Water's Edge

by Genevieve Fortin

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  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Synopsis

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Other Books by Genevieve Fortin

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Dedication

  Flow

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Maelstrom

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Meanders

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Undertow

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Epilogue

  Bella Books

  Synopsis

  In 1888, the impoverished Levesque family becomes one of thousands of French Canadians forced to leave their beloved country and seek employment in the booming textile mills of Fall River, Massachusetts. Young Emilie Levesque’s initial culture shock is eased by her intelligence and adventurous nature—and by her budding friendship with Angeline Fournier, the US-born daughter of a fellow immigrant family. As they grow into young women, their close relationship is a welcome respite from the stifling heat, dust-filled air, deafening noise, and mind-numbing work at the mill.

  Emilie knows she is different but has no words for what she is or what she feels. All she knows is that she wants Angeline with her always. Despite her own hidden attraction to Emilie, Angeline cannot conceive of life beyond what all 19th-century girls are taught to aspire to: a husband, a home and a houseful of children.

  A life-altering kiss and painful parting will lead the women on very different paths—until an unthinkable tragedy brings Emilie back to Angeline’s side. But can these loving friends ever cross the forbidden boundary between the warmth of affection and the heat of desire?

  Copyright © 2017 by Genevieve Fortin

  Bella Books, Inc.

  P.O. Box 10543

  Tallahassee, FL 32302

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  First Bella Books Edition 2017

  eBook released 2017

  Editor: Katherine V. Forrest

  Cover Designer: Micheala Lynn

  ISBN: 978-1-59493-553-4

  PUBLISHER’S NOTE

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  Other Bella Books by Genevieve Fortin

  First Fall

  Two Kinds of Elizabeth

  Acknowledgments

  Water’s Edge is a story that’s been with me for several years, evolving. The research was intimidating and that’s probably the only reason why it’s my third novel rather than my first. Emilie, Angeline, and their families have been in my head for over fifteen years and they will stay there forever.

  They were born after I became a research assistant on a large and important research project on Franco-Americans. Naturally, the first person I want to thank is Dr. Cynthia Fox, who trusted me to work with her team on that research project. I don’t think I would ever have thought of this story without that experience. As I transcribed interviews with Franco-Americans who told their stories, how their families were compelled to leave everything behind in Quebec and move to New England to work in cotton mills and how they adapted to their new environment, I was touched. And I was curious. I’m from Quebec, after all, and I was living in the United States at the time, so I related to their stories. I even learned during that experience that my own grandfather had moved to Massachusetts to work in a cotton mill for a while, but that he’d returned home to Canada to marry my grandmother.

  It was a part of my history I wanted to share and build on. I started to think and asked myself, what if two of these young French Canadian women, living in such restrictive conditions, fell in love? And then I wanted to tell their story in the most realistic and empathic way I could.

  I also want to thank Denise, who encouraged me through the research as much as the writing process, who patiently listened to my doubts and fears, and who fell in love with Emilie and Angeline.

  And I want to thank the wonderful Katherine V. Forrest. When I learned that she was my editor on this project, I was deeply honored. I was given the chance to work with the woman who gave us Curious Wine, a woman whose work made it possible for women like me to write about women like us. I couldn’t believe it, and I was beyond happy. My happiness was all about me for a few hours, and then it changed. I realized that although working with Katherine V. Forrest was a great opportunity for me as an author, it was even more important for the story I wanted to share. I am most of all grateful that, with her help, my novel was given the chance to be the best it could be.

  I’m proud of this novel, and I’m proud to share it with you. Thank you, dear reader, for choosing it.

  Dedication

  For Denise, my Rimouski

  About the Author

  Genevieve is French Canadian but claims her heart holds dual citizenship. Not surprising since she lived in the USA for thirteen years and still visits every chance she gets. Besides writing and reading, her passions include traveling, decadent desserts, fruity martinis, and watching HGTV. For now she lives in St-Georges, just a few miles north of the border between Maine and Quebec. She and her partner share a house with their two dogs, Spike and Betty.

  FLOW

  1888

  Chapter One

  Rimouski, Quebec

  March 1888

  Emilie Levesque sat on the top step of the narrow L-shaped staircase that led down to the small kitchen where her parents were having a discussion that seemed very serious to her eight-year-old ears.

  So serious that she got up and went to awaken her older brother Joseph to listen to the conversation with her. He grumbled in protest but finally followed Emilie and sat with her on the top step, most likely wondering what kind of drama his sister was brewing this time.

