by Bruce Murray
“The Book of Ruth!”
“Certainement.”
She placed her arm in mine and nonchalantly suggested, “Shall we go into the house and make the announcement?”
Charles returned to Gaudet Village as planned at the end of September. His arrival filled me with mixed feelings. The news he brought did not.
Charles reported that since I had been upriver things in Annapolis had gone from bad to miserable. The Acadian members of the council were still locked up in the jail, and many in the colony had chosen to spend long periods away from the town. They had sought excuses to be out at sea fishing or hunting in the woods. Many found reasons to assist the most distant villages with their harvests, neglecting their own. Their women and children became responsible for collecting the crops and managing the farms.
Armstrong was living up to his name. He was determined to have his way on the oath, and Mangeant was always at his side to reinforce his position. As an interpreter, the royal favourite intimidated the Acadians because he shared their language. It was difficult to hold their ground when everything they said could be adversely interpreted.
The most astonishing news was that the lieutenant-governor had declared the church upriver, the Chapelle St. Laurent, henceforth closed. The parishioners there were to be refused the services of a priest, forcing all Acadians to worship at St. Jean Baptiste, the parish church in Annapolis. This required the people to hold all their baptisms and marriages, and to receive the Eucharist, under the watchful eye of the lieutenant-governor. His spy, Mangeant, attended these functions.
The impact was felt strongly in the Gaudet home. My marriage to Jeanne now had to be celebrated in Annapolis. Given the disruption in the timing of our ceremony, we would have to postpone it until after Christmas, causing problems with winter travel. As the river froze and the snow collected in the woods, the coming together of the communities to celebrate our marriage would be impossible. We would begin our life together faced with the first of many challenges we were to endure. Looking back, I now know that it was the least significant one.
How were we to ensure that all the family members were there? The only solution was to have the Gaudet family sail with Charles and me to Melanson Village. It meant moving closer to the fire of the lieutenant-governor’s wrath, but at least we all could be together for a Melanson Christmas. Grandmama and my mother knew how to celebrate the birth of Jesus in grand style, and the settlement had grown so large there would be no problem accommodating everyone. This was an opportunity for the two families to get to know one another. Our marriage would be attended by relatives and close friends. My only regret was that Benjamin would not be present. Given our love for one another, I would feel his absence keenly.
The sail down the Annapolis River was particularly pleasant in the fall of 1727. Acadians in the valley were enjoying an Indian summer, and the leaves were late in revealing their colours. The North and South Mountains were dressed in a riot of hues made more spectacular by the autumn sun. We floated with the tide in two vessels. Bernard believed that two boats were more comfortable than one — the second carried provisions to last through the winter season. Brother Denys remained at Gaudet Village with his family and promised to mind the two farms. He gave his niece Jeanne and me his wishes for good fortune in our future life together.
Any anxiety I may have felt as we travelled closer to the fort was relieved by Jeanne’s presence seated at the bow of Charles’s chaloupe. She faced into the wind like the figureheads one sees on grand ships, elegant and dignified. One could only imagine what she was thinking as we sailed down the river. Perhaps she was imagining her new life, perhaps her new family. As we journeyed past the garrison we noticed it was caught in a thick mist, a ghostly, abandoned-looking place. With any luck no one inside the fort would even notice our boat.
As our vessel came within sight of Goat Island we knew that home was near. Would my family know we were coming? Would they be surprised by the arrival of our visitors? Would they have guessed that I would return home betrothed? Certainly Charles must have informed my family and relatives at Melanson Village of my engagement. I was filled with excitement at all the possibilities our arrival would bring!
As we approached the shore at Melanson Village, we could see men in the fields harvesting with their scythes and sickles; in the distance we could make out the white-capped women and the children at the top of the hill collecting apples from the orchards. The entire settlement was a beehive of activity … I had not realized how much I had missed being home.
Our arrival took on the appearance of a tableau. On sighting our vessel, everyone in the settlement seemed to freeze on the spot. Were they curious to see who was arriving? In the distance, I spotted a lone white figure ambling down the main road of the village, coming from the direction of the Manor House. There was little doubt who that person was. My grandmother grew closer and closer, never slowing her pace. Even at her advanced age, there was such a determination in her gait. As she approached us near the shore she went directly to Jeanne. Then, with a permission she bestowed upon herself, she raised her arms and embraced the younger woman, leaving everyone spellbound.
“My dear, you are a blessing on our house. The Lord favours both our families with this betrothal. Your union with my grandson will enrich our bloodlines. The Melansons and Gaudets are among the most ancient of Acadian families.”
Turning to face Bernard, Grandmama declared, “Welcome to our community, Monsieur Gaudet. You and your family honour us with your presence. May you and your kin be with us until the marriage has been solemnized before God at the church.” There was little doubt that she was referring to St. Jean Baptiste in Annapolis. Every Acadian now knew that the Chapelle St. Laurent upriver was closed.
