The Meeting Place

by T. Davis Bunn

  Catherine forced the thoughts aside. God was with her baby, with all of them. There was a duty to be done. The baby in her arms needed medical attention. She would do her best to see that the little one got the help she needed—in time.

  She lifted the infant to her shoulder and brushed a kiss against the hot little face. Please let us hurry. Please, let us get there with no delays, she pleaded silently.

  Her father stood stoutly before her, his legs braced wide against the roll and pitch of the cart. The driver of the lead wagon was not hurrying the team. Good sense demanded that they travel cautiously. But her father would make certain they would not dawdle. Catherine knew him well enough to be sure of that fact. Unless something totally unforeseen happened, they would arrive in Halifax precisely as planned. For Catherine, it could not be too soon.

  “Look at her. She is a little pig,” chuckled Louise as Elspeth nursed hungrily.

  Henri smiled. “No wonder she is so round,” he responded.

  “And several pounds heavier than our Antoinette,” Louise added.

  “Our little girl will soon catch up. When she comes home—this one better be on her guard. Our Antoinette will soon make her look like the runt of the litter.”

  Louise smiled. It was exhilarating to think about Antoinette returning strong and healthy. But she sighed when she thought of the long, long way to Halifax. Henri, who had once visited the market there, had drawn a crude map in the dust of the garden path to show which way their baby would travel. Louise tried not to fret as the time passed and the distance grew greater and greater between her and her child. Would Antoinette travel safely all the way there and all the way back? Thoughts she tried to shield against continued to stab her heart. What would happen if she did not endure the trip? Would her baby be buried beside the trail in some remote part of the forest? And if she were, what then? What would become of Henri and her? How would Catherine explain that she could lose a baby—yet still have a baby in her cradle? Would Catherine be churched, as she had once feared? What would happen to Andrew’s career as a military man?

  Louise again pushed all of the troubling thoughts aside as Elspeth pulled away from her nursing. Milk dribbled down one side of her mouth, and Louise couldn’t help but laugh as she wiped it away with a corner of the blanket. A loud burp escaped the small child even before Louise could lift her to a shoulder. The young woman laughed again outright. Elspeth responded with a giggle of her own.

  The soft sound brought tears to Louise’s eyes. Was this what it was like to have a healthy child? Was this what she could one day enjoy? If Catherine brought her this gift of joy, of peace from troubled nights and long, anxious days, it would be far more than she would ever be able to repay. Louise closed her eyes, pretending for one moment that it was Antoinette who squirmed happily in her arms.

  It was going to be so hard to wait.

  Chapter 25

  The thought that Catherine came back to again and again throughout the four long days of travel was God’s hand is on this journey.

  The little baby did surprisingly well. There were times when she whimpered and squirmed as the wagon bounced over boulders, or the team of horses slipped and struggled through muddy bogs. Though the baby was so fragile looking, with dark circles under her eyes, Antoinette seemed to be holding up well. Catherine checked often, feeling her forehead for fever, passing a finger lightly over the little head’s soft spot to watch for dehydration, coaxing the child to nurse, if only a few drops of nourishing liquid. Antoinette’s dark eyes seemed to study Catherine carefully, no doubt puzzled about the change of face bending over her.

  Hour after hour the wagon jounced and pitched on the rough trail, climbing ever higher through great trees which stood like ghostly sentries above unseen cliffs. Catherine prayed over the little one, watching Antoinette and stroking the fine dark hair, the smooth cheek.

  John Price seemed little concerned with the baby’s presence. Having never paid the child much mind, here on the trail he seemed to have even less time for his granddaughter. He remained preoccupied with his papers, which he continually perused. Eventually growing impatient with their slow progress, he barked at the sergeant major, urging them to greater speed.

  Throughout the third day of travel, the summer fog did not lift, but rather condensed and settled more firmly. That evening, as Catherine moved away from the fire and began to nurse the baby, she realized just how isolated she had become. God seemed very far away just then. All the growth and strength she had sensed within herself vanished in a cloud of fatigue and confusion.

