More and more, though, she thought about Vérité’s—Pauline’s—predictions for her future in New France. The dilapidated house, removed from society, a husband half-gone savage, bearing child after child until her body wore out, and complete and utter boredom through it all. Pauline had missed many key details—Rose’s husband was genteel and her home was comfortable, at least by colonial standards, but the loneliness and boredom . . . In that, at least, Pauline had been correct.
Henri entered the room, sweating from the exertion of a day on horseback under the August sun. He removed his soaked chemise and washed his torso with Rose’s dampened cloth.
“How are your holdings, Seigneur?” Rose asked with a teasing grin.
He approached her from behind, pressing his bare chest against her linen shift and kissing her neck, left exposed by her upswept hair.
“Perfectly well, Dame Lefebvre. Though not mine . . . Neither are we Seigneur and his lady—yet.”
“Soon, I hope,” Rose said, tilting her head, inviting more.
“You’re so beautiful,” he said, his breath soft on her neck as he kissed it again.
“Thank you, sweet husband of mine,” Rose said. “You ought to dress so we aren’t late.”
“What if I don’t care that we’re late?” He turned her around to face him and pulled her body close to his. He bent down and kissed her—slow, passionate, probing on her waiting mouth.
She welcomed his embraces now, and since Henri knew the source of her occasional apprehension, he knew when and how to give her space on the rare instances where she needed it.
Henri deepened the kiss as she wrapped her arms around his neck as a signal that she was willing. Too eager for the bed, he freed himself from his breeches, lifted her against the wall, and raised her shift, entering her when his probing fingers felt the least amount of wetness. A dozen thrusts and he climaxed. Breathing labored, he picked her up and carried her the five strides to the chair in the corner of the room that he used to pull on his boots in the mornings. He cradled her in his lap and stroked her mussed black curls.
“Sorry, my darling. I’ll give you your chance later.”
“No need to apologize, beloved,” Rose said, nuzzling the sweet, musky-scented curve of his neck. “I missed you today, too.”
“You’re unhappy, aren’t you?” he asked.
“I miss town,” Rose said. She knew that telling the truth would hurt him less than withholding it. “I miss the girls. I miss the people.”
“I wish I could promise that we could move back soon, but you know I can’t.”
“Don’t fret,” she said. “I just have to find happiness here. You’ve done nothing wrong.”
“I can’t help but think you would have been better off with someone who could provide you with more than this.” He gestured to their small, plainly furnished room.
In many ways the move to the country had been even harder for Henri than for Rose. She had learned to live in meager conditions before. He had not.
“If you had never come along, I’d be Sister Marie-Rose by now.” She cast a violet-blue gaze into his hazel one. “Teaching Latin to native girls and scrubbing the floors when Sister Mathilde wasn’t looking. Don’t ever apologize for saving me.”
Rose settled into the plush chair in Nicole’s parlor, allowing her muscles to relax in the absence of a screaming baby demanding her attentions. Three stitches into her embroidery, she stiffened, expecting Benoît’s cries to summon her away from her work. He’s with Mylène. He’s well and safe. Relax and enjoy your time away.
While Rose embroidered and Nicole knitted, Elisabeth stared at the Lefebvres’ parlor wall. Rose peered over her shoulder to the spot that had her friend so transfixed. It was as handsome a wall as Rose had ever seen, but there was nothing particular that ought to have captivated Elisabeth.
“I thought at least a spider might be crawling up the wall, the way you stare,” Rose remarked.
“Just ignore me,” Elisabeth said, reaching for her cup of cider. “Try though we might, we can’t supply the people with the bread they want at the prices Duval claims we must.”
“You can’t keep this up,” Nicole said. “You’ll make yourselves ill.”
“I don’t see what choice we have,” Elisabeth said. “We owe your husband the earth and Gilbert is too proud to give up on the shop and try something else. Not to mention, the very idea breaks my own heart.”
