grande Fléau. The Great Curse. And that it wouldn’t be broken unless Amoret was released. It seems to me that Marie brought the curse to all of you.” She shook her head. “What she did to your family.”

  “You think they’re all mad, don’t you?”

  “I don’t know what to think, Cecilia. I have wondered if your grandmother planted these seeds when everyone was so young that they had to believe. But …”

  “But what?”

  “Tess describes it like a compulsion. The words she uses—it reminds me of my feelings when I suddenly knew I wanted to be a mother. I knew in my soul I wanted a child. It seemed beyond my control, like a biological thing, my need to create. Which led me to midwifery. Your family’s obsession reminds me of that, like it was a compulsion beyond their control.”

  It was odd they didn’t pull me into their little mad circle, but I pushed those old feelings aside.

  Blanche continued: “It seems almost wrong for me to reveal this, so I must’ve been a little affected by the mythology of Amoret and the secrets of the Daughters. But Tess writes that Amoret’s followers had studied the ways of the Mi’kmaq and their sacred ceremonies. Sadly, they took one of their beautiful rituals and distorted it, creating some sort of exorcism ceremony. My interpretation, not Tess’s, of course.”

  “This was the ritual,” I said slowly, fear building. “What was the Mi’kmaq ceremony?”

  “Have you ever seen sweetgrass before? It’s a fragrant herb, even more so when burned. It is very sacred to the Mi’kmaq. They associate it with love. They would burn the sweetgrass and fan and breathe in the smoke, which cleansed out evil spirits and allowed them to be one with the Creator. They believed the ceremony would free Amoret from the evil spirit—the captain—who had trapped her.”

  “What did my grandmother do?” I asked slowly.

  “Whatever it was, they hadn’t done it by the last entry in the journal. What are you thinking?” Her eyes darted to mine. “No, you think …”

  I looked away, with eyes stinging.
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  “Tess says they were trying to help Amoret’s soul home,” Blanche said. “You think they tried the ceremony in the cottage?”

  “And instead they …” My voice drifted off, not able to finish my sentence. “They failed. Amoret is still on the island.” I felt Blanche watching me. “Did Tess talk about seeing Amoret?”

  “No,” she said carefully. “She says they wanted to see her, tried to see her. Your grandmother felt her presence, though, as did Tess. But they never saw a physical form. Your mother apparently did.”

  The porch light went out, and for just a second, I felt a frightful stab in my heart. But then I heard one of the boys laughing. Blanche didn’t yell at them, as she usually would, to tell them to go to bed. We just kept rocking in the swing in the dark, with a faint light streaming from inside the house.

  “There is something else,” Blanche began.

  I turned to look at her, her face in shadows.

  “They weren’t only intending to free Amoret. According to Tess, there are many other spirits trapped on that island.”

  My heart felt dark and flat, not beating.

  “Captain Winship’s spirit is affecting your uncle. Tess thought your uncle was possessed by the captain. And then there are the others.”

  “What … others?”

  “The women who left Nova Scotia to try to find Amoret, to free her. It sounds … well, I’ll just say it … Mrs. Lancaster believed all these women were trapped on the island as little wisps of light.”

  “Fireflies,” I whispered.

  Blanche cocked her head. “She called them ghost candles.”

  Oh, no, I thought sadly. Tess. Mamie. My hands were cold and clammy. I waited, but Blanche said nothing else. “So how do I do it, Blanche? How do I release Tess, Amoret, and the others?”

  “You don’t believe this, Cecilia?”

  I did believe it, but didn’t want to see her doubt.

  Blanche and I talked long into the night, about my family, about Amoret, about my cousin Marie Delacroix who left Acadie and never returned. Blanche believed that Tess was misguided, and that all her writings were the fanciful imaginings of my grandmother. She thought Mamie had poisoned young minds, and even my mother had fallen into her trap. But Blanche was kind, and listened to me, and reassured me, and I felt safe with her.