Piau

by Bruce Murray

  Of course, DesBarres was oblivious to such things. His obsession during the snowy months of winter was to draft the maps he had charted the summer before. There were several military assistants living at the castle by this time, and they were engaged in the work that DesBarres was spearheading. He treated Mistress Mary like a highly prized possession, showering her with compliments and pretty gifts whenever possible. When he was compelled to journey to Halifax to meet with the governor, he always returned with dresses and jewellery for his pretty mistress. Jeanne remarked that he treated her like a doll, dressing her up to please himself more than Mary. The Acadian women working at the Manor House disapproved of DesBarres’s mistress, most questioning the purpose of her presence at Castle Frederick.

  “I do not think it is appropriate for a young lady to be living in the home of a gentleman without a chaperone, even if she has the title of housekeeper,” commented Jeanne one evening while we lay in our bed. “Usually one is hired to such a position when one has the required skills to do the job. She arrived here with none of these skills! And I do not approve of the way Jospiau and Mistress Mary look at one another. The attraction between them is so obvious.”

  “On the first point, my love, it is not for us to judge DesBarres, for he is a gentleman who knows what he is about, and on the latter point, you are correct in your observation, but with any luck, it will remain a mutual unconsummated admiration. It is wise that we keep our eyes peeled at all times to prevent our son from becoming embroiled in a relationship that could compromise our position at the castle.”

  “Perhaps you should speak to your son.”

  “Best not present him with the idea of forbidden fruit, my love, before it has been offered. Besides, I cannot discuss a matter with Jospiau that does not yet exist.”

  Not long after she arrived, Mary Cannon had been given her own set of rooms at the castle, where she spent her private moments undisturbed. Her tiny salon was comfortably decorated with upholstered chairs covered in needlework done by Mary herself. She did have a talent for needlecraft, and her work began appearing throughout the castle. DesBarres was pleased to no end with her elaborate embroideries. What he did not know about his little flower, however, was that she could neither read nor write. How this escaped him, I will never know. She obviously possessed other virtues that interested him more.

  And so, winter flowed into summer, and summer into winter. We went about our lives and our duties much as we did before the deportation. There were many lost to us in time, but my grown children began to live lives that were productive and happy. New life appeared as families celebrated the births of babies. We Acadians began to celebrate our festivals again, and everyone, including the non-French inhabitants, joined in to give thanks to the Almighty for our bounty and our peaceful and harmonious existence. Mary Cannon occasionally joined us, and it was not beyond anyone’s notice that she invariably sat and chatted with Jospiau. But still all appeared innocent enough. After all, DesBarres was only in residence during the late autumn and winter. Who could blame her for wanting the company of someone young during the summer months? He was one of the few Acadians there who could converse in English, and she spoke no French.

  One day, in the late summer of 1766, my daughter Theotiste was passing by the castle on her way to the summer kitchen when she noticed her brother leaving the house through the back entrance. That caused no curiosity in my daughter until Mistress Cannon appeared at the exit and followed Jospiau into the woodland behind the the castle. What we all feared seemed to be unfolding, or, as Theotiste suggested, it could have been happening for some time. This was the first time anyone had noticed them, but who knows how long the subterfuge had been going on.

  No accusations were forthcoming, on my recommendation, for my son was now an adult and Cannon was, after all, officially a maiden nearing adulthood. Caution in this matter had to be the path we chose but observing the path was absolutely mandatory. On rainy days, Jospiau would go missing for long periods of time and eventually, after constant surveillance by my daughters, he was spotted exiting Mistress Cannon’s private quarters at the castle.

  Major DesBarres arrived home in time to celebrate the harvest with us. He was accompanied by his usual military assistants, but to our surprise there were several others accompanying him, persons who possessed the darkest skin we had ever seen. We were informed that these were slaves the major had acquired on a sailing trip to the Carolinas during the summer. These poor souls were the sole property of DesBarres; we were told that they had originally come from a continent called Africa. We Acadians looked on in horror, realizing that we had barely escaped such a fate as these poor souls. They were forced to sleep in the barn until other quarters were constructed for them. Witnessing these poor men and women shed a different light on the question of whether Jospiau was romancing Mistress Mary or not. At least my son and Mary were free to seek one another’s company. But that freedom also came with respon­sibility. For what would DesBarres think should he find out about their liaison?

  With DesBarres on site, I breathed a sigh of relief, knowing that neither Mary Cannon nor my son would risk being caught in a clandestine affair while the master of the estate was in residence. Jeanne and I decided to postpone any confrontation with Jospiau until the following summer. Perhaps by then the ardour would have cooled somewhat, we reasoned.

  Not only did it not cool, but throughout the winter Jospiau visited Mistress Cannon in her private quarters on a regular basis. There seemed to be no attention given to the regularity of their meetings. Then, on an evening the following spring, at a time when the tiny apple trees were in full blossom, Jeanne and I were summoned to the castle by DesBarres, who said that we were to be accompanied by our son, Jospiau. We were certain the time of reckoning had arrived.

