Acadian Star

by Helene Boudreau

  Acadian Star

  Acadian Star

  Hélène Boudreau

  Copyright © Hélène Boudreau 2008

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission from the publisher, or, in the case of photocopying or other reprographic copying, permission from Access Copyright, 1 Yonge Street, Suite 1900, Toronto, Ontario M5E 1E5.

  Nimbus Publishing Limited

  PO Box 9166

  Halifax, NS B3K 5M8

  (902) 455-4286 www.nimbus.ca

  Printed and bound in Canada

  Interior design: Margaret Issenman

  Front cover: Heather Bryan

  Author photo: Gordon Clarke

  Visit the author’s website at: heleneboudreau.com

  Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

  Boudreau, Hélène, 1969-

  Acadian star / Hélène Boudreau.

  ISBN 978-1-55109-682-7

  EPUB ISBN 978-1-55109-831-9

  I. Title.

  PS8603.O9267A63 2008 jC813’.6 C2008-904609-9

  We acknowledge the financial support of the Government of Canada through the Book Publishing Industry Development Program (BPIDP) and the Canada Council, and of the Province of Nova Scotia through the Department of Tourism, Culture and Heritage for our publishing activities.

  to Marcelle and Charlotte,

  my Acadian girls.

  Contents

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Acknowledgements

  Sincere thanks to all the members of the Books and Writers Community/Kidcritters group, with special recognition to Marsha Skrypuch.

  Thanks also to Penelope Jackson, Caitlin Drake, and the whole Nimbus team for seeing the potential in this story and for helping me bring this book to fruition.

  My deepest admiration to the community of Petit de Grat, Nova Scotia, and to Acadians everywhere, wherever you may roam.

  And much love to Gord; none of this happens without you.

  Chapter 1

  “HELLO?”

  Meg stepped into the murky dimness of the tiny seaside shack and hugged a foil-covered dish to her chest. Long shadows stretched across the cluttered floor and up along the shack’s drab walls in the early morning light.

  “Tante Perle?” she tried again. No answer.

  Meg sighed and turned to go. Why couldn’t her mom have just brought the dish of pâté over herself? Especially today, of all days.

  “It’ll only take a minute,” her mom had said. “You’ll still be able to make it to your dress rehearsal,” she’d insisted.

  Not at this rate, Meg thought.

  She let the door swing shut behind her and stomped down the uneven steps into the yard. A well-worn trail led to the back of her great-aunt’s shack. A cool draught crept down her bare legs and into the rubber boots she had pulled on before rushing out the door.

  “She must be lonely, the poor thing,” her mom had called after her as she left the house. “It wouldn’t hurt you to stay for a bit of a visit.”

  As if, Meg thought now with a shiver.

  The thin polyester of her costume did little to keep away the morning chill. Meg hunched into the warmth of her coat’s collar and zipped it until the metal clasp chafed her chin.

  The sheets from Tante Perle’s clothesline swirled around her as she circled the side of the grey, weather-beaten house. One quick look around the backyard and she was out of there.

  Not a soul stirred.

  “I don’t have time for this,” Meg muttered. Tante Perle was probably off roaming around again, combing the beach for treasures or something. It wasn’t like Meg was going to hang around to find out.

  The tinfoil crinkled in her arms as she turned to leave. Meg’s cousin Nève would be waiting for her at the parish hall. They only had one more rehearsal to go before the big show that night. She would just put the plate on Tante Perle’s kitchen table and get going.

  Creak.

  Meg stopped short at the sound. She turned in time to see the root cellar door fall back against its hinge. Meg drew a breath in surprise. Why hadn’t she ever noticed the small entrance at the base of the shack’s foundation? Tante Perle emerged from the cellar and secured the door with a rusted hook. She stooped to retrieve a white plastic bucket brimming with clothespins.

  Meg stood amidst the flapping sheets of the clothesline as Tante Perle hobbled up the stairs. Her white hair, pulled back under a scarf, was finished in a skinny braid along the back of her knitted shawl. Her eyes squinted as she emerged into the daylight.

