An Ignorance of Means

by Jennifer Oakley Denslow

  "I was long a prisoner of my body," Mathilde said. "But I have never known such deprivation as you are experiencing at Charenton."

  "My problem, Maman, is whether to hope," Catherine said. Mathilde was silent for a moment, and the two women sat down at the desk; the bench beside it wide enough for the two of them.

  "What is life without hope?" Mathilde finally said.

  "Yes, yes, that I believe. But Genevieve says that hope is dangerous, that trying to look beyond what we experience everyday will only lead to madness."

  "I suppose it can, for those who never have their hopes answered. But if your hopes are answered, you will still be sane, and you will have something else...the proof of something bigger than yourself out there."

  "The problem I am having is how to know if my hopes will be answered."

  "You do not know. What Genevieve is really warning you about is not hope, but faith."

  "What is the difference?" Catherine asked.

  Mathilde laughed as she responded, "I do not wonder that your father found you such an apt pupil. You have a genius for asking the right questions."

  Catherine blushed.

  "I believe," Mathilde said, taking Catherine's hand, "that hope still bears a seed of doubt. Faith is a belief in things unseen. Belief. You must believe that you will be delivered from the physical bondage you are experiencing, not just in the next world, but in this one."

  "Yes, I do believe it. But how long must I believe before I am delivered?"

  "Believing is only the first step. What have you done to make your liberation possible?"

  "There is nothing I can do," Catherine shrugged.

  "Really?" Mathilde stood and walked away from her daughter. "You have heard that God helps those who help themselves. What have you done?"

  "Nothing." Catherine bowed her head, ashamed because she knew that her mother was right.

  "I suggest that you look for opportunities." Mathilde's clipped advice seared Catherine's heart.

  Genevieve woke Catherine with a rough shove and whispered in her ear, "The men are here."

  Catherine, still caught up in the dream conversation with her mother, blearily sat up in the hay and leaned back on her hands, yawning. "What is it?"

  "You are going to have to move faster than that if we want to find the dress in Danielle's little nest. Wake up and follow me," Genevieve said, rising and scurrying to the pile of hay under the landing, a spot that Danielle had claimed but wasn't guarding. As the two women scuttled to the hay, kneeling on the floor to toss it until they found the dress, they heard footsteps above them.

  "You are supposed to be my lookout. Stand up and scan the room. Tell me if you see Danielle approaching," Genevieve hissed at Catherine, who popped up quickly and turned around.

  "I do not think she knows we are over here," she said, spying the other inmate furtively digging through another pile of hay for more treasures of her own.

  "Good," Genevieve said. "This will take a few minutes, though. Everything she's ever taken is under here, and it's all tangled up like a rat's nest." Genevieve continued to dig for the dress she was certain Danielle had secreted in the pile, and Catherine continued to watch. Voices drifted down from above.

  "Are they all amenable?" one deep voice asked. Catherine didn't recognize the speaker.

  "Yes, most tractable. Not a few of them are more than that. Eager, you might say." This voice Catherine did recognize. It was Brother Vincent.

  "I am not stocking a bawdy house. I want women to make wives for the hardy colonials that are making New France. Without women, the colony will not survive. How many of these can you spare?" the anonymous voice continued.

  "A dozen? Two dozen? I only have to tell Brother Jean our sisters at Soissons have taken them in, and he will be happy."

  "There must be a hundred women in here. Surely you can be more generous than that. I have room for 60 on my ship."

  Catherine listened carefully. She had no idea that the men would take so many of them at one time. She whispered to Genevieve, "They want sixty women. How many do they usually take?"

  Genevieve stopped digging. "You must have misheard. The most I've seen them take at one time is two dozen or so."

  "Where do they take them? If we are gathered up with the women Vincent chooses, we might escape when they take us outside."

  "Chained together, hand and foot? No, it's no chance to escape." Genevieve starting burrowing in the pile of clothes again.

  Catherine saw Danielle start to turn around. "I think you must find what you are digging for now. Danielle's attention is turning this way."

  Genevieve held up a bright red dress for Catherine to see and then stuffed it up her skirts. She half-whispered, "Victory! I found the garment at the bottom of the pile."

  "Then we must move quickly. Danielle hasn't seen us yet, but she is moving towards us." Catherine started to cross the room back to the little pile of hay she shared with Genevieve and her mentor followed. When they had returned to their area, Genevieve held up the dress, bright red and covered with bits of hay.

  "Red?" Catherine asked. "I don't imagine I'll be able to hide if I put that on. I'll stand out like a beacon here. Won't Danielle notice we've taken it?"

  "Look, the color is remarkable, but so is the material. The fabric is good, thick wool. Slip it over your shift. Do not worry about Danielle. Perhaps she will be one of the women the men will come for and she'll never suspect. If she isn't among the chosen, I doubt that her head will be turned by this dress—she's gathered so many treasures today." Genevieve nodded her head towards Danielle, who squatted on the pile of hay the two conspirators had lately tossed. "Do not fear her. She won't fight to get something back. As long as the dress is on your body, you and it are safe."