“Madame, it is you who honour us. We come bearing gifts of food from our harvest. They will benefit us all through the cold months of winter. If you would allow us, we will also use our skills to build an annex onto your house that will permit us all to dwell under your roof until the spring arrives. With strong young hands and my knowledge of construction, we can double the size of your Manor House.”
“You overwhelm me, monsieur. We have barely spoken a dozen words and you are offering to enlarge my home. That is an offer I am unable to refuse. Bless you, Monsieur Gaudet.”
“Call me Bernard, madame. We are now families united. Allow me to reintroduce my wife, Jeanne, my daughters Madeleine and little Isabelle. And my daughter Jeanne you are acquainted with.”
The women curtsied politely and my grandmother addressed the group. “Come, let us be off to enjoy a warm hearth. You will become acquainted with my numerous descendants in the coming days.”
Unexpectedly, as if everyone had suddenly evaporated, Grandmama embraced me, kissing me on both cheeks.
“I have missed you, Piau. When you are gone, part of my heart goes missing.” She chuckled quietly. “Did your cheeks catch my kisses from the wind?”
“Indeed they did, Grandmama, indeed they did.” I placed her arm in mine and we all sauntered up the hill to greet my mother.
Our entourage marched up the main street of the village, moving slowly toward the Manor House and receiving greetings from everyone we passed along the way. My mother was already strolling down the hill from the apple orchards. She was followed by a parade of children carrying baskets filled with apples. The pounding of their little wooden shoes on the ground boldly beat out the time to the song they were singing. Their fresh young voices serenaded us as we arrived at Grandmama’s stone gate.
My mother was always known for her reserve, but on that day her face exuded love and joy. I took Jeanne by the hand and approached Mother, who was still surrounded by the excited children. Their instincts told them they were witnessing a special moment. The moment did not fail them. Taking our joined hands, my mother raised them up and kissed them, tears moistening her eyes. Then with a simple welcom
e she led us all through the gate and into the Manor House.
So began the uniting of the Gaudet clan with my own. It was decided that all the men should take up residence in Charles’s home, with the women lodging at the Manor House. This situation continued until the annex was built in the final days of the harvest festival. We met every evening in the Manor House for food and entertainment. My family enjoyed the company of the Gaudets, especially Bernard, who was able to create a festive mood at work and at leisure time.
The temperate autumn weather helped make the construction of the annex fairly routine. Bernard had done this so many times that, with the huge number of cousins and uncles assisting with the timber work, the Manor House was expanded in very short order. The women of the settlement provided the workers with food and drink, and the children set about completing the smaller tasks of harvesting to pick up the slack. This kind of collective effort filled us all with a joyous sense of purpose and a belief that, working together, we could accomplish just about anything. We would be sustained by the memories of such times when we were called upon to endure incredible hardships.
By Christmas we were all settled into our daily routines, and the annex was complete. Once the snows arrived everyone was back in their homes, and the Gaudets were comfortably enjoying their separate quarters in the annex. Our new extended family added to our feeling of togetherness, especially during the season of light. We made and lit additional candles to honour the coming of the Christ Child, and hung spruce garlands laced with dried red cranberries along the ceiling to add to the festive mood.
In the evenings I would recite stories of the Nativity to our family as we warmed ourselves by the crackling fire. My audience was awed by the stories of the wise men from the east and the star that guided them to the baby Jesus. I left out nothing in my narrative, and even added additional details that were more a part of my personal inspiration than divine revelation.
It was also the season for all to raise their voices in song, me more than anyone else. We sang:
Il est né, le divin enfant,
Jouez, hautbois, resonnez, musettes;
Il est né, le divin enfant;
Chantons tous son avènement!
Depuis plus de quatre mille ans,
Nous le promettaient les prophètes;
Depuis plus de quatre mille ans,
Nous attendions cet heureux temps.
Il est né, le divin enfant …
Whether it was the stories I told or the songs I sang, over time Jeanne came to look at me as if I were her own personal revelation. Her eyes would light up and her smile would broaden, inspiring floods of emotion that I could barely contain. Everyone surrounding us was caught in the warmth of our love, somehow believing it belonged to them as well.
Chapter 12
The wedding day was set for January 12. Preparing for the celebration at Melanson Village was easily accomplished, but getting into Annapolis where our union was to be solemnized presented problems. Travel by boat had become impossible as soon as the snows arrived. The guests who wished to be at the matrimonial mass would have to travel the road to the Chapelle St. Jean Baptiste by snowshoe. Most of the residents of the village decided they would remain behind to prepare for the later festivities.
Grandmama was not among them. She vociferously insisted on attending the ceremony at the church. Nothing on this earth could deter her from attending my marriage. Therefore, on the day of the wedding her grandchildren pulled the sled she had been harnessed into. She was the vision of a Snow Queen wrapped in furs from head to toe and topped by layers of rabbit fur blankets. Transporting my grandmother was a human team of snowshoeing youths, who synchronized their movements for the better part of five miles. Along the way, they sang to the rhythm of their snowshoes on the crusted snow.
