The Meeting Place

by T. Davis Bunn

  He found himself dropping to his knees, the action coming as naturally here as it did when he knelt beside his wife before entering their bed at night. He clasped his hands together and bowed his head. Such hard, powerful hands. His wrists were thicker than Louise’s ankles. His fingers were black from digging, the shirt sticking to his chest from the recent effort. He closed his eyes, and he prayed. “My God, my God, I am such a simple, ignorant fellow. The world is so full of things I do not understand, and filling with more every day. Show me what to do. Give me the words. Give me the wisdom. Give me the strength.” He paused, then added with a catch in his voice, “I give our little Antoinette into your hands.”

  As he knelt there, Henri remembered a passage Louise had read with him the previous winter, back before the times had become so confusing. And suddenly the peace he had known through those long winter evenings, when the fire in their hearth was enough to keep the night and the world at bay, such a peace was there with him now. A peace that filled his soul so completely that there was no longer room for worry, only for the final words to his prayer, ones from the passage and from the memory, Give me a light for the darkness, a lamp for my path. Show me the way I am to go.

  Henri opened his eyes and grinned sheepishly at the little bird which had come to settle on the other end of the log bench. He noticed then that the small branch on which the bird had settled had begun to bud. A surprising occurrence, for the tree had lain there for several years. Even so, part of the roots had taken hold once more, and the branches were sprouting leaves. For some reason this gave him a great sense of confirming hope.

  As he rose to his feet, he noticed the oilskin packet tucked there beneath the branch and its new green leaves.

  Louise looked up from the letter and looked around at the three expectant faces watching hers. She was surprised at how calm she felt. It was more than simply the result of her constant fatigue, or because her nerves were worn down to passive acceptance. No. As she sat and read the letter, she knew Catherine’s suggestion was the answer to her anxious prayers. She did not care that the plan was so brave as to be almost foolhardy. This felt right.

  “Catherine wants to take my own baby and go to the doctor in Halifax. Her father is called there on official business. There will be a military escort and wagons, because they will bring back supplies. Catherine says the doctor is the best in all Acadia. He was trained in …” She looked down at the pages in her hands, the fragile leafs held without any trembling. She stumbled over the unfamiliar “Edinburgh.”

  Her mother stood there beside Jacques’s chair holding Antoinette, who was quiet for a change. Marie looked first at her husband, then at Henri. When the two men remained silent, she asked, “But how will they convince the English doctor to look at a French baby?”

  Louise glanced at her husband and father, and knew instantly that the men had been silent because they had already guessed the answer. “Catherine has offered,” she quietly replied, “to exchange babies with me for the visit.”

  Marie’s gasp was the only sound in the entire room. Louise waited for someone to object, but when the trio said nothing she went on. “She will tell her father that Elspeth has not been sleeping well and has started to fret, which is true, but she thinks it is merely the beginning of teething. She is certain her father will agree for them to come along. He has often invited her to come on one of his journeys. She refused in the past because she has never had any interest in visiting the distant towns.”

  Jacques turned to look at Henri. Louise took the opportunity to study her father. Jacques was not doing well. The afternoon sunlight had turned his eyes into caverns from which only the dimmest light seemed to glow. Jacques asked, “What do you think, Henri?”

  “If we do nothing,” Henri replied slowly, “I fear for our daughter’s— for her life.”

  “As do I.” Jacques looked at his hands upon the table. “My own illness has reminded me that death and danger lurk just beyond our immediate vision.”

  “Don’t talk such nonsense,” Marie scolded.

  Jacques looked at his wife, a quiet glance without reproof, yet enough to draw tears to Marie’s eyes. Jacques replied, “If we can help Antoinette in this way …”

  Marie brushed impatiently at her eyes. She nodded and sniffed, “Such an offer, how could we refuse?”

  “More than that,” Henri added. “How could we ever repay her?”

