Piau

by Bruce Murray

  He declared that having shoddy legal documents or none whatsoever was absolutely unacceptable. He accused the Acadians of being a horde of half-witted labourers who required direction, and that they had been living too long under no governance at all. He announced it was high time they learned to act like His Majesty’s loyal subjects, of which he implied they had shown little evidence to date. He assured me he had the full confidence of Lieutenant-Governor Armstrong himself, and that despite the position I inherited from my grandfather, a title he insisted was an obsolete one from the French regime, I did not have the right to make recommendations to him.

  With a threatening tone, he warned me that should I persist in attacking him either in private or in public, there would be severe consequences.

  That is when I abruptly rose from my chair. I stared at Mangeant in disbelief. Bowing politely and uttering not a word, I stood my ground defiantly. There was no doubt we both understood that from that moment the rules of the game had dramatically changed. We were now dire enemies. I sensed this would be our last direct encounter. From that point on I was committed to the idea that all my resistance would now be underground. I was more determined than ever to oppose him at every turn, not out of anger or spitefulness but out of a desire to help the poor, mistreated people of Grand Pré. I let myself out and walked triumphantly home.

  April 23, 1739

  I met with several of the farmers at my father’s house today. There is always a crowd there, with the legions of half-brothers and -sisters roaming around, engaged in any number of activities. Several more people on the property went unnoticed. We have found it prudent not to meet at the Manor House. It is too conspicuous. Subterfuge and canniness are necessary when planning strategies. My father and I have been working with Uncle Alexandre, trying to straighten out the myriad legal documents that had been left to languish in his home. I stressed the importance of having things in order so Mangeant could not find fault with the wills, deeds, and tenancy agreements. Involving the farmers in this effort eases their fear of Mangeant. It seems to give them hope and peace of mind.

  April 25, 1739

  Mangeant struck François Babin in public today, claiming he had been insolent to him. Thank goodness François did not strike him back. I dare say that would have created a catastrophe. When François related the story to me, he was still filled with a fury I had never seen in him before. He said he was paid up in his taxes and Mangeant declared he was not. François had not thought to ask the favourite for written proof when he had paid what was due in March.

  I told François he was not to pay another penny. I would make up the difference this time, but this was a good lesson. Everyone who pays his taxes in future must request written proof of payment. We would spread the news throughout the community of Minas. I told François to send one of his children to Mangeant with the sum I had provided. Payment with no respect was the best line of resistance.

  François’s ten-year-old son delivered the sum to Mangeant relaying a message from his father that a written proof of payment was required. The boy returned to us looking white as a ghost. He said Mangeant had been enraged but provided what they required. We thanked the boy for being so brave.

  We both agreed this was a cruel deed to inflict on a young boy but it was a wise lesson learned.

  May 1, 1739

  I crossed paths with Mangeant today while returning from my father’s house. It was a beautiful spring day and I decided to walk rather than travel by wagon. On seeing him approach, I was determined to be cordial without stopping to converse. As he approached me, I noticed a determination in his gait. As we grew closer, he surprised me by thrusting himself in my direction so our bodies bumped with such a force that I was nearly knocked down.

  He shouted at me for all those who were close to hear. “Do not trifle with me, young lord. I am aware of the game you are playing and you will not get away with it.

  “Continue and I warn you, I am perfectly capable of making your life miserable. If you push me too far, it could be far worse!”

  I informed him that it was he who had just assaulted me and that there were witnesses present to attest to that truth. I stood out of his way and proceeded along the road as if no altercation had occurred. I must say I was sorely vexed, but I was compelled to practise what I had been preaching to the farmers in the community — to engage in passive resistance. This encounter was evidence that the strategy we had adopted was working. Perhaps Mangeant will temper his behaviour in future and we can all live together in harmony. I pray I am not deluded.

  May 25, 1739

  Yesterday, Mangeant sailed for Annapolis on official business, with the lieutenant-governor, no doubt. He will invariably lodge formal complaints against the members of the Minas community, and me in particular. He believes I am surreptitiously undermining him. Let us hope he does not find a sympathetic ear.

  Otherwise, we are living in a splendid and intoxicating world of pink and perfume for as far as our eyes can see and our noses can smell. Thousands of apple trees have burst into glorious bloom. I am organizing an apple blossom festival at Grand Pré, so hundreds of farming families from Minas and Pisiquit can celebrate their survival of another winter and the promise of an abundant crop in the coming summer. Everyone arrives in three days’ time. I have personally invited Madame Mangeant, the two babies she has borne since her arrival at Grand Pré, and her daughter Louise. She seemed touched by my gesture. I believe she is as happy as the rest of us to get a reprieve from her husband’s presence.

  May 28, 1739

  It is very late as I sit here, remembering a marvellous day of games, dancing, singing, and an abundance of food and sweets made from maple syrup. I believe every human being in Minas and Pisiquit was present. They were decked in their finest apparel, and the women’s crisp white bonnets dotted the landscape as if to complement the puffy pink blossoms on the thousands of apple trees. Hundreds of wooden shoes kept a steady rhythm, while violins and mouth harps played ancient and merry melodies. Today the people of our community felt the ease of the carefree life they had enjoyed for over a hundred years, with nothing and no one disturbing the flow of their happiness.