“You won’t have to, I’m sure,” Nicole said. “And don’t worry about the money. As Alexandre always says, ‘It’s never wise to be shortsighted with a long-term investment.’”
“More important, have there been any developments with Gabrielle?” Rose asked. The memory of the girl clinging to life, her pale skin indistinguishable from the bleached sheets, haunted her still.
“Would that God had sent Father Cloutier into oblivion instead of into our lives. And the wretched bailiff along with him.” Elisabeth’s blue eyes flashed.
Rose reached over and took her hand. “You of all people don’t deserve the foul man’s attentions,” Rose said.
“I’d wager my favorite knitting needles he’s been sent here to the very edge of civilization because no one wanted him back home,” Nicole said.
Elisabeth nodded a weak chuckle, but Rose’s hand clapped to her mouth.
“You’re a genius, Nicole,” Rose said, rubbing her temples in thought.
“Naturally,” Nicole chortled, “but what have I done to demonstrate my mental prowess this time?”
“We need to get Father Cloutier transferred—and far away, too,” Rose said. “Heaven knows a personal vendetta against a good family like the Beaumonts does the settlement no good. The bailiff doesn’t matter; he’s just the priest’s henchman. If we cut off the head, the hand won’t be of much use.”
“How on earth can we manage such a thing?” Elisabeth asked. “The bishop would be unlikely to have an audience with us, let alone act on our request. Chances are, the bishop would just support old Cloutier and leave us to our own devices.”
“You’re not wrong,” Rose said. “We can’t be so direct. We must go through the governor. He’s the only one with any influence at all over the bishop.”
“Alexandre has said time and time again that the governor wants nothing to do with these sorts of domestic matters,” Nicole said, setting aside her knitting. “Though the issue of a priest involving himself in commerce might not please him.”
“I’m not sure he needs to know the details,” Rose said. “All he needs to know is that it would please the lovely Madame Lefebvre, wife of Seigneur Lefebvre, and things may fall into place.”
“Do you really think he would listen to me?” Nicole asked. “And how would I contrive a reason to meet with him?”
“Oh, I think he’ll listen to you,” Rose said. “Especially if his mood is softened by good food and music. You must host a ball.”
“Alexandre has been harping that we ought to have one, though I was thinking of waiting until autumn,” Nicole said, sitting back in her chair, the guest list, menu, and linen inventories all but printed on her forehead. Not quite the shy farm girl from Rouen anymore, are you? Rose smiled at the confidence.
“Give me three weeks,” Nicole said. “We’ll have him gone, or we’ll have thrown a magnificent party for no purpose. We’ll be no worse off than before in either event.”
For the last half of September, Rose and little Benoît all but took up residence in town. They stayed with Nicole and Alexandre to help Nicole prepare for the ball.
Elisabeth and Gabrielle helped, too, as often as the bakery could spare them, which usually meant when Gilbert and Pascal were tending the ovens mid-morning. Henri came, too, when the demands of running the estate permitted.
Days of linen pressing, menu planning, wardrobe gathering, and planning each minute detail had left Nicole crazed, but Rose’s calming influence kept her in check. One afternoon, four days before the ball, Rose stood to stretch her back, stif
f as starched cotton from too many hours hemming napkins following too many other days penning invitations in her finest script. Rose feared the blue ink would never fade from her fingers.
Parisian society ladies had linens, china, silver, and crystal stocked neatly in armoires, ready for shining, ironing, and polishing by their massive household staffs. Nicole had settings to entertain twenty to thirty guests, but a ball for a hundred or more was beyond her stores. They had to purchase, borrow, and make the rest in the short time they had allotted themselves.
Rose was about to force herself back to her hemming when a commotion from the entry drew her attention. She and Nicole left the parlor to find Henri, Alexandre, and Thomas Deschamps engaged in a frantic conversation.
“No idea which direction they went?” Alexandre asked.
“None,” Thomas said. “I followed the tracks as far as I could, but I know they headed west for a little while.”
“I’d wager they headed into town,” Henri said. “I’m surprised we didn’t see them on the way.”