  Catherine pulled the dress over her head and tried to ascertain who might have worn it. The style was spare and unadorned, the texture of the fabric was a plain workaday variety. The color, though, made it unique in her experience. She had never seen a simple woman wearing this color. In fact, in her short acquaintance with the aristocracy, she had never seen a woman wearing it in the salons of the upper crust either. The red was not a sober claret or the hue of any wine she'd seen. The vibrant holly berry tint had been dulled by the dirt and hay that clung to it when it had been stuffed into Danielle's pile, but it still stood out among the wren-sober greys and browns of the other women.

  "This color means something, I think," Catherine said.

  Genevieve shrugged.

  "Do you remember who wore this dress before Danielle found it and took it for herself?"

  "I do not know," Genevieve said. "I do not think it matters."

  Catherine reflected on what life was like for Genevieve. Genevieve had created an existence that resembled a long, featureless tunnel. Behind her it was black, as if the lights along the way were extinguished as soon as she passed them. Ahead of her, it was also black. The light only illuminated enough for her to see directly in front of her, and since the tunnel had walls that would deflect her if she wandered off the path, she never did.

  The thought of spending the rest of her life in such a tunnel made Catherine shudder. To survive Charenton, she was going to have to stop feeling everything so deeply, but she knew she couldn't stop feeling everything or she might as well be dead. The dream conversation with her mother came back to her. Perhaps faith was the gift the Creator had given humans to make life worth living, even in the most repressive, terrible times.

  Catherine decided, as she smoothed the rough dress around her rapidly thinning form, that while Genevieve had been a wonderful mentor in many ways, there was one path she could never follow her down. She could never follow Genevieve through the tunnel.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Catherine and Genevieve lolled together, whispering about the histories of each of the women locked in the great room with them. Still on guard lest Danielle note the loss of her red dress, the two women stayed close together. Catherine found great p
ity for the women as she heard their stories, but Genevieve felt each woman was only an object lesson in the absurdity of hope.

  Genevieve was just relating the tale of the Baroness, a woman of indeterminate origin who had arrived only a few days before Catherine. The woman spoke no French and had been unable to communicate with anyone.

  "I have tried to teach her a few words, but she is too emotional to absorb any of the lessons," Genevieve sniffed.

  The door on the landing opened abruptly, and an unfamiliar monk strode to the railing above the women. He upended a rough sack over the edge and down flew dozens of letters.

  "Mail call," he yelled and then disappeared as abruptly as he had appeared. Dozens of women scrambled for the sheets littering the floor, and Catherine rose to join them. Genevieve pulled her back.

  "You have fallen prey to hope again, I see. What makes you think there will be something for you?" Genevieve grinned.

  "A reflex, I suppose." Catherine sat back down, but she could not stop looking at the women shuffling the papers around on the floor. Some of them found what they were looking for and quickly retired to a corner, seeking the best light to unfold the paper in their hands and read it. Some, giving up quickly, limped away in defeat.

  "If there were any letter for you, there is no guarantee that you would find it in the crowd there on the floor. You might look after most of them have given up." Genevieve continued to recline on the straw covered floor. "Of course, one of them may well have picked up any letter that has arrived for you. You know what a magpie Danielle is, and some of the others are not really aware of what they do. They simply imitate the others."

  "What an extraordinary way to deliver such personal effects." Catherine marveled at the mass of women pawing through the pile, which grew smaller and smaller as the women grabbed the missives ostensibly addressed to them.

  After a half hour, only a couple of the inmates still picked through the scant pile left on the floor, and Genevieve lept up and grabbed Catherine's hands so she had to follow.

  "We'll have a treat. Most of the ones who were pawing at the papers are gone and there are still a few letters left. We will look through them. If you do not have a letter, perhaps we will find one meant for a dead woman and read it as if it were ours."

  Genevieve's oddly light tone did not surprise Catherine, and she allowed herself to be led to the pile. They squatted before the few letters still left on the floor. Aside from the damage inflicted by their journey through the post, the letters had also been stained and crumpled from the stirring the inmates given them.

  Genevieve sifted through the letters quickly, laying aside a couple of interest to her, and pushing random envelopes away. Catherine spotted a familiar wax seal and drew the letter to her. The red wax seal bore an elaborate D, which she instantly recognized as her father's mark.

  "This one is for me," Catherine said. "I think this is from my father. I'm sure of it."

  Genevieve abandoned her desultory search and moved so she could look over Catherine's shoulder. The address read:

  Madame Catherine Drummond

  Chateau Lac d'Or

  "How did they find you here?" Genevieve wondered out loud, scanning the address herself.

  "I suppose someone was kind enough to forward it to me." Catherine closed her eyes and held the letter to her breasts, praying that there was good news within. Perhaps her father had heard of her plight? No, if he knew where she was now, he would not have written to her at Picard's estate. Maybe there was bad news? All the more reason for Robert to forward the missive. He would rejoice in any calamity she might experience, she was sure. On examination, she saw that the address was in her father's own hand, and she saw no evidence anyone had tampered with the seal.

  "Are you going to open it or are you waiting for the message to reveal itself to you by some sort of supernatural power?" Genevieve prodded.