  June 4, 1739

  Mangeant has returned. The ten days he was away were blissful ones. I am certain he has returned with a message from the lieutenant-governor directing us onto the path of righteousness! Poor Madame Mangeant — she has the misfortune of living with him.

  June 10, 1739

  The favourite has been home a week and no proclamation. Perhaps the lieutenant-governor advised him to be less heavy-handed in his dealings with us “simple-minded” Acadians. It is only a matter of time. The devil will raise his head again, I am certain.

  June 11, 1739

  Today Elizabeth seemed much better. She is enjoying her garden again, and her appetite is returning. I do love to see her in a merrier mood. These warm beautiful days are perhaps the elixir she needs to improve her health and lift her up from her melancholia. It saddens me that Piau will not visit us this summer. Another baby is on the way. Perhaps I will visit Melanson Village in late July.

  Reading the final words of this entry of the journal, I began to weep uncontrollably. Benjamin had never lived to visit us at Melanson Village. I lay on his bed and surrendered to my grief.

  Chapter 22

  The following day I strolled through the village and ventured out into the countryside. I walked all the way to René’s farm to relieve myself of the gloom I felt staying in the Manor House. It was clear that even Benjamin’s death could not quell the enthusiasm of his half-siblings, for they played and worked in the yard as I arrived. They were laughing and shouting at the top of their lungs, even though Benjamin was barely cold in his grave. I stared at them, marvelling at their number and their actions. There was a herd of them, their ages ranging from three to eighteen. All I could think of was René’s lack of restraint. He was a lov
ing man, but the sheer number of children he had sired offended me because they were alive and Benjamin was not.

  I secretly blamed René for not watching over Benjamin when he knew full well that there was bad blood between Mangeant and his son. Although I could not be certain, I felt to the core of my being that Mangeant’s evil hand was in play the day Benjamin died. I needed explanations, however, so I was willing to swallow my contempt in order to find answers to my nagging questions.

  When I met René at the front door I could see that he wasn’t overjoyed to see me. He greeted me warmly but it was far from genuine. “Piau, you look very tired. I realize everything must seem unreal to you — Benjamin being no longer with us, I mean.”

  He began to look agitated and tears appeared in his eyes. It was then that I decided this would be just a social visit. The interrogation I had planned now seemed inappropriate and I was in the presence of a genuinely grieving man. My questions would only deepen the guilt he was already finding unbearable. We sat in the garden drinking apple cider and observing the frenzied activity of the children. These were the living, and Benjamin was no longer among them.

  After we had been seated for some time, I made my apologies and said that I had promised to drop in on Charles’s in-laws, the Grangers. As I left, I noticed the look of relief on René’s face.

  I did not visit the Grangers. Instead, I made my way to the churchyard to Benjamin’s gravesite. The freshly piled earth and the temporary white cross gave me no comfort. Benjamin was not there in the graveyard. I felt his presence more in the words of his journal, so I returned to the Manor House and found solace in my cousin’s private quarters. There I continued to read where I had left off the night before.

  June 15, 1739

  The summer solstice is a week away, but the heat has arrived early. This would normally be a blessing. An early crop is a favourable omen and something we all hope for. However, each day I find the heat oppressive as if the fates were willing my discomfort and sucking every drop of sweat from my body. Mangeant follows my every move, and like a spider he waits for the opportunity to pounce and inject his venom into my soul.

  I am certain he was not pleased that we had managed to organize a celebration in his absence. At Sunday mass, Madame Mangeant secretly directed a smile in my direction out of the watchful eye of her husband. His demeanour, on the other hand, was antagonistic. He commented to the priest within my hearing that the community had enjoyed a spring festival in his absence. Was he to think this was intentional?

  He glanced at me for only a moment, but it was enough time to direct a menacing grin in my direction. It was then that I recalled the story of the ship’s captain who had been the victim of Mangeant’s sword. The thought of it sent a chill through my body. Will I be his next target? I have to stop having these thoughts. They are paralyzing me and I am unable to escape their poison. Perhaps Elizabeth’s melancholia is contagious. I must sleep. It is only then that my spirit feels free.

  June 21, 1739

  Today was the first day of summer and the entire community gathered at dusk to light a great bonfire on the beach. The sun set behind us as we enjoyed its pink reflection in the clouds over Minas Basin. It was a massive gathering of all the people of the valley. It is an annual event that for me evokes happy memories of days past, of my mother’s warmth as we sat on the sandy beach when I was a very young boy, of Grandfather sitting in his birch limb chair acting like the King of the Solstice, and of my friends and me splashing our bare feet in the cold basin water until we had no feeling in them at all. All these recollections have filled me with joy. Thank you, Lord.