  Meg stood silent. Had Tante Perle seen her? Maybe she could still sneak to the front of the house and drop the pâté off. Otherwise, who knew how long Tante Perle would try to keep her there, listening to one of her stories?

  “Oh! Marguerite!” Tante Perle exclaimed as she turned towards her.

  Meg cringed and took a tentative step forward. Why did her great-aunt insist on calling her by that old lady name? Sure, it was the name on her birth certificate, but none of her friends called her that. And if Meg had anything to do with it, she planned on keeping it that way.

  “Ma tante.” She tramped over to her great-aunt’s side to help her over the last step. “Here, let me take those.” Meg hung the bucket of clothespins from her finger and balanced the plate in one arm. She offered her other arm to lend support. Tante Perle’s weight shifted towards her.

  “Merci, le beau Dieu! You’re here! I need to warn you,” Tante Perle rasped as she pulled at her niece’s sleeve in earnest. Stray tendrils of hair blew wildly around her face.

  “Okay, okay, ma tante. Let’s get this food inside first, all right? Mom sent me over with pâté.” How was she going to get to her rehearsal if she had to listen to another one of her great-aunt’s crazy stories?

  Meg set the bucket of clothespins down by the clothesline and guided Tante Perle to the front of the shack.

  “Shut the latch,” Tante Perle said as they mounted the steps and entered the front door. “To stop the English, you know.” Her head bobbed slightly as she spoke.

  Sheesh, Meg thought, not this again. Didn’t Tante Perle know that the Acadian Deportation was over and done with? Like, over two centuries ago!

  Meg placed the plate on the table as Tante Perle shuffled amongst the chaos of the shack. Shelves sagged with the weight of old rusted tools, bottles, books, and rocks. A slanted rectangle of daylight stretched across a wooden table beneath the shack’s lone grey window. Specks of dust danced in its shaft of light. Tante Perle fished an oyster shell from her apron pocket and set it carefully along the windowsill.

  “Sit.” Tante Perle motioned to the chair.

  “Really ma tante, I have to go. I only…” Meg turned for the door.

  “Assis-toi!”

  Meg froze. The stern tone of her great-aunt’s voice commanded her to the chair. She sat and shifted on the hard wooden seat.

  “I’ll put the tea on so we can have a chat, you and me.” Tante Perle turned and retrieved the kettle from one of the shelves.

  This is dumb, Meg thought. I should just go. She braced a
hand on the narrow table to get up and leave.

  “Écoute!” Tante Perle demanded.

  Meg’s whole body jerked at the urgency in her great-aunt’s voice.

  Chapter 2

  TANTE PERLE SQUEAKED THE WATER TAP SHUT and set the kettle on the wood stove.

  “Listen well to what I have to tell you.” She pulled open the blackened oven door and stirred the fire.

  “The dolphins have come to warn us.” She rested the reddened poker against the chimney and hobbled over to a slanting shelf to retrieve the teacups.

  Here she goes again, Meg thought.

  Mireille, a girl from Meg’s homeroom class, did a dead-on impression of Tante Perle’s ‘dolphin rant.’

  “The dolphins are calling me. The ships are coming to get my dear Marguerite!” Mireille had croaked.

  Meg had laughed along with the others, pretending not to care. But she shuddered at the thought of what her friends would say if they only knew who ‘Marguerite’ was…

  Tante Perle continued.

  “It is time for you to make the trip,” she said in a hush. She set the teacups down on the table and sat across from Meg, her eyes dark with intensity.

  Meg squirmed in her chair and drummed her fingers on the tabletop. It was true. Tante Perle really was going off the deep end this time. Meg searched the room, trying to come up with a way to distract her great-aunt. Change the subject, anything but this. Her eyes focused on the seashell Tante Perle had set on the windowsill.

  “Oh, is that an oyster?” Meg picked up the shell and ran the ridges under her thumb. “This is a nice one. Did you find this down on the beach?”

