For over an hour, mother and daughter caught up on the goings-on of the past four years. The dozen letters they had exchanged, while prized and reread until the paper grew too thin to handle, could not convey all the details of life on either side of the ocean. Bernadette listened, enraptured, to tales of Rose’s change of heart and marriage to Henri, and Elisabeth’s bakery, and the incidents with the Giroux family. Nicole smiled at her mother’s gossip about their former neighbors and the news of her older brothers, Christophe and Baptiste, now fathers themselves, with thriving farms in France.
“This will be the prettiest dress I’ve ever had!” Claudine breathed, holding up the basted-together garment and admiring herself in the mirror.
“It was nice of Monsieur Lefebvre to buy us the fabric,” Emmanuelle said, fondling the length of blue-and-gray silk brocade she had selected on their afternoon tour of town.
“You must have something nice to wear when you come visiting from the farm,” Nicole said, knowing how a gift so lavish would have turned her own head at the age of twelve.
Nicole insisted on making her sisters’ dresses at home instead of allowing Alexandre to hire a seamstress. She had missed sewing with her sisters and was anxious to reclaim at least a portion of that experience. Besides, the girls would have to sew for themselves on the new farm, as they had on the old one.
“I wish we could stay and live in town.” Claudine pouted at herself in the mirror, though the sight of her soft pink dress-to-be seemed to cheer her.
“Papa could never handle a life in town. Not even one as small as Quebec,” Nicole said as she cut the pieces for Emmanuelle’s dress. “You’ll love your beautiful new house. You won’t miss town at all.”
“Not likely,” Claudine said.
Seeing Claudine’s even stitches, Nicole had to admit that her mother’s teaching skills had not faltered in the years since she had left.
“Nothing ever happens on a farm,” Claudine complained. “Town is where the excitement is.”
“How can you say that, Claudine?” Emmanuelle, less enthusiastic about sewing, buried herself in a book she had borrowed from Alexandre. “Farms are full of life. We’d starve without them.”
“Listen to your sister,” Nicole said, arching her brow. “I’ve only met one other eleven-year-old who speaks such sense. And speaking of the sun, there it shines.”
Manon stood at the entry to the sitting room with a shy smile on her face and a thick book clutched to her chest. “I’m twelve, Maman.”
“Of course you are, but you spoke almost as much sense last year as you do now.” Nicole winked at her daughter. “Where is your fabric, sweetheart? We can baste all the dresses together by supper if we don’t dawdle.”
“I didn’t get any fabric, Maman,” Manon said. “I’m off to study. Latin examination tomorrow.”
“Your papa didn’t offer you a length of fabric along with your aunts?” Nicole asked.
Claudine and Emmanuelle snickered at being called aunts to a girl practically their own age.
“He did, Maman, but I have enough clothes. Too many, in fact. I didn’t need another dress.”
“As you wish, darling,” Nicole said. “We would have enjoyed your company, though.”
Something in Manon’s expression made Nicole’s maternal hackles raise in alarm.
“Is everything all right, sweetheart?”
“Fine, Maman. I need to study this passage before supper.”
“Give Horace my regards.” Nicole smiled at her daughter as she padded from the room.
“Imagine wanting to study that stuff instead of making dresses and having fun.” Claudine shook her head as she stitched.
“She’s a smart girl,” Nicole said. “She enjoys her studies. Speaking of which, Maman said a few more hours with a book wouldn’t do you any harm.”
Emmanuelle nodded agreement.
“Maybe, but not Latin,” Claudine said, setting the garment down. “If I’m going to read something, it better be in French. One language is enough for me.”
Emmanuelle rolled her eyes. Manon didn’t need to worry about Claudine ever staking a claim to the title of family scholar.
“May I speak with you?” Manon stood at the nursery door and spoke softly, so as not to disturb the younger children.
Hélène was already tucked into bed and Frédéric settled with his nurse.