  She longed for her little Elspeth. The pain was so sharp she had to bite her lip to keep from crying. She searched the night but saw only drifting tendrils of silvery mist and trunks huge as temple pillars and shrouded by dark. What am I doing here? How could I have ever thought to leave my baby behind and take to the road with someone else’s child?She heard the sentry’s steady footsteps count a circle around their gathering, listened to the soldiers talking quietly by the fire, and turned her back to them all so they would not hear her weeping.

  But the next morning, when she awoke before the others to a world of green and a sky of sweeping blue, she herself felt reborn. They had made camp upon a high knob, surrounded by stony peaks and forest valleys of emerald green. The night’s fears seemed as distant as nightmares from her childhood. She looked down at the pale and silent Antoinette, and felt a sudden welling of love. It was not the same as for her own Elspeth. No, but it felt like God was using this journey to create new space in her heart, a space intended to hold even more love than before, a love for this needy little child.

  Henri leaned over the crib and chuckled as the little face immediately blossomed into a delighted laugh. “She is a cheerful one, isn’t she?”

  Louise moved over to stand beside her husband. “She is that.”

  He glanced at his wife. “This is hard for you, no? Seeing healthy Elspeth here, the one who is not your own.”

  “In a way, yes. I miss Antoinette so.” Louise reached out and allowed the tiny waving fist to attach itself to one finger. “Yet I feel as though I am looking after my own sister’s child.”

  Even so, as she reached down into the crib and bundled up the infant, Louise felt a hollow ache for the child who belonged there. Please, dear Lord, make my baby well. But all she said was, “Time for the little one’s next feeding.”

  Henri reached up, and with a movement of surprising gentleness for all his strength, he brushed a lock from Louise’s face. “You are a good woman. Better than I should ever deserve.”

  She made to laugh, though at the moment it would take some effort. “Do you see how she feeds? Never have I seen one as hungry as Elspeth.”

  But Henri’s gaze was soft and open and only for his wife. “I do not know why the Lord decided to bring us together,” he murmured. “But I thank Him every day for the gift of you.”

  The longing of her heart gradually eased, as though she heard not just the words her husband spoke, but rather another voice speaking along with his. One so filled with love she could not help but accept the gift of peace. She settled the nursing baby more comfortably and asked, “Would you pray with me for our baby?”

  Catherine had never known anything like the city of Halifax. Although it was less than five years old, already it was so large it could have swallowed a dozen Edwards and scarcely have noticed. The hills rising along three sides were all ugly and scarred where the forests had been felled for timber. The houses and the fort and the raised plank sidewalks all seemed to have explodedfrom the earth. There was such a frenetic energy it almost frightened her.

  And the noise. The air was filled with banging and hammering and shouting. And dust. The streets were packed with regiments of soldiers marching and stamping and snapping their weapons to their shoulders and then pounding them back into the earth at their feet. They and the countless wagons and the horses and the mules all threw up so much dust she carried a handkerchief before her face an
d covered the baby’s face with gauze as she hurried along the wooden sidewalks.

  Neither the noise, nor the dust, nor the strangeness bothered little Antoinette at all. That first day the doctor had given Catherine an elixir that had seemed to ease the infant’s distress almost instantly. Since then the child had spent most of her hours either eating or sleeping. Whenever she awoke, her expression seemed one of surprise at the freedom from pain. Catherine knew the baby could not remember such things, yet she could not help feeling that the child was not disturbed by the outer clamor simply because the greater internal suffering had finally been eased.

