Emilie leaned up on an elbow, wiping the sleep from her eyes. Was it possible that in only a few hours she would become Mrs. Emilie Dugas? And was it possible that she had traveled to heaven and back only a few hours before?
Emilie grinned thinking back on their lovemaking in the barn, when they both had reached such a climax they scared the animals with their cries. The horse kicked out the back end of his stall and the cow bellowed so loudly Lorenz had thrown on his clothes for fear of the neighbors visiting to find out the cause of the disturbance.
No one came looking, and Lorenz managed to calm the animals. But they had laughed long into the night, talking of their future and what kind of crops they would plant.
“What are you grinning about?” Rose said, jabbing her in the ribs. “You’re not married yet.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Gabrielle whispered, leaning in close. “She’s already sampled the goods.”
“Gabrielle!” Emilie planned on telling her sisters in time. She also knew her mother wouldn’t have exposed her. Was it possible Lorenz had told them? That was doubtful.
“Don’t look so surprised Emilie,” Rose said. “You and Lorenz were alone in the wilderness for two months. We assumed as much.”
Pulling her tousled hair behind her ears, Emilie smiled, happy to be in her sister’s company once again. “Do you know that Lorenz confessed it to Father Broussard and that Father Broussard hinted to Maman that children left alone might get into trouble?” For a moment Emilie felt like they were back in Grand Pré, telling secrets to each in the apple cellar. “Maman asked me and then insisted we get married. That’s why the quick wedding.”
Both sisters grinned mischievously. “Mother didn’t need a hint, Emilie,” Gabrielle said. “She needed an excuse to get you two married.”
“But she didn’t know...” Emilie insisted.
“I told her Lorenz proposed on the ship from Maryland.” Gabrielle twisted her apron strings while she smiled broadly. “She was almost glad you ran off with him.”
“Almost,” Rose corrected her. To Emilie, she added, “She wants us all to be married these days.”
Emilie thought of how happy her mother had been during the early years of her marriage, before politics had cruelly interrupted her life. Emilie vowed that no matter what misfortunes would befall she and Lorenz, she would strive to be happy. For her mother’s sake, as well as her own.
“Go away now, you have work to do,” a voice announced from the other room.
Emilie looked over her shoulder to find her mother dressed in a well-pressed woolen skirt and linen shirt, clothes that had seen the worst for wear but were impeccably neat and clean. Her chestnut hair braided atop her head complemented the bright red stripes of her skirt. Her eyes, so routinely haunted by sadness, now glistened with happiness. Despite their impoverished circumstances, Marianne looked beautiful.
“Don’t sit there staring,” she said to Emilie, her hands planted on her hips, “we need you for the fitting.”
Rose giggled and Gabrielle nudged her and sent her a cautionary look. Emilie rose and straightened her nightgown, playing along with the game. She knew there wasn’t a wedding gown and it didn’t matter. She would wed in her everyday clothes, proud to be alive and to be given a chance at bliss.
“I appreciate the thought,” Emilie said, following the three of them into the other room of the house. “But I know there isn’t a wedding gown and I don’t mind. You don’t have to pretend...”
When Emilie crossed the threshold she had to question her eyesight. There on the bed lay a pale blue dress dotted with tiny white flowers, its bodice graced by pearl buttons and a lace collar.
“Captain Bouclaire gave us the material,” Gabrielle said. “We didn’t want to accept it, but he insisted upon it. As it turned out, it came in quite handy.”
“The buttons were your grandmother’s,” Marianne explained. “And the lace was something I managed to steal away with us when we were exiled. If things don’t improve for us, I hope you will pass these on to Gabrielle and Rose when their day comes.”
Emilie stepped forward and lovingly caressed the soft material. Her dear sisters and mother must have labored into the night to produce such an exquisite dress. The tears poured down her cheek.
“Now don’t cry,” Rose admonished her, taking one hand. “You’ll get the dress wet.”
Emilie smiled through the tears and wiped her nose with the sleeve of her nightgown.
“Let her cry,” she heard her mother say to her back. “Do it now so you don’t ruin everything when you’re dressed.”
Emilie heard the emotions in her mother’s voice and turned to find her cheeks equally streaked with tears. The two women embraced each other, Marianne patting her hair like she had as a child and swaying soothingly.
“Be happy,” Marianne whispered to her.
“I will,” Emilie whispered back. “I want to be just like you.”
After several minutes had passed, the two women reached for their handkerchiefs and Emilie looked back at Gabrielle and Rose, who were now crying as much as they were. “I love you all,” Emilie said, and the four women locked their arms around each other and laughed through their tears.