  Tante Perle braced a hand on the wooden table and lunged at Meg.

  “Touche pas!” She seized Meg’s wrist and tried to grasp the shell. It fell to the table with a clatter and spun around before coming to a halt.

  “Oh, non!” Tante Perle picked up the shell as if holding a baby chick and set it back on the windowsill. A tiny crack snaked up from the shell’s edge.

  “Sorry,” Meg muttered.

  Tante Perle’s wild eyes held Meg’s gaze.

  “With the dolphins come the ships. Once the ships come, it will be too late. You must go now to help her. To help us all!”

  Meg searched Tante Perle’s face for a flicker of sanity. Was her great-aunt for real?

  The kettle let out a high-pitched whistle as a plume of steam shot out from its spout. Tante Perle dropped her gaze and tended to making the tea.

  Meg rubbed her wrist where Tante Perle had grabbed it. A wave of heat from the stove closed in on her. The dampness around the collar of her costume stung the back of her neck. She pulled down the zipper of her coat for relief.

  Tante Perle returned to the table, kettle in hand.

  “Mon Dieu!” she cried, looking at Meg’s costume. Water sloshed in the kettle, sending a fine spray of scalding water onto Meg’s hand.

  “What?” Meg recoiled as the tiny droplets seared her skin. She shook her hand, relieved that the pinpricks of pain were subsiding as quickly as they had come.

  “Where are you going in that?” Tante Perle pointed her crooked finger at Meg’s costume.

  Meg looked down. The silver, red, and gold sequins of her outfit captured the soft light from the window.

  “Um…just a concert.”

  “Un concert? Tonight? That won’t do…by then, who knows…” Tante Perle poured the steaming water over the tea bag in her cup.

  “A young girl like you shouldn’t be dressed like that,” Tante Perle continued. “When I was twelve…well…” She let her voice drift off and squished the tea bag with the bowl of her spoon, then set both on her saucer.

  “Oh, this?” Meg flattened the material of her skirt. “It’s for my solo.” All the girls had flashy costumes for the Acadian Star competition. Meg had sewn each of the sequins on by hand.

  “You can’t go to that concert, not tonight,” Tante Perle murmured.

  Meg zipped her coat and parted her lips to speak. The look on her great-aunt’s face stopped her. Tante Perle’s eyes glistened in the dim light. Her hand trembled as she brought the cup of tea to her lips.

  Meg’s heart softened. Was her mom right? Was Tante Perle just lonely and desperate for a little company?

  “Why don’t you come?” The words slipped from Meg’s lips before she could consider them. “To the concert, I mean. At least for the finale. We’ll all be changing into Évangeline and Gabriel costumes.” She was sure the traditional Acadian costumes would be more her great-aunt’s style.

  Tante Perle looked past the seashell out the window to the yard. A guilty hope that her great-aunt wouldn’t take her up on her offer nagged at Meg. Still, she wrestled with the awkward sense of compassion she felt for Tante Perle.

  “I’ll be singing in the finale, too.” Meg and Nève had been chosen to sing Ave Maris Stella. They’d practised the traditional Acadian anthem countless times.

  “And step dancing.” Meg decided to press.

  “Well.” Tante Perle turned her focus and gazed at the steam from her mug. She took a sip of tea.

  “Come on, Tante Perle. It’ll be good for you.” She searched her great-aunt’s face for a reaction. Tante Perle sat motionless. Her mug of tea rested on the side of her cheek.

  “Full skirt and chemise?” Tante Perle asked, finally.

  “Huh?” Meg’s eyebrows rose slightly. “Oh, the Évangeline costume. Yes, the ladies from church sewed them.”

  Tante Perle puckered her mouth in thought. She pulled back the foil from the dish Meg had set on the table and picked up a piece of pâté between her fingers.