  But the imprint of her earlier distress was still visible. The baby was far too small for her age. That very morning, the doctor had warned her as gently as he could that the child might not ever fully recover. She had suffered much, and her body might be permanently weakened, he had explained, urging Catherine to take special care and keep her sheltered. Catherine had stammered out her thanks, aching from the thought of having to convey this news to Louise. But at least the baby seemed genuinely to be on the mend, especially after this morning’s second visit, when the doctor had expressed satisfaction with little Antoinette’s immediate progress. It seemed that she had responded to the medicine he had given. It had been very startling to hear this man refer to this baby as her own. But as she had walked the sidewalk back toward their inn, Catherine found herself looking at the baby anew. As though somehow having the doctor call her Elspethhad drawn the two of them closer together. Wrapped another bond around them, tightening the cords which Catherine now believed would hold them together for life, no matter how far apart they might be, no matter how different Antoinette’s future might be from that of her own child.

  As she approached the inn’s entrance, Catherine jumped at the sound of cannon booming in the distance. Either from the sound or from her reaction, the baby began to cry. Catherine cast a glance out to where the rock-lined harbor spread in the distance, so crammed with ships it was hard to even count their numbers. Those coming or going could not maneuver under their own sail. Instead, they were towed out by men bending over the oars of smaller gunboats.

  Stepping inside, Catherine asked the inn’s day-clerk, “Is it usual to see so many ships at anchor?”

  “Oh no, ma’am. Especially not this late, not after the spring convoy arrives.” The young man looked out the front window with a keen yearning to his pinched gaze. “No, there’s something up, you mark my words. I’m thinking of joining the forces, make a name for myself in the fighting. Earn myself some good land, as they say.”

  Catherine’s nervous smile of thanks was lost upon the young man, whose gaze remained fastened upon the harbor and the ships. She could not suppress a shiver of fear as she climbed the narrow stairs to her room. This place and its noise and its constant call of battle was certainly not for her. The sooner her father finished with his mysterious business and they could return to Edward, the better.

  Chapter 26

  The fort of Annapolis Royal had never looked more foreboding.

  Andrew stared at the numerous regimental standards flying from the towers and ramparts. The martial air was heightened by the cracking of muskets in target practice and the squadrons dressed for regimental inspection shining and sweating in the afternoon sun. A second line of sentries stationed out beyond the fort’s main gates seemed like harbingers of the news he feared to find inside. Andrew found himself tense and worried long before the inner gates were reached.

  Trumpets sounded within the fort. Andrew and his men were forced to step aside as a mounted troop galloped past. Andrew recognized the officer in charge, an outpost adjutant as he had once been himself. Andrew called out, “What news?”

  The officer turned to him, gave a salute of recognition, and grinned with such fierceness Andrew felt his blood chill. The man shouted back, “War!”

  Andrew gathered himself as best he could and signaled his men onward. He turned in his saddle as their horses clip-clopped across the wooden drawbridge. The men who followed were as dusty and weary as he. Still, he felt obliged to order, “Button your tunic, Corporal. You men, dress that line. All right, show some pride, the general’s eyes are upon you.”

  The words were rote, a warning passed through countless generations of colonial soldiers arriving at the main garrison. Only today it happened to be true. General Whetlock was indeed standing by the parade ground’s flagpole, addressing a group of officers.

  Andrew slipped from his horse, tossed the reins to the standard-bearer, and hurried across the dusty ground. The general noted his arrival with, “Ah, Harrow. You made it, then. Any trouble along the road?”

  He snapped off his best salute. “No, sir. Why? Should there be?”

  A murmur ran through the line of officers, not quite a chuckle. Yet Randolf Stevenage was not the only one to sneer in Andrew’s direction. Andrew ignored them as best he could. He knew officers here at the main garrison were prone to consider soldiers stationed at outlying forts as scarcely better than colonials.

  The general cut into his thoughts with, “You haven’t heard the latest, then.”

  “We’ve been riding hard for two days, General. We haven’t seen a soul on the road.” Which in itself was exceptional for that time of year. Not a drover, not a cart, not a French trader, not a single person.

  “Join me in my quarters.” The general turned back to the gathering and continued, “You men have your orders. Any questions?”