  All she’d heard before she went to get her brother was something about l
eaving their farm and she was scared. She would never admit it to ten-year-old Joseph but his presence as he held her tiny hand reassured her. She’d never been alone in her life. She had Joseph.

  At the staircase Joseph protested, “This is a private, grownup talk, Emilie. Papa would be so mad if he saw us.”

  “Shh,” Emilie said and covered Joseph’s mouth with her free hand. “He won’t see us if you shut up.”

  Most of the stairs could not be seen from the kitchen since they hid behind the wall that hosted a large cast iron woodstove. In fact, Emilie knew they could sit lower without being seen which would allow them to hear their parents much better, but she also knew that one more step down the pine wood stairs would make them squeak and they would get caught and punished. Emilie didn’t get caught often because she knew how to avoid it. She glanced at her brother and grinned. Joseph, on the other hand, rarely disobeyed or attempted any mischief, but when he did he got caught every single time.

  They were complete opposites, even physically. Her hair was as dark as a crow’s plumage; his was blond, almost white in the summer. Her eyes were black as coal; his were blue as the clearest of skies. She often envied her brother’s features. The only attribute they had in common was the pale skin they inherited from their mother. And the only advantage she thought she had over her brother was that her skin lightly tanned in the sun while his freckled. Other children often made fun of him because of his freckles and Emilie jumped to his defense any chance she got.

  “We’re losing the farm anyway, Mathilde.” Her father’s words brought Emilie’s attention back to her parents’ conversation. “I can’t keep up with the payments. And it would be temporary. Just the time it’ll take to make enough money to pay off this darn loan and we’ll come back home.”

  Emilie noted shame in her father’s voice and her heart broke. She looked down to a hole in her nightgown that her mother had just mended for the third time. The grayish white cotton nightgown was too long and she stepped on it all the time but it was the only one she had, a hand-me-down from an older cousin. She knew they didn’t have money. She never had any of the pretty new clothes they sold at the general store. Her mother reminded her they had to make do every time she dared complain about eating potatoes for dinner again. Yes, she knew they were poor, but she had no idea they could lose their house. What were those payments her father was talking about and how could they force them out of their home? Her parents worked hard. She knew that too. Every day but Sunday. Wasn’t that enough?

  “How did we get to this point, Henri?” Her mother’s voice cracked. She was crying. Emilie heard the scraping of a chair being moved across the floor and she imagined her father getting closer to his wife as they sat at the small square kitchen table where they ate every meal. When her father spoke again his voice was calm and soothing. Emilie closed her eyes and let it comfort her. She needed it as much as her mother.

  “I’m not sure how we got here, darling. But we’re not alone. A lot of folks got to this point in the past couple of years. They all did what I’m suggesting and they don’t regret it. You read the boys’ letters don’t you? They love it in the States.”

  The boys were Emilie’s five older half-brothers. She barely knew them. The youngest of the boys, Edouard, was ten years older than Emilie and had moved away when he was fifteen years old to join his older brothers who all worked in a cotton mill in Fall River, Massachusetts. Emilie remembered taking him to the train station with her father. That was the first and last time she’d seen a train. Emilie didn’t know much about her half-brothers other than that. Emilie’s mother was her father’s second wife. His first wife had died while giving birth to a sixth child. The child had not survived either. They never talked about it.

  The only reason Emilie knew was because she’d listened in to a conversation between her parents and the priest one night. Father Lavoie visited their home regularly. Emilie had missed most of what they’d said but she’d caught the end of it, when the priest had suggested it might be time for her mother and father to have a third child. Emilie had gotten excited at the possibility of having a little sister or brother. Her father had remained polite but when Father Lavoie had left she heard him say to her mother that the last time he’d let a priest convince him to conceive a child against the doctor’s orders he had not only lost the child but his first wife and the mother of five living children. He added that the experience had taught him to take the word of a doctor over any priest when it came to childbearing and that it was more than likely God’s will for children to grow up with a mother. Emilie had thought her father was brave for defying a man of cloth, but she’d also been scared he’d be punished for his bravery. The entire conversation had remained with Emilie and she’d often wanted to question her father about it but the pain she’d heard in his voice that night told her she should leave it alone.

  The distinct shrill of the heavy door of the woodstove opening and closing forced Emilie out of her memories and back to the discussion that was still taking place in the kitchen. She knew her mother was the one adding wood to the fire. Her mother always kept busy, especially when something made her upset. “I don’t like it, Henri. I don’t like it at all. Rimouski’s always been our home.”