  Louise glanced down at the pages once more, relief swelling her heart and misting her gaze. Eventually she managed, “Catherine says she and her husband feel as though they are doing it as much for themselves as for us. This gift to us is the only answer they have found to these distressing times.”

  Chapter 24

  Catherine clutched her baby so closely that Elspeth squirmed in protest. Reluctantly Catherine’s arms relaxed. It was only for a few days. A few days and she would be back again, hopefully with an improving Antoinette. She shuddered at the thought of having her baby’s life threatened by illness. Poor Louise. Her friend had suffered so over the past months. Never knowing from one day to the next if her baby would remain with her, or if there would be a tiny grave dug beyond the orchard.

  Catherine lifted a corner of the blanket to take a peek at her daughter, then leaned to press a kiss to the smooth forehead. “I shall miss you,” she whispered. “I will miss you more than you’ll ever know. But we must do this. We must. We cannot let Antoinette die.”

  Catherine moved on. She was almost to the meadow. She prayed that the other mother would not keep her waiting, yet at the same time she hoped for more time with her own baby girl. Even so, each additional moment would just increase the difficulty of the parting.

  Louise was there, pacing back and forth before the fallen log. Her eyes were red rimmed. The tiny bundle in her arms was clutched tightly to her heart.

  “I may never see her again,” Louise whispered.

  “Nonsense,” Catherine denied, her voice more confident than she felt. “It is only a few days until I will be back, and with Antoinette much improved. You’ll see. God would not have planted this idea in Andrew’s heart for it to come to naught.”

  “She has weakened further in the past few days,” Louise said with trembling lips. “She might not survive the trip.”

  “I shall care for her as if she were my own,” Catherine promised.

  “How can I ever, ever repay you? To risk taking my baby to an English doctor, to leave your own baby behind.”

  “I know that you will care for her as if she were your own, as well,” Catherine said, but her arms tightened around her now sleeping daughter.

  “I will,” nodded Louise. “I will. But—”

  “No more arguments. We must do this. It is the only way to help Antoinette.”

  Louise drew the shreds of her composure about her like a cloak of strength. “Tell me about Elspeth. What does she like for comfort?”

  Catherine looked lovingly at the baby that stirred in her arms. “Mostly her father,” she said with a forced smile. “I’m afraid he spoils her some. She delights in having him lean over her crib and tickle her toes or talk silly baby talk.” Her eyes threatened to spill over again, but she forced herself to continue. “She does like being bounced when she is fussy—she is working on some teeth now. And she likes to chew my finger. Or a bit of cloth wet with cold water. Or the silver ring, like the one I gave you.”

  Louise nodded. “I will remember.”

  “She also loves to hold a corner of that soft fur Henri made for her. Does Antoinette have one?”

  Louise nodded with a wobbly smile.

  “And Antoinette?”

  “She has been far too ill to express preferences.” Louise’s hand lifted to stroke the fevered cheek with the back of her fingers. “Do you know, I still have not seen her smile.”

  Catherine could not imagine Louise’s pain. No smiles. Why, Elspeth had been blessing their home with smiles and coos for months.

  “She will soon be smil
ing,” Catherine assured her. “You’ll see.”

  Louise wiped at tears again. “We must hurry,” she said, but with no indication of releasing her baby.

  “Yes,” agreed Catherine. “If we are found out …” But she would not say it. Would not even think it. They must not be discovered. For the sake of Antoinette. Catherine took a shaky breath and said, “We must pray.”

  Louise looked up. “Of course. We must pray.”

  They knelt together in the softness of the meadow grasses, each holding close the treasure they cherished the most. Each aware of their need of a God far greater, far more powerful, far wiser, far more in control of a world raging about them than either of them could ever be.

  As they knelt, their trembling voices lifted in prayer, asking that God be with each of them in their hour of personal need. To be with their babies, each entrusted to the other. To be with the men whose lives they shared. Good men. Strong men—but men at the mercy of their times. To be with their countrymen, French and English alike, trembling on the brink of disaster.