“Of course, darling. Let’s go to your room.” Nicole extinguished the candle and blew a kiss to the sleeping Hélène.
Manon’s room was cheerful, and close to the nursery, but private, as appropriate for a girl on the cusp of womanhood. A large mahogany desk that had once been Alexandre’s dominated the space. It was covered with books and stacks of paper, each one organized in a system that only Manon understood completely. The girl sat on the edge of her bed and motioned for Nicole to do the same.
“What do you want to talk about? It has been a big week, hasn’t it?” Nicole tucked a wayward strand of hair out of Manon’s face and stroked her cheek.
“You’re happy now that your family is here, aren’t you?” Manon looked at the pattern on the wall beyond Nicole’s shoulder rather than making direct eye contact.
“Having us all together makes things complete.” Nicole patted Manon’s hand as she spoke. “Do you enjoy having them here?”
“They’re nice.” Manon’s voice rang with sincerity. “I can see why you missed them so.”
“What aren’t you telling me, Manon?” Nicole asked.
“I miss my people, Maman.” Manon managed to look at Nicole. “The Huron girls don’t consider me one of them anymore. It doesn’t feel right.”
“I’m so sorry. I could speak with Sister Hortense, arrange some visits to the Huron village. Would that help?”
“I don’t think it’s enough, Maman.” Manon’s voice was resolute, bolder now that the issue was out in the open. “I’ve turned my back on who I am. My mother—my birth mother—my grandmother, my tribe—they all deserve better from me.”
“I can’t imagine they would be anything other than proud of you. You’re accomplished in Latin and Greek, the smartest girl in your class,” Nicole said.
“And there are days when I can barely remember my native tongue.” Manon looked out her window at the starlit night. “I love living here. I don’t want to leave you, but now that you have your family, you don’t need me anymore. I should return to my own people while I still can.”
“Manon, I couldn’t bear to part with you.” Nicole rose and placed her hands on Manon’s shoulders. “You’re my daughter. You belong with me.”
“You have treated me as your own,” Manon said, “but you have a daughter, and a son, and sisters. Other people here don’t welcome me the way you do. I know that makes you sad, and you would change it if you could, but it won’t change. I see it every time we go to church, every time we’re in town. People look at me like I don’t belong.”
“I don’t care about what they think.” Nicole turned Manon around. “Do you think they’re more important to me than you are?”
“No, but it matters to me,” Manon said, her voice unwavering. “These are your people. They’re right, I don’t belong, and if I stay here much longer I won’t belong with my own people anymore, either.”
“Manon, darling—”
“Maman, that isn’t even my name. Not truly.”
Nicole sought words, but found none. The candlelight danced off her cheeks as her shoulders trembled.
“Don’t make this harder than it has to be, Maman.” Manon embraced Nicole. “I’ll always love you, but this is something I have to do.”
Nicole was helpless to hold back her tears as she shut her sitting room door behind her and found her place in the plain wooden chair Luc had gifted her at their wedding. The rustic piece of furniture looked as out of place in the feminine parlor as a fur trapper at a royal ball, but she had insisted on keeping it, nonetheless.
“Nicole, what’s the matter?” Alexand
re bounded across the room before she could speak. He walked her to their bed and held her as the sobs racked her body.
“Dearest, you must tell me what’s wrong.” Alexandre stroked Nicole’s tear-softened face.
“Manon wants to leave us.” The words were bitter on her tongue.
“For the Church?” Alexandre asked. “It was never your first choice for her, but it seems a good fit. She’s young to enter the convent still, though, isn’t she?”
“She doesn’t want to take the orders.” Nicole steadied her breath as she wiped her tears. “She wants to go back to her people.”
“Why on earth would she want that?” Alexandre’s expression looked as though Manon had announced a plan to swim the Atlantic.
“She doesn’t feel welcome here.” Nicole stood, freeing herself from Alexandre’s arms. She looked in vain for something to tidy or clean. “She feels like an outsider here. She said she always would.”