  There was a chorus of “no sirs” in response. The general nodded. “Very well. Carry on.”

  Andrew went back and directed his men to decamp and see to their mounts. He then turned to follow the general indoors. He was initially glad to see Randolf Stevenage mount up and ride away at the head of another troop. But Stevenage paused by the main gates to shoot Andrew a look of pure triumph, a very disconcerting signal from the man at the best of times. Now, when the fort was full of shouting and trumpets and standards and dust and men, it caused Andrew the greatest of unease.

  “Come in, Harrow, come in.” From beneath his bushy white eyebrows, the general tossed Andrew a penetrating glance, one which whispered a warning to Andrew’s heart. This was as disturbing as the fort’s martial air, for the general had long been a friend of the Harrow family.

  Andrew maintained a formal stance as the general unbuckled his belt and handed it to his aide. “We are still awaiting the regimental officers from Port St. John, and a few—”

  A second aide knocked on the door. “Begging your pardon, sir. Colonel Lewis and his men just rode in.”

  “Have them join us immediately.” The general unfurled a large map of Acadia upon his desk as he waited. Andrew felt a pang of unspoken danger as he spotted regimental numbers scrawled along both shorelines of his beloved Cobequid Bay. The general studied the map as he asked, “What was the status of your region when you left, Harrow?”

  “Peaceful, sir. May I ask—”

  “All in due course. How many men did you leave at the fort?”

  “Scarcely two dozen, ten of them on the sick list with influenza. But my orders were to report here with the strongest contingent possible. Sir—”

  The clump of heavy boots cut him off, and he turned to greet six men in dusty uniforms. The senior officer led them in, saluted the general, and said, “Colonel Thomas Lewis reporting as ordered, sir.”

  “Excellent. Gentlemen, you know Captain Harrow, I presume.” There were nods all around. “Right. I suppose you also have not heard the latest news. No, of course not. Well, not all of it is bad. Let us get the worst out of the way first. Gentlemen, I regret to inform you that General Braddock has been killed in action.”

  There was a murmur of disbelief about the room. General Braddock, a legend in his own time, was a man of great military bearing with a string of victorious battles to his credit. General Whetlock continued. “Ten days ago there was a battle at Monongahela. The general led an expeditionary force, some of the men seasoned troops f
rom England, the rest colonials from the south, conscripted and rather ill-trained. They were met by eight hundred French regulars, reinforced by an uncounted number of Indians.”

  The number was staggering. Andrew’s fort at full contingency held merely sixty men, and with that he was expected to cover a territory stretching four days’ ride in every direction. Eight hundred regular soldiers was half as many as the British army had to control all of Acadia.

  “The British goal was Fort Duquesne,” the general continued. “I regret to say they never made it. They were forced to withdraw and took heavy losses. General Braddock fell while directing their retreat.”

  There was a moment’s stunned silence before Colonel Lewis said, “Begging your pardon, sir. How heavy?”

  “Our losses were—well, quite heavy indeed.” The general’s cheeks fluttered with his sigh. “We lost upward of five hundred men. The French lost twenty-three.”

  Surreptitiously, Andrew scanned the other faces in the room, noting a growing and bitter desire for revenge. He shook his head, only a fraction, wishing there were something he could say, something he could do to halt the momentum building toward catastrophe.

  “The other news is better.” General Whetlock attempted to gather himself and put on a more positive face. “A second force, this one of navy and marines out of Halifax, has attacked and successfully defeated Port Royal. Which means that the French no longer have sea access anywhere along the Bay of Fundy.”

  But which also meant that the army’s defeat only looked worse in these officers’ eyes, Andrew realized. Colonel Lewis’s tone grated harshly as he said, “Your orders, General?”

  “Yes. Quite right. On to the future.” General Whetlock took in the map and the entire province of Acadia in one broad sweep of his hand. “Gentlemen, yesterday the senior officials of French Acadia were gathered in Halifax. They will not be allowed to leave.”