Alexandre nodded. “Seems most likely.”
“Will someone explain what’s going on?” Nicole asked.
“Your fool sisters have taken the horse and wagon and taken off,” Thomas said, temper rising in his cheeks. “I’ll take a whip to them when we find them.”
“As Henri says, they’re probably coming here,” Rose offered. “Claudine hasn’t stopped talking about the town since she arrived on the farm.”
Rose had come to know Nicole’s family well, since they were her closest neighbors. She agreed that Claudine was too impetuous, but the girl’s independent spark had also endeared her to everyone. However, bookish Emmanuelle was Rose’s favorite.
“We must organize and search our way back toward the homestead,” Alexandre said. “I hope they haven’t broken a wheel or lamed a horse.”
“Or run into the natives. Bernadette is ill at the thought,” Thomas said, his face grim.
Rose wished to contradict him, remembering her sweet-faced pupils and wonderful Manon, but she held her tongue. Abductions did happen, and two unescorted girls could run into trouble on their own.
They split into three search parties, two people each: Nicole with her father, Rose with Henri, and Alexandre with a servant, each equipped with horses, wagons, and routes to search.
“We’ll meet back here in four hours, whether we find the girls or not,” Alexandre said. “If you find them, bring them here and send riders to find the other teams. The servants have instructions to do the same, should the girls show up here in the meantime.”
Rose nodded. Her uncle-in-law had a plan for everything. That afternoon, however, no one begrudged his abilities to manage a situation.
For the first hour, as they drove the northern route, Rose scanned the roadside and kept her thoughts as positive as she could. However, she grew tense as the minutes passed with no success. She willed herself not to fidget, lest she might drive Henri to distraction.
Dusk fell. Rose cursed herself for not bringing at least a light cloak.
The girls are worse off than you.
As she prepared to light the lantern, she heard a scream.
“Over here!” It was Claudine. “Please help!”
Henri pulled the horse to the side of the road and leaped from the wagon. Rose jumped down with only a hint more decorum, owing to her petticoats.
Claudine was covered in mud from head to foot. When she realized who had stopped for her, she flung herself, mud and all, into Rose’s arms, babbling through her sobs.
“Emmanuelle is hurt,” Henri shouted from the girls’ upturned carriage. “She may have a broken leg—the horse most assuredly did. I’ve put him out of his misery.”
Rose shook her head. “Load Emmanuelle in the wagon and I’ll sit with her,” she called to Henri. “Claudine, you must calm yourself and sit with Henri. Can you manage that?”
Claudine offered a feeble nod and climbed up to the seat Rose had vacated.
Henri carried Emmanuelle with ease, as though she weighed no more than a bag of flour, but he held her as though she were made of porcelain. Her face was far too pale and she shook from pain and shock.
“Shall we take them back to our house?” Rose suggested as they settled Emmanuelle in the back of the wagon. “It’s closer. We could send Yves to tell the others.”
“No, she needs a doctor,” Henri said. “Moving her will get her medical care much faster.”
Rose kept Emmanuelle as still as possible on the ride. Henri tried to keep the ride smooth, but the rutted roads made the effort moot. He urged the horses along, seeking a balance between caution and speed.
Nicole and Thomas stood in the entry, removing their cloaks, when Henri and Rose arrived. Claudine gripped Rose’s hand and Emmanuelle lay limp in Henri’s arms.
The Lefebvre house flew into action. Servants were dispatched to the doctor, Claudine was bathed and dressed in a clean nightdress, and messengers were sent to inform Madame Deschamps of her daughters’ whereabouts.
The doctor pronounced that Emmanuelle had fared much better than the horse. The girl had a badly sprained ankle and a twisted knee, but it would mend in time if she rested.
“What have you to say for yourself?” Thomas asked Claudine when the doctor had left. His tone calm, in the manner of the weather before a storm.
“It’s my fault, Papa,” Claudine said, tears welling up in her large brown eyes.