Marianne fitted Emilie into the dress while Rose touched up the hem and Gabrielle braided Emilie’s hair with flowers. Both sisters made sure to place the first pins into the dress, items that Emilie would return to them as charms for getting their own husbands.
When all was finished, Marianne, Gabrielle and Rose stood back to appreciate their handiwork.
“You all are amazing,” Emilie said, turning around to get the full effect of the wide skirt. “I can’t wait to dance in this.”
Marianne placed a hand at her throat to hold back her emotions. “You are so beautiful. But then, I always knew you would be on your wedding day.”
“Now don’t us start crying again,” Gabrielle chided them, although tears formed in her own eyes. “Your wedding time is near.”
Emilie took Gabrielle’s hand and squeezed. “I wish father was here.”
She hadn’t meant to say it. She hadn’t meant to cast a gloom over the day’s joyous event, but Emilie ached for her father. She wanted Papa with her today, dressed in his finest as he escorted her to the church. She wanted to receive his blessing on the happiest day of her life.
Her mother’s eyes dimmed briefly, then she straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin. Marianne opened the satchel that contained all their possessions, mostly sewing instruments and bits of materials, and retrieved a handkerchief, the only item they had of Joseph Gallant. She pinned it to Emilie’s dress. “Your father is here. He is always with us.”
Emilie felt another round of tears emerging but a knock on the door interrupted her thoughts. “Is there a woman of marrying age about this house?” she heard Lorenz ask from the porch. “I am in need of a wife.”
“There are three, sir,” Gabrielle shouted back.
“Then I am in luck,” he returned.
Marianne opened the door to find Lorenz dressed in his familiar clothes, only they, too, had been meticulously pressed and cleaned. His haircut suited him well, no longer wild and untamed about his face, but distinguished and groomed. When had they grown up? Emilie wondered.
When Lorenz’s eyes caught sight of Emilie in her new dress, they widened in surprise. He took Emilie in from head to foot, appreciating every inch. “How did you manage?”
“Doesn’t matter,” Marianne said. “Sometime miracles do occur in the worst of circumstances.”
“Like you too getting married,” Rose interjected.
Lorenz sent her a playful nudge on her chin and she returned the affection with a hug, wrapping her petite arms about his waist. Gabrielle threw her arms around her adopted brother and squeezed.
“I do believe he is intended for me,” Emilie said with a laugh.
“You have to wait your turn,” Marianne said, and tearfully hugged her future son-in-law. “I always wante
d you as my son, Lorenz,” she whispered.
Lorenz’s eyes glistened with moisture and Emilie feared they would all start another round of tears. “I think we should all make for Father Broussard’s before we drown ourselves.”
Marianne released Lorenz and wiped her eyes. “Not until I say what I have to say.” She captured Lorenz’s hand and then Emilie’s and pulled them together. “As you know it’s a father’s duty to speak to the couple before the wedding. Since your father cannot be present, I will speak in his absence.”
Emilie and Lorenz knelt before her and waited for Marianne’s blessing. “My children, I bless upon you the same happiness that was given to me with your father, and I charge you to love one another as your parents have loved you. If you fail along life’s path, and you will, be kind to one another and forgive the other his faults. Above all, strive to be happy and make this world a better place because you have lived.”
Marianne paused to collect her thoughts and Emilie saw tears well up again in her eyes. Collecting herself, Marianne concluded, “And may you have children as insufferable as you two have been.”
Jean Depuis escorted Emilie into Father’s Broussard’s house that was now suffocating from the amount of people and the temperatures more natural to a summer’s day. When Lorenz’s cousins arrived, and the heat became unbearable, they all agreed to have the ceremony outside beneath a strand of cypress trees.
“We need a church,” Father Broussard reiterated. “The next thing we build in this wilderness should be a church.”
Gabrielle and Rose lined up next to Marianne while Leger and Narcisse Landry stood next to Lorenz in front of Father Broussard. Jean brought Emilie to the center and Lorenz took her hand.
Father Broussard began the ceremony, speaking of the duties of married life and the responsibilities of raising a family. Emilie heard some of the words spoken, but mostly she comprehended the tall, handsome man at her side, the man whose life she would share. When Father Broussard finally called upon her to recite her vows, she almost didn’t respond.
“Yes,” she said, hoping no one noticed her preoccupation. “I do.”
She expected a glance from Lorenz, a smile perhaps, now that she had announced before God that she would finally be his wife, but he stared unemotionally at the priest. When Father Broussard asked him to agree to