  “That would do, maybe.” She paused to put the morsel in her mouth. “Bon. Yes, that would do just fine,” she mumbled, her mouth full. She chewed the pâté slowly as if considering what she was going to say next. “Come get me once you change into your costume of Évangeline, like you say.”

  “I’ll come after my solo. We can still make it in time for the finale.”

  Tante Perle braced her hands against the table and rose to stoke the fire.

  “I’ll be here.” She focused her gaze on the burning embers within the belly of the oven. “Oh,” Tante Perle straightened and turned to Meg, “and come alone. An old lady does not need an entourage.”

  Don’t worry, Meg thought. Sure, she had invited Tante Perle to the concert, but she wasn’t planning on bringing a welcoming committee. She’d just slip out between acts. Nobody needed to know where she was going.

  “See you at about 7:30,” Meg said. Finally, I can get out of here, she thought to herself. The chair scraped behind her as she got up. “Bye-bye, ma tante.”

  Meg headed out the door.

  “Au revoir, Marguerite.”

  An icy quiver worked its way up the back of Meg’s neck.

  Marguerite…

  The snap of the door’s latch rang in Meg’s ears as she raced to the parish hall.

  Chapter 3

  “TOE-HEEL-TOE. TOE-HEEL-TOE.” Meg mumbled the steps as she danced to the tinny fiddle music playing on the old CD player. Nève followed along beside her. They had practised the routine so many times it was as if they were joined at the hip.

  Joined at the hip, Meg thought. If there was one way to describe Meg and Nève Gallant, that was it. The two cousins had grown up together, gone to school together, and now would be performing together in Picasse Bay’s first Acadian Star competition. Cousins, best friends, practically sisters—Meg smiled at the thought.

  Kids milled around the parish hall after the rehearsal, waiting to pick up their Acadian costumes for the finale. A few boys were setting up chairs in wavy lines across the width of the hall in preparation for the big night.

  Meg’s shoes clacked and shuffled along the floorboards in time with the song. The soles of her feet tingled as the dance steps quickened with the tempo of the music. She got lost in the movement of the routine and let her mind wander to earlier that day.

  The dolp
hins are calling me.

  The ships are coming to get my dear Marguerite.

  What was that supposed to mean? Tante Perle was definitely a little senile, Meg decided. Plus, her great-aunt had started calling her that name. Meg was sure she’d never live it down if her friends only knew.

  “Meg! The sidekick run comes after the chorus!” Nève put her hand on her hip. She hit the pause button on the CD player and grinned. “What’s the matter? First day on your new feet?”

  “What? Oh, sorry.” Meg stopped dancing and dropped her arms to her side. “Hopefully I won’t zone out like that when we’re dancing with the band.”

  “I was afraid you were going to go through the floor on that last bit.” Nève tossed Meg her bottle of water. She loved teasing Meg about her heavy right foot when they danced.

  “That’s why they call me Pegleg Meg, me lassie,” Meg said with an evil pirate sneer.

  “Okay, but save a little bit for the finale!” Nève laughed.

  Meg took a chug of water from her bottle. The Acadian Star competition was only hours away. She and Nève had won the lead in the finale, but there was still her solo to think about. If she wanted to stand a chance of making it to the finals in Halifax, she’d need to stay focused and forget about Tante Perle. She wiped her brow as dampness dripped from her hairline.

  “Oh great, my hair’s totally going to frizz now.” Meg waved her hand to cool herself off.

  “What? It looks good like that,” Nève said.

  “You’re too kind,” Meg said with a laugh.

  “What are friends for?” Nève handed Meg her backpack.

  Even though they were cousins, Meg and Nève looked nothing alike. Meg would have done anything for Nève’s silky blonde tresses. Or her long, lean frame, for that matter. Instead, she had to settle for her compact curves, dark brown eyes, and wavy, bordering on frizzy, hair.

  “Hey, by the way, tell your dad the band sounds awesome.” Meg motioned to the stage as Nève’s dad finished up the sound check in preparation for the evening. Meg’s Uncle Vince was the best fiddle player in all of Picasse Bay.