“Absurd.” Alexandre began to disrobe. “Don’t fret over that ridiculous notion. She’ll be more sensible in the morning. She just feels a bit put out with your family here. Once they’ve settled in the country all will return to the way it was.”
“I don’t think so. She spoke so forcefully.” Nicole sat on the bench in front of her mirror and brushed out her long chestnut hair to give her hands an occupation. “You know how she is. She wouldn’t say it if she didn’t mean it.”
“I’ll speak with her tomorrow, dearest.” Alexandre approached his wife and stooped to kiss her shoulder. “Regardless of how she feels, she is better off with us than anywhere else. She’s a reasonable child. I will persuade her that her place is here.”
“Please do speak with her, dear heart,” Nicole said. She had seen Alexandre’s persuasive tactics, and they were formidable.
She placed the brush on the vanity and looked into her own weary brown eyes, for once wishing she could feel more confidence in her husband’s success.
Despite Nicole’s pleas and Alexandre’s reasoning, Manon stayed steadfast in her decision to return to the Huron. Nicole tried, and failed, to keep the tears at bay as she helped the sweet girl, her eldest daughter, prepare for her departure.
“You must take the cape, Manon, I insist.” Nicole placed the folded garment of navy-blue wool back in Manon’s small bag. “You know what winter is like. I know you want to dress like your people, but I don’t want you to freeze. This may come in handy someday. I want you to keep it.”
“Very well.” Manon snapped the leather bag closed and took a last look around her bedroom.
“Please—are you sure . . .” Nicole said.
“You promised,” Manon said, gripping her bag.
“Please,” Nicole said, gripping Manon’s shoulders, “at least promise to visit?”
“I don’t think that’s wise.” Manon fidgeted with a strap on her case.
Nicole took Manon in her arms. She refused to entertain the thought that it might be for the last time. She wanted to scream at her. To wail. To plead with her to stay where she belonged. More than anything she ached to have the devoted eight-year-old child who had led her through the forest to Luc’s body back in her arms. The child who would never have dreamed of leaving her. That child was gone, however, and Nicole knew more than a little about homesickness and the yearning for family. Nicole lingered in the embrace, knowing how empty she would feel when it was over.
“You will always be my girl.”
Nicole stared at her plate and managed a couple of mouthfuls of the roasted chicken and creamed potatoes, but no more.
Around her, Claudine and Emmanuelle chirped about their afternoon in town, while Alexandre and Thomas discussed spring planting strategies. No one mentioned Manon’s absence, or seemed to mind it at all.
Only little Hélène had shed tears for her missing sister.
“Darling, eat your supper,” Bernadette chided.
Nicole placed her fork beside her plate and shot a reproachful look at her mother. “I’m not hungry.”
“You’re not upset about the native girl, are you?” Claudine asked.
“My daughter? As a matter of fact, I am. She left a few hours ago. Am I to forget her already?”
“No one said that, dear.” Bernadette continued with her meal.
Nicole stood, throwing her napkin on her plate. She took no leave of the table, but didn’t care about the breach of etiquette.
What good is being the lady of the house if I am not above the rules on occasion?
Nicole retired to her room and changed into her nightgown before she realized it was hours too early for bed. She busied herself with long-neglected yarn and knitting needles, making a massive rectangle that might evolve into a scarf or blanket that wasn’t needed, but finding a measure of solace in the occupation.
An hour later, Alexandre knocked softly at the bedroom door, a custom that made Nicole smile under other circumstances.
“Ready for bed already?” he asked. “I looked the house over for you after dinner.”
“I was in no mood for company.” Nicole cast the needles aside. The lump of knitted fabric was now twice the size of a scarf, but less than needed for a blanket of any practical size.
“I imagine not,” Alexandre said, removing his coat and placing it over his chair. He sat on the edge of the bed to remove his boots. “She made her decision, dearest. We must respect it. There’s nothing more to be done.”