  Jeanne and I uttered a silent prayer and we informed our son that he was to escort his parents to the Manor House. He was unperturbed by the unexpected summons and appeared to be pleased at the honour of spending an evening with the great one and his guests. The closer we got to the castle, the more I began to sweat and imagine the worst.

  I had spent the past two winters translating into French The Castle of Otranto for the family to enjoy. It was a chilling story of a prince, Manfred, who had chosen a woman named Isabella for his son to marry. In the story, his son dies suddenly before he is able to marry Isabella. Manfred, much older than Isabella, desires to marry the girl himself, divorces his wife, and Isabella is forced to escape from the old prince to seek protection at a monastery. A young man named Theodore chances on the monastery and decides to be Isabella’s protector. Ultimately, however, he falls in love with her. The denouement of the story has Manfred deposed by Theodore, who is then discovered to be the rightful king. This was known as a Gothic novel. It was a spine-chilling story: the family could not wait for each episode.

  My imagination started to run wild on the road to the castle. In my mind DesBarres was Manfred, Mary Cannon was Isabella, and Jospiau was Theodore. I was praying that the life of my family was not going to be transformed into a Gothic tale.

  We were invited into the Great Room of the castle, where DesBarres greeted us warmly.

  “Welcome, Piau and Madame Belliveau. Come sit by the fire. What I wish to discuss concerns your son.”

  My heart began to pound so loudly I was certain everyone in the room could hear its every beat. Still, Jospiau remained calm. Mistress Mary sat sedately on one of her embroidered chairs with a book in her lap. The cover looked familiar.

  “Everyone, may I have your attention, please? I wish to share a story that I believe you will find immensely inspiring. The characters in this story are none other than Mistress Mary and Joseph Belliveau.”

  I had never heard DesBarres call my son by his formal appellation. What could this mean? I looked at Jeanne and she had lost all colour in her face. DesBarres still showed no sign of anger and no evidence that he was about to
expose the two people in this room who had been engaging in a secret dalliance these past two or more years. Perhaps his fury was still to manifest itself.

  “Before I relate my story, Mistress Mary is going to entertain us by reading a passage from one of Piau’s favourite novels!”

  “I wish to begin with chapter one of Daniel Defoe’s Robinson Crusoe.”

  What was happening here? I asked myself. I was certain that Mary Cannon was illiterate. How could I have been so wrong? I had witnessed her often unable to read the letters sent to her by DesBarres, and on many occasions she had asked me to read them to her. Perhaps she had memorized the passage. However, she continued to read uninterrupted for the next hour. No one could recite that long a passage from memory:

  So we work’d at the oar towards the land, tho’ with heavy hearts, like men going to execution; for we all knew, that when the boat came nearer the shore, she would be dash’d in a thousand pieces by the breach of the sea.

  With that last word, Mary raised her face to her audience and closed the book, giving all present a brilliant smile, filled with contentment and triumph.

  Suddenly, DesBarres began to clap loudly. The others present in the room followed suit.

  “Brava, Mistress Mary, brava! You have read to us beautifully and with such expression.”

  Mary responded to the ovation with a polite nod of the head.

  “Thank you so much for your high praise, Major. But I must give credit where credit is due. I am able to read to you tonight because I have had a brilliant teacher these past two years. And that gentleman is none other than Joseph Belliveau.”

  Mary began to clap in Jospiau’s direction. He simply gave her a beautiful smile and bowed. He remained silent.

  “What Mary has said is true,” DesBarres continued. “When she arrived here at Castle Frederick three years ago, she came as my housekeeper. She possessed many skills, but reading and writing were not among them.” Desbarres let loose a barrel of a laugh. “At that time I approached the young man here, knowing he had been well schooled in English by his father, Monsieur Pierre Belliveau, and secretly requested he take on the tutelage of Mistress Mary. They have been diligently engaged in this enterprise for almost three years. I recognized her acute intelligence when I first spoke to her in Halifax, and my belief that she could be a competent writer and reader of the King’s English has been realized. Brava, Mary, and my most sincere thanks to you, Jospiau. You both have achieved a great accomplishment.”

  The applause resumed for another minute, and we all were poured a glass of wine to celebrate. Once we all had our glasses in hand, DesBarres spoke solemnly.

  “It just so happens that I have additional good news to share.”

  Again Mistress Mary began to smile broadly.

  “I am happy to announce Mary here is with child and we are both overjoyed.”

  Those present lifted their glasses and toasted the couple.

  “Hurrah, hurrah!”

  When I looked at Jospiau to see if he had any previous knowledge of this, I was answered in the look he exhibited. His face had turned ashen. Jeanne and I knew at that moment that Jospiau was in love with Mary Cannon, but that their relationship had not been consummated. Poor Jospiau. He had not turned out to be as lucky as Theodore in The Castle of Otranto. Real life was not as kind as the stories with happy endings. The young woman had used my son, had most profoundly encouraged his romantic advances, and was now disposing of him like a used boot. She had achieved what she set out to accomplish. I began to dislike Mary Cannon at that very moment, and I have not changed my feelings toward her to this very day. Mistress Cannon was now the enemy, and we would lock horns many times before I finally decided to lead my people elsewhere in search of the Promised Land.