  “I know, darling. And it always will be. We just need to get out of this predicament we’re in.”

  “Promise me it’s temporary. Promise me, Henri.”

  “I promise, Mathilde. We’ll be back here in no time. But with a little money to do what we’ve always wanted to do. Can you imagine?”

  Emilie heard her mother sigh heavily before she spoke again. “Fine, so be it then. Make the arrangements.” There was a pause and then her mother added, as if she needed to keep some control over the situation. “We’re not leaving until the end of the school year.”

  “Okay. That’ll give me time to get everything organized.”

  Emilie felt her hand fall to her side as Joseph released it, stood up and whispered, “I’ve heard enough.” She heard how defeated he sounded but couldn’t move to comfort him. She heard more whispering coming from the kitchen but she didn’t try to understand any of it. Her world was crumbling around her. She thought of the children at school she couldn’t call friends but who were at least familiar. She thought of her aunts and uncles she wouldn’t see anymore. Even the cousins she didn’t like but were part of the world as she knew it. She thought of the animals on the farm, the few they had left, especially the big gray cat she called Misty and with whom she shared her dreams.

  Then Emilie thought about all the books that grownups had let her put her little hands on. Some from her mother, some from her aunts and uncles, some books from school. All of her dreams came from those books and her own imagination. Dreams that included traveling on a train and finding people she might have more affinity with. In foreign countries where she could be whatever she wanted. Then she wondered if perhaps Fall River could be the beginning of her dreams coming true instead of the end of her world.

  She grinned and went back to bed with a feeling she wasn’t accustomed to: hope.

  Chapter Two

  Fall River, Massachusetts

  June 1888

  When she woke up on the train and her mother told her they were almost there, Emilie was disappointed. She’d been so excited to be on board a train at last and wanted to take in every bit of the scenery the windows had to offer, but the sound and comforting movement of the train traveling over the tracks had soon put her to sleep. She glanced at Joseph and was relieved to see him asleep. Chances were he hadn’t seen more than she had and couldn’t tease her about it later.

  Emilie looked at Joseph’s brown wool pants and crisp white cotton shirt, then down at her own blue dress. They were not new but almost. Their aunt Rita had offered them the practically new outfits for their big trip to the States. Their cousins had thrown a fit over giving away their good clothes but were quickly reminded it was the charitable thing to do. Charity or not, Emilie was proud of
her blue dress. It had short sleeves, a round collar, and a white sash around the waist. It was only slightly too big and more importantly it was not brown or beige. Emilie then looked at her mother and felt pride from knowing that her own long hair was gathered up into a loose chignon, just like her mother’s. She often wished her own hair was the same light brown as her mother’s, but knowing she at least wore it in the same style was comforting enough today.

  When they arrived at the train station Emilie stood aside with her mother as Joseph helped their father carry one at a time the two large pine trunks in which fit all of their belongings. She was still amazed at how little they possessed. To pay for the trip and to get settled in Fall River, her father had sold the few animals they had left and some of the farm equipment he figured he could replace when they returned. As soon as they put the first trunk down Emilie sat on it and observed her surroundings.

  She’d never seen so many people in one place. And not one single familiar face. She couldn’t even understand what most of them said. The language they spoke was English, her father had explained, and he’d assured her that she and Joseph would learn it quickly. She caught herself smiling at a few other children who spoke French and they smiled back. She didn’t know them but their shared language was enough to make them familiar. Emilie’s father had explained that there were many families in Fall River who spoke French like them. Many even came from Rimouski or neighboring villages. She found that reassuring.

  Her brother and father put down the second trunk and her father immediately started looking around in the crowd, searching for his older sons. “Where are they?”

  “They’ll be here, Henri. Don’t worry. Oh, there comes Edouard,” Mathilde said as she looked over her husband’s shoulder. Edouard was the half-brother Emilie could remember best yet she barely recognized him. He wore a nicely trimmed beard and a three-piece suit with matching wool trousers, sack coat and waistcoat. He looked proud, yet tired. He shook his father’s hand with a formality that didn’t surprise Emilie. Yes, her romantic mind had imagined warmer greetings between a father and a son who hadn’t seen each other for over three years, yet she realized her imagination and reality rarely matched. This handshake was, after all, much more in her father’s character. “Where are the others?” her father asked Edouard.