  "Now what do you say about hope?" Catherine asked, turning the letter in her hands as if to confirm its reality.

  "Better to abstain from hope and be surprised than indulge and be disappointed."

  Catherine broke the seal and unfolded the letter. As she read it, smoothing the broad sheet to make out the words, she could hear her father's voice as if he was speaking to her.

  My dear Catherine,

  I write to you with a heavy heart. Because your mother has spent your lifetime an invalid, I know that it will not surprise you to hear that she succumbed to a sudden fever and was taken from us this last week. I hesitated to write only because I know no gentle way to break the news to you.

  "This is not news. My mother told me of her death herself less than a fortnight ago," Catherine whispered to herself. She was met with Genevieve's puzzled look and went back to reading.

  I also write because news has reached me about troubles with your new husband. Please know that every new marriage has its own obstacles to happiness and that the road to marital bliss is not always as smooth as the road your mother and I were blessed to travel. I plan to arrive at Lac d'Or soon to pay my respects to your new husband and his mother. Perhaps a conversation then will put your mind at rest.

  Catherine had to bend close in the dim light to read her father's missive. Genevieve gave up trying to read it herself and waited for her friend's report on the content. When Catherine had finished, she looked up, her face awash in puzzlement.

  "Is the news bad?" Genevieve asked. "Is it your mother?"

  "Yes, a sudden fever has taken her, but that is not unexpected."

  "Mon amie, I am surprised that you are taking the news so calmly."

  "My mother has been dying for as long as I can remember," Catherine said. Genevieve raised her eyebrows, questioning what sounded to be a harsh statement.

  "I do not mean to be dismissive, but we had said our goodbyes." Catherine did not explain how often she had communed with her mother in dreams, but addressed another topic that concerned her. "My father has heard of the troubles I had at the hands of my husband, but he seems to believe them nothing more than the rocky start of an enduring marriage. Frankly, I am puzzled where he might have heard of any discord, and who might have painted it as the charming battle of a new wife and her husband."

  "You did not tell him?"

  "None of my letters reached him," Catherine said. She did not want to detail the entire history of her efforts to contact her family. "What will he be told when he reaches Lac d'Or? I can't tell from the date on this letter when he meant to go there. He might well have already visited."

  "And do you think your husband would tell him about your internment here?"

  "No. I think it is likely Robert will tell him something that will keep him from trying to find me. Perhaps he will tell him I died."

  "And then he will have to produce a grave."

  "Only the marker," Catherine said bitterly. "I do not think I have fully illustrated the shortcomings my husband showed me during our brief marriage. I do not put such a reprehensible act beyond him."

  "It would break your father's heart to hear you had died," Genevieve said. Her voice was tender in a way Catherine had never heard. For once a story seemed to have touched the heartstrings that she was never heretofore sure Genevieve actually possessed.

  "I need to let my father know—"

  "You are making plans again? I have heard optimism defined, but if anyone ever asks me again, I will simply supply your name. I don't want to remind you that plans will only bring you heartbreak. Remember that you have no recourse to quill or paper, so there is no way to write the letter you hope to send to your father." Genevieve's voice was sharp.

  "I know you are right, but perhaps if I could smuggle a note to him—"

  "Again, you are making plans. Stop it now! Stop hoping for someone to save you and take you away from all this!" Genevieve's voice exploded, and she shook Catherine by the shoulders. "If there is no hope for me, there will be no hope for you."

  Before Catherine could reply, the door above them opened and ha
lf a dozen men in sailor's mufti burst through it. Half of them came down the steps to the right, half to the left. Their commander, apparent in word and appearance, stopped at the railing and called orders to them.

  "Find the most likely girls. The abbe said we are to have our pick of three dozen likely looking filles." From his apparel, the voice of the invasion appeared to be a captain, and he stood with feet spread, steadying himself as he might on the deck of his own vessel. "I say, prod those two trying to hide under that hay over there. They have the look of what we want to take with us."

  A squad of three men advanced toward Catherine and Genevieve, who pressed themselves further into the wall. The movement was futile as the sailors had weapons in hand and bayonets fixed on the end to encourage any reluctant women to move where the men pushed them. The two found themselves herded into a group of women as they began stumbling up the stairs.

  "Good men!" the captain called.

  Two men stationed at the bottom of the stairs counted the women who mounted the steps, thrusting their bayonets out to hold each woman until the previous had moved up and joined the crowd toiling up toward the landing.

  "When you've counted our lot, drive the others back. They would all be trying to go with us if they knew what awaited them at the other end of our journey."

  Catherine and Genevieve grabbed each other's hands and allowed themselves to be pushed up the stairs and through the door on the landing. The narrow hall they entered was not any brighter than the large room they had left, but once the mass of women was extruded into the courtyard, the light was startling. Catherine's eyes, like all the other women's, were slitted and burning, involuntary tears rolling from them as the light she had grown unaccustomed to flooded her sensitive pupils. She pulled Genevieve close to her.

  "What is happening?" she asked in a whisper. There were more men to guard them in the courtyard, and she didn't want to risk their attention.