  June 25, 1739

  What makes a man victimize others? Is there some satisfaction one receives from causing others anguish? Obviously! Alexandre arrived here today in a frantic state. Mangeant had arrived at his house early in the day and confiscated all the legal documents remaining in his possession. He accused Uncle of being an incompetent old fool, and advised him that he need not bother himself with official matters from this day forward. He said he could not for the life of him understand how anyone could have entrusted important legal and tax concerns to Uncle when he was notary. Uncle is a very proud man and known throughout the community and beyond as a man of extreme good humour. To see him that distraught was so disheartening. I joined him in a healthy glass of dandelion wine and tried my best to quell his anxiety.

  June 27, 1739

  I decided to throw caution to the wind and invite all the men of the valley to the Manor House today. Mangeant was not included. I masked the gathering as a social event. The assembly was held inside despite the heat. This way those who attended could express their grievances and not fear reprisals. Alexandre and my father were the first to voice their displeasure with the situation at Grand Pré. Everyone agreed that someone had to volunteer to make formal complaints to the lieutenant-governor regarding Mangeant’s arbitrary treatment of the members of the Minas community. There was not a single individual who had not had at least one unfortunate encounter with the magistrate. It turned out I was the man chosen to represent them. How to achieve the task was left to me. I decided that I would sail to Annapolis and lodge a formal complaint to Lieutenant-Governor Armstrong on behalf of the people of Minas.

  July 1, 1739

  Mangeant noticed today that I was preparing my schooner for a voyage at sea. This was not my usual time of year to visit Annapolis or anywhere else, and he seemed to linger at some distance wondering why I was preparing to sail from Grand Pré at the beginning of summer. Visitors were often expected — Piau and his family arrived for a stay every year — but this was a particularly busy time of year for landowners in the valley and if anyone at Minas left the community by sea, everyone noticed. Some discretion is required on my part but it is difficult to hide one’s comings and goings to and from the harbour. I have postponed my sailing for several days so as not to draw attention to my unexpected departure.

  Mangeant is aware of my every move and he hovers like a bird of prey, ready to strike should I decide to leave unexpectedly by boat.

  July 4, 1739

  A bit of good luck arrived today by ship. Captain Andrew Tyrone sailed into the basin with things to trade. It was early for a trading visit, because we had little to trade save last year’s apples and fresh strawberries. He was en route to Dublin and decided to sail up the Bay of Fundy to avoid a nasty storm that was brewing in the Atlantic. He felt it was an opportunity to visit the Manor House and deliver a collection of the latest volumes he had brought from Britain.

  With the arrival of Tyrone, I have devised a plan to escape Grand Pré without Mangeant noticing that I have left. I will entertain Tyrone for several days, sleep on my schooner the night before his departure for England, hop on his ship before dusk, and have him drop me off at Annapolis on his way to his ocean voyage. Thus, I will safely set about my mission to meet with the lieutenant-governor. The fates have been kind in having Captain Tyrone arrive just in time for my rescue.

  July 7, 1739

  I have enjoyed Tyrone’s visit immensely and we were able to relax in the sun today and enjoy a taste of the rum he had brought from the Indies. He had many a tale of his far-flung travels to tell me, and they were a fine accompaniment to the drinks I concocted with his strong spirits. I revealed to him my plan of escape, with a complete explanation of the situation and why it was necessary for me to leave in the dead of night. He was more than willing to assist me but seemed gravely concerned for my well-being, having heard the story of Mangeant’s obsession where I am concerned. I will soon be off to my schooner for a good night’s sleep and I predict I will have a safe voyage tomorrow beginning before dawn.

  These were the final words Benjamin wrote in his journal.

  Chapter 23

  What an odd place to discontinue your journal entries, Benjamin. Did you actually sleep aboard your boat that night? Why did you not leave with Tyron
e the following morning? Where were you found dead? How? Why? By whom?

  There were too many unanswered questions and I had used up my patience with Elizabeth, Marie Josephe, and René stepping around the details of Benjamin’s death and not delivering even the simplest piece of information. If he died as a result of foul play, as I suspected he had, then it was high time someone investigated the entire affair. What was everyone afraid of? Whom was everyone afraid of? If it was Mangeant, then something had to be said and now!

  I got no sleep that night; I was waiting for my two cousins in the Great Room first thing in the morning. I lost no time in confronting the ladies, beginning with Marie Josephe. She was the elder sister and the one less wounded by life.

  “Cousin, I have spent the better part of the last three days reading your brother’s journal. Did you not know Benjamin kept one?”

  I stopped for a moment to assess the ladies’ grim looks. They obviously had not known of its existence. Neither spoke.

  “I discovered his journal several days ago and have read all the entries for this year. And what I have found is extremely disturbing. I demand answers, here and now!”

  Elizabeth was the first to speak.

  “What is it you wish to know, Piau?”

  “To start with, I want to know how Benjamin died. I need to hear the details, now.”

  The two sisters glanced uncertainly at one another.

  “You are aware of a certain sea captain named Andrew Tyrone?” asked Elizabeth tentatively.

  “Yes, Benjamin’s last journal entries describe Tyrone’s visit to Grand Pré.”

  Elizabeth answered with caution. “Yes, well, it was he who discovered Benjamin the morning he was to leave for England. Strangely, it was on our brother’s vessel that Tyrone found him. Someone had inflicted numerous sword wounds on Benjamin’s chest.”