  When they arose, their faces shone with a fresh sense of strength. Of assurance. God had met with them. They felt His presence. Whatever lay before them, they felt confident that He would see them through.

  Reluctantly, they each placed a final kiss upon the brow of their own baby, then tucked each precious girl in the other’s blanket. Catherine turned away with a lump in her throat, hoping to muffle her sobs until out of hearing of her friend.

  “Oh—I almost forgot,” said Louise fumbling in her pocket. “The vicar asks your husband to remember what he said when they met, something about the Good Samaritan. And Henri has written you and Andrew a letter.”

  Catherine accepted the single sheet, hardly able to see through the tears in her eyes.

  It was written in a crude, childlike scrawl. Catherine needed to study it to make out the French words. It was plain that Henri did not spend much of his time writing.

  Louise, looking over Catherine’s shoulder, traced her finger along the letter’s final line and read aloud, “When the world is not as God would have it, it is a double blessing to have friends such as you.”

  Catherine swallowed over the lump in her throat. Andrew, too, would be touched by the message. “Thank him from us both,” she whispered.

  Louise nodded. Without further word the two exchanged a onearm embrace, careful of the two babies cradled between them.

  Catherine could not resist reaching out a hand to Antoinette’s blanket, the one which now covered her Elspeth. “Take care of my baby,” she pleaded. “Take care of my Elspeth.”

  Then she turned and almost ran down the path leading from the meadow.

  Louise stood transfixed, her eyes on Catherine’s retreating figure. It was beyond her to understand such sacrificial devotion. She shifted Elspeth in her arms and was rewarded with a sleepy smile as the baby stirred.

  “I will,” she whispered. “With my very life if need be. I promise.”

  She lifted her eyes to see Catherine’s form swallowed up by the tall dark pines. “And you … I know that you will care for my Antoinette. You would not have offered this if you would not.”

  Weeping, she turned toward her own trail home. She felt a tug as a small hand reached up to grasp the ribbons of her bonnet. Her tearful eyes turned to the baby she held. So healthy. So plump. So content in her arms. If only she could see her own Antoinette looking so. It would be a miracle, an answer to her most earnest prayers. “You are beautiful,” she whispered to the child. “No wonder your mama loves you. I love you too. Almost as though you were my own.” Elspeth answered with a cooing smile.

  Due to leave at six in the morning, Catherine gladly would have left earlier. She had not slept well. Her heart was heavy with longing for her child. Antoinette did not ease the longing, even as Catherine held her close and tried to coax her to nurse. The baby just whimpered and turned away. Catherine endured added discomfort. Elspeth had always nursed so hungrily.

  Andrew’s sleep was also disturbed by the whimpering baby. She seemed too weak to cry lustily, but her mewing was enough to leave them both restless and wakeful. What if she truly cannot survive the trip? Catherine found herself thinking. She had promised Louise. Had she made that promise foolishly? The baby was so weak. So sickly. Watching the frail little one filled Catherine with deep concern. Let’s be going, she wanted to call into the early dawn. We have no time to waste. The baby needs help now.

  The two-wheeled conveyance carrying her father arrived promptly at six, as Catherine knew it would, along with two other carts and an armed troop.

  Catherine clung to Andrew, wishing with all her heart that he was going with her. But when he put in his request to the general to make the journey, he had been turned down point-blank.

  Andrew lifted her chin and looked into her eyes. “It will be all right,” he whispered. “Just keep the blankets close about her face.”

  “But what if Father—?”

  “He won’t. You know what little interest he has shown in our child. Besides, he will be much too busy minding the team. And once you arrive in Halifax, his hours will be spent with his duties.”

  “But what if she …” Catherine could not say the word, but she knew Andrew understood.

  “You mustn’t even think of that,” he said softly. “In just a few days you will have her safely in the doctor’s care.”

  “And if the doctor isn’t able to help?”

  “He is said to be the best there is, as good as anyone in London. He must have something to help her.”