  Just when one thinks life is settling into a peaceful state, people and things appear on the scene to disturb the tranquility one is enjoying. So it was with the arrival of Mary Cannon into our lives. The power of her disturbance was not felt for some time, though.

  When DesBarres was in residence everything progressed as it should, with established domestic rituals both inside the castle and on the estate. We were nicely settled into our new homes, working diligently to clear the land and cultivate the soil. Livestock had been shipped in from Halifax and from other places throughout Nova Scotia and from as far away as Quebec. This livestock was equally distributed among the Acadians on the larger part of the estate, and it was our responsibility to make sure they bred and multiplied.

  DesBarres introduced other settlers, some Scottish, some German, and they were responsible for the estate itself. They dwelled in residences in close proximity to Castle Frederick. There were also the slaves from Africa, who now lived in the simplest of barracks near the barn. Although DesBarres was a benevolent slave owner, they were still, in our estimation, humans who were being treated like beasts of burden. Their presence at Castle Frederick filled us with profound sadness on their behalf.

  We Acadians felt privileged that we had been granted greater independence here. This was a brilliant strategy on DesBarres’s part, for it encouraged a greater pride in maintaining the land and enhanced our desire to increase crop production. DesBarres was the beneficiary of our hard work, of course, but we felt pride in our work

  This happy arrangement began to unravel, however. After several years of living with Mary Cannon as mistress of Castle Frederick, while the major was off on his mapping expeditions during the summer, she began not only to manage the household but also the estate and everyone on it. It was time to leave.

  My family had nursed Jospiau back to health after he had been so cruelly treated by DesBarres’s mistress. He was now healed and eager to embark on new adventures. When I told him of my plans to depart DesBarres’s estate he readily agreed, especially glad to leave it now that Mary Cannon was inserting herself more and more into our daily lives.

  We remained on at the Castle Frederick estate for another year, however, waiting until the spring of 1768 to make any momentous changes in our lives. That is when I spoke to the master of the estate with a proposal I believed he would approve of.

  “Sir, you have often mentioned lands throughout Nova Scotia that you have acquired by grant and by purchase. Each of these estates requires families to cultivate the land, restore the ancient dikes, and raise livestock in order to increase your wealth. You have been especially kind to my family, a noblesse oblige, you might say. Our gratitude to you knows no bounds, but I think it is time for us to leave this place and find a new life elsewhere. Despite being free for the past five years, this area still possesses memories of our captivity that we would like to erase from our minds and hearts. Should we venture to one of your new properties, there would still be many Acadians living around Fort Edward who would gladly take over the care and productivity of the farms we have established on this estate. It should not be lost on either of us that you would have everything to gain by sending experienced farmers to these lands you own elsewhere. You have to know that, given your many kindnesses to my family and friends, you can count on us to be good and competent stewards of your lands.”

  DesBarres pondered for several moments then responded calmly. “Your proposal, Piau, has some merit. You know that I personally would hate to lose your company. I value it so. But change is always good to restore one’s creativity. Where had you thought you might wish to settle?”

  “There is a special place that holds a poignant memory for me. When we were in flight following the expulsion in 1755, we sailed into a beautiful river called the Petitcodiac, and it provided us with a great deal of safety and good fortune. Its beauty and richness have never left my mind for a minute. I believe God has ordained that we settle there and prosper.”

  “Indeed. It happens that I own the land in the Memramcook River Valley that is situated in the vicinity of the great river of which you speak. It possesses neglected dikes a
nd land already cultivated by previous Acadians, and it would be a brilliant spot for raising my Holsteins. I would arrange your passage by sea and transfer as many cattle as is possible to enlarge my herds in as many of my lands as I can disperse these livestock. I will arrange your departure for late spring. You will require some time to organize your people, for, as you always say, this journey will at last take you to your beloved Promised Land.”

  “God bless you, sir. We shall not fail you, I promise.”

  DesBarres and I shook hands to seal the deal. Amen!

  THE PROMISED LAND

  Chapter 44

  By June of 1768 the vessels promised by DesBarres to transport us away forever from Castle Frederick and Fort Edward set sail with a huge number of Acadian families and a herd of livestock. The Avon River was calm, and the sun shone more brightly than on any day that I could remember. As we approached Grand Pré, on the port side of the ship, a pink-and-white cloud of apple blossoms hovered over the landscape. The farms once owned by our relatives and friends had long since fallen into the hands of the New England planters who were now working diligently to cultivate a land that had once felt the ploughs of an Acadian community. Strangely, it no longer provoked a surge of melancholy in us, for we had our sights on another place, one that was new to us and one where hope and happiness would reign.