“I’ve no doubt of that,” Thomas said. “Your sister would never consider such a fool thing on her own.” He glared at his daughter. “You cost me a horse, as well as a wagon, and could have killed your sister. Give me a reason not to lock you in the cellar for the rest of your days.”
Claudine wiped the tears from her cheeks with the sleeve of Nicole’s dressing gown. “I can’t, Papa.”
“That’s the first responsible thing I’ve ever heard come out of your mouth, girl.” Thomas sat back in the chair and rubbed his tired eyes.
“Where were you going?” Nicole asked. “What was so important that you had to sneak away from Maman and Papa?”
“I was coming here,” Claudine admitted. “I wanted to help you prepare for the ball. I thought it was terribly mean of you not to let us help. I convinced Emmanuelle that once we were here you’d be glad to see us.”
“You never stopped to think that Maman might need your help at the farm more than we do here?” Nicole asked. “She has enough to do, keeping Georges in line and running the household, without you scaring her half to death.”
“I didn’t think of that,” Claudine said.
“Clearly,” Nicole said. “You never once thought about anyone but yourself.”
“You’re right.” Claudine stared down at her feet. “It’s just so boring out on the farm, with nothing to do but housework and chores.”
“I should have invited you to come help,” Nicole said in hushed tones, stroking the back of her sister’s head as she still clung to Rose. “I didn’t think pressing linens would be any more exciting here than at home.”
Claudine emitted a weak chuckle. “At least I’d be around more people.”
“Schooling,” Rose said after a few moments’ reflection. “You need schooling.”
Claudine looked up at Rose, her face uncertain.
“You could come to my house, you and Emmanuelle both, and take lessons. I’m sure we can work things out with your mother. It would be a good diversion for you.” And me as well.
“Latin and Greek and all that boring stuff?” asked Claudine, her voice small.
“And poetry and needlework and history . . .” added Rose.
“That might not be so bad,” admitted Claudine.
“Not to mention a good smattering of etiquette and household management,” added Alexandre. “Our young Madame Lefebvre comes from solid Parisian stock, Mademoiselle Claudine, and has much to teach you and your sister once she’s recovered.”
“I’d like that,” said Claudine.
“Though I’m not as smart as Emmanuelle.”
“Then you must work twice as hard,” Alexandre said. “I don’t want people to say my sister-in-law’s education is lacking when you come to stay with us.”
“I—I can come stay with you?” asked Claudine.
“Provided you work hard, I think it would be wise once you’re of age to make a match.” Alexandre cast a brief glance at his wife. Rose guessed that this was not the first time the matter had come up between them.
Nicole nodded her assent. “But I warn you, we’ll accept none of your nonsense here, and you must prove yourself in the meantime.”
“I will,” said Claudine, her face sincere. “I will work very hard, I promise.”
“Trust to that. And if you had acted like a young lady tonight, you might have stayed and helped your sister prepare for the ball, but now no such invitation will be extended,” said Alexandre.
“Oh please, let me come. I’m so terribly sorry,” Claudine begged, her eyes alight.
“No, I don’t think we’ll go so far as to reward your behavior so well,” Nicole answered. “But there will be others if you earn the privilege. You need the skills Maman can teach you more than you need to know about throwing parties. Dream all you want of living in a grand house in town, but whether you live on a farm or in a palace, there is no one better than our mother to teach you how to run it.”
“And it’s better than you deserve,” said Papa, breaking his silence. “If you ever give me such a fright again you’ll be dancing on my grave.”
“I’m so sorry, Papa,” said Claudine, crossing the room and embracing her father. “It won’t happen again.”
“I should hope not, girl,” Thomas said, his words gruffer than his voice. “I expect you to toe the line around here and help your mother, ‘boring’ or not. You’ve a life of work ahead of you—not just balls and fancy dresses. If you can’t learn to be a proper farmer’s daughter and learn the value of a day’s work, I won’t send you off to your sister, invitation or not.”
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