  A querulous voice startled them both. “Well, well, if it isn’t the lady of the forest.”

  Catherine moved away from her husband’s embrace to face Matty Dwyer, the sharp-faced drover’s wife. Before she could think of how to respond, the woman said, “Been taking more of those walks of yours, have you? And this time with the baby.”

  Catherine felt the breath freeze in her throat. Fortunately, her father was busy with the drovers, including the woman’s own husband, and not paying any mind to their conversation.

  “Uncommon strange it is, how a mother would take a newborn up into the forest like that.” Matty Dwyer’s eyes seemed gripped by fever, the way they burned and probed. “Makes a body wonder, it does.”

  “There’s nothing to wonder about,” Andrew said, using as sharp a tone as Catherine had ever heard from him.

  “Yes, wonder why a mother would risk her child like that,” the woman said, ignoring Andrew. She turned away and tossed over her shoulder, “I imagine other folks might wonder who it is she’s been in such an all-fired rush to speak with. And why.”

  Catherine stared after the woman, her heart squeezed by the sudden fright. Only when Matty Dwyer had moved behind her husband’s wagon did Catherine bury her face against Andrew’s jacket and cling to him. “What are we to do?” she whispered.

  “Exactly as we are doing now,” Andrew said. Anyone else would think the man remained utterly untouched by the confrontation. But Catherine could hear the trace of concern, even as he attempted to hide it from her. “We must remember our mission here.”

  “I’m so afraid.”

  “Be strong, for us, for Elspeth, for Antoinette. And hurry back,” she heard him whisper. “I am going to be so lonely until I get my two girls back home again. I am almost glad I’ve been called off to Annapolis Royal.”

  “Annapolis Royal? But you’ve said nothing.”

  “Word came last eve, by dispatch.” He glanced at the baby. “You have been so worried I was not sure whether I should tell you at all.”

  “No, no, you did right.” But she could not help her feeling of distress, as though somehow he was abandoning them. “Must you go?”

  “The general signed the orders. I am to leave at first light tomorrow.” He ran a hand over Elspeth’s blankets that now bundled Antoinette. “I shall miss you terribly.”

  “Did they say why?”

  “The summons said nothing furthe
r, only that I am ordered to muster my troops and appear. But I’m quite sure to be home again before you.”

  Catherine held him tighter still. “Do be careful.”

  “It is you going on the perilous journey.” He looked down at her with a grave smile. “I will be counting the days. I will miss you—both of you—so much.”

  Yes. Yes, it would be hard for Andrew. He would miss leaning over the small crib and watching his daughter respond with chortles and squeals of delight at seeing him. He would miss giving her rides on his polished boot. Letting her tug at his mustache, wrap tiny fingers in his hair. Yes, he would miss them both.

  Catherine pushed herself back. Her father was anxious to be on the trail. They had a long way to go. She heard the horses of the accompanying soldiers stomping in impatience. She must go. She must. “Pray for me,” she whispered.

  Andrew nodded.

  “And I will pray for you. Every day. Every mile of the way,” Catherine promised and with one last look into his eyes she turned toward the clumsy cart.

  They had fashioned a seat of pine boards, padded only by a heavy moose-hide throw. It would not help much with the sharp jolts and jars, but it was a place to sit and hold Antoinette as the heavy cart rumbled its way over the rugged bushland trail.

  Andrew helped her to settle herself, spoke a quiet greeting to John Price, and squeezed her arm with one final good-bye. Catherine’s father flicked the reins, and the conveyance jerked into motion. As they started up, Catherine turned from a final wave to Andrew to see Matty Dwyer standing on the trail’s opposite side, her arms folded across her chest, watching intently as the wagons rolled off. Catherine turned. She had no time for the woman’s prying ways. Not then. She fought to control her tears as her thoughts traveled to her infant daughter. Did Elspeth have the same feelings, sleeping in another cradle? Did she look about her at strange faces—the unfamiliar room—and wonder what had happened to her world?