The abbé met us at the front door of the church — Grandmama, Madame and Bernard Gaudet, my mother, Charles and his wife, Marguerite, Jean, my sister Madeleine, Jeanne’s sisters, Madeleine and little Isabelle, and Grandmama’s team of snowshoers. As the abbé led us into the chapel, we were surprised and overwhelmed to discover the church was filled to capacity with friends and relatives from the town, there to honour me, my family, and perhaps the memory of my father. Their smiles, as we walked in procession down the centre aisle, lit up the church with goodwill and joy.
Once we were all settled at the front of the church, the abbé spoke, “Welcome, everyone.”
Out of deference and respect for my grandmother, he added, “Madame Marie, you honour us with your presence.”
The abbé then began the marriage ceremony: “Every time two people enter into the sacrament of marriage, it is a special time of rejoicing. God looks down upon their union and bestows his divine blessing on them as we witness their commitment with our support and love. Let us —”
The abbé’s address was interrupted by a sudden commotion from outside the church. The expression on his face changed from joy to concern. The sound of marching feet, becoming ever louder, paralyzed all those present. Everyone exchanged agitated looks: they knew this could have only one meaning. Silence reigned. Suddenly the door at the rear of the church swung open with no regard for the solemnity of the event.
Soldiers from the militia filed into the church. Filling the aisles all the way to the front, they took their positions and stood at attention.
“Make way for His Excellency, the lieutenant-governor!”
The parishioners turned in their seats at the sound of the commander’s voice.
Lieutenant-Governor Armstrong appeared in the doorway. He strutted imperiously up the centre aisle. Mangeant followed. Armstrong ignored the congregation in their seats, directing his gaze precisely at me. He smiled a sinister smile, but I was determined not to show any uneasiness. Once he reached Jeanne and me standing before the altar, he turned and faced the congregation, never changing his expression. The favourite was by his side, prepared to translate.
“It has only come to my notice this very hour that a wedding was taking place here. With a large gathering such as this, I, as lieutenant-governor, take particular notice, when, in the past four months, Acadian families seem to have been scattered to the eight winds. This is an indication there is a grand avoidance going on in this colony. May I remind you that the matter of the oath has not been resolved, and on any occasion that I have demanded your appearance in this very church, you have failed to comply with my commands. Father Saint Poncey is presiding here because your former pastor, Breslay, was a vile traitor, conspiring with the French colonies and the Native peoples, undermining British rule here. And I wish you to know that many here today have failed to demonstrate loyalty to His Majesty the King. This disloyalty is all too apparent as I observe the villages and the towns of this British colony.
“Monsieur Belliveau, you and your family have been particularly elusive these past months. I congratulate you and your bride on your marriage, but I wish you to know that you and your family will not escape my notice in future.”
Before Mangeant could translate the lieutenant-governor’s final sentence, my grandmother rose from her seat and boldly addressed Armstrong in English with such power that he was rendered speechless.
“Sir, we accept your presence here as a guest, to witness this important event in our community, but the alarming tone in your voice shows a gross lack of propriety and it offends everyone here. I have lived in Acadia for more than eighty years, both under French rule and under English governance. My deceased husband was a proud Englishman to his core and a loyal subject to their majesties. Because we are French-speaking does not mean that we are disloyal. Perhaps, in time, those who govern us at the garrison will understand this most important truth.”
She turned to face the altar and demanded, as only a matriarch could, that the priest proceed with the ceremony.
Those looking on saw that the lieutenant-governor had met his
match in my grandmother. She had swept him aside like a horse would a fly on a hot summer’s day. He bowed to my grandmother and marched down the aisle, containing his rage as he exited the building. Mangeant lagged behind. The military guard obediently followed their superior, but no one could ignore their smiles as they left the church.
Grandmama and Father Saint Poncey exclaimed in unison, “Let us proceed!”
So began our life together, Jeanne and I, a life filled with great joys and incomprehensible hardships. Through it all, we would never lose hope. Our faith in one another sustained us through the worst calamities imaginable.
Our first year of marriage was a time of personal discovery, both physical and spiritual. The annex that Bernard and my family built was to be our nesting place in the coming year, 1728. In the spring, the Gaudets returned home by river, having forged an unbreakable bond with my family. Over the six months they lived in Melanson Village, they contributed to settlement life, insuring a safe haven for Jeanne and the children she was to bear.
Following the wedding, Jean began showing a quiet interest in Jeanne’s sister Madeleine, but both were too shy to proclaim their feelings for one another. Of course, their attraction was not lost on Bernard. He got considerable pleasure from teasing them when they were around one another. Some relationships require a long incubation period, and theirs was not to hatch for a few more years. Their sweet natures were destined to meld into one, but like some birds, they would fly away all too soon.