“We should have tried harder, Alexandre.” Nicole looked out the glass, hoping Manon was safe. “We should have done more to make sure she knew she was wanted.”
“What more could we have done, Nicole? You raised the girl as your own, clothed her and fed her when you could ill afford it. I did what I could, as well, and she repaid us all by leaving. If I have any feelings on the subject, it’s anger and betrayal on your behalf. This was a spectacular demonstration of ingratitude.”
“It doesn’t matter now, does it?” Nicole mused, tracing the outlines of the pattern on the brocade chair. “She’s gone. I’ve lost a part of my heart.”
“You know I cared for the girl, and I am sorry for your sake, but don’t dwell on it overlong. She’s with her people, and you with yours. We have two children and will have more.” Alexandre bent down by his wife. “Not to mention two boisterous sisters, a strapping young brother, and doting parents that I imported for you.”
Nicole smiled at his concern and warmth. He was not a demonstrative man, not in his day-to-day actions, but that only made his grander gestures more meaningful when they occurred.
“I will try,” Nicole said, reaching forward to kiss him. “But it will take time.”
“If it didn’t, you would not be the woman I love.” He brushed a lock of hair from her face. “But you will heal. I’m sure of it.”
Nicole looked into the deep gray eyes of the man she loved. He was good and kind, but he would never understand her love for Manon or the debt she felt for the girl who had dragged her into the snow in hopes of saving Luc Jarvais.
CHAPTER 29
Rose
August 1671
Little Benoît nuzzled his mother’s breast, contented with a stomach full of milk, and drifted into the blissful slumber of a well-loved infant. Rose smiled down at his peaceful face, wanting to laugh at the cooing noises he made in his sleep.
She placed Benoît in his cradle and left the little nursery with all the stealth she could muster. She lifted her eyes heavenward and wished for a solid two-hour nap. If he did not sleep, he would be unbearable for Mylène. Leaving him with her, even for an afternoon, was still torture. It had been impossible at first, but she bowed to her husband’s pleas to trust the capable servant with the baby’s care for a few hours.
Rose sat in her favorite chair, pulled close to the window to take advantage of the cooling draft. She rummaged through her mending basket looking for a pair of Henri’s breeches.
Such thrilling work. Rose stretched the muscles of her neck that rebelled against her stoop
ed posture. She knew that moving from the settlement out to the homestead would isolate her somewhat, but the extent to which she missed the town and the company of Nicole and Elisabeth had surprised her. The first months on the homestead had been so busy that Rose had no time left to notice loneliness. Setting up house and preparing for the baby had taken all of her time and precious energy. Now that Benoît was growing stronger and sleeping through the night, her mind grew restless, though her body remained occupied.
The hem stitches were lazy, but they would hold.
Rose tried to invest herself in household tasks, but they did nothing to stimulate her brain the way her teaching and studying had. She had mentioned her discontent to Henri several times, but he urged her to be patient. When he became a seigneur, with land of his own, they would return to town and she could take a more active role in society. Until then, she had to be content with the life of a country wife.
Rose changed from her housedress and prepared a finer garment, left behind from her months in town. The green satin overcoat, pale pink stomacher and underskirt, and stiff petticoats felt foreign and uncomfortable now.
As a girl, she had worn such clothes for play, but with passing years she had traded satin and silk for wool and linen, just as Latin and Greek had given way to mending and dusting.
At times, Rose cursed the education that made housekeeping so monotonous, but she could never bring herself to wish it away completely. It had saved her from the drudgery in the Salpêtrière and made her a suitable wife for Henri. A simple woman would have bored him.
Rose scolded herself for not taking more interest in running her home. Hundreds of women lived less comfortably than she, without complaint. She refused to blame Henri for her ennui, though she did spare the occasional unkind thought for her father-in-law for disowning Henri because of his marriage. She would never see the man, so she could see no harm in it, and she found some secret delight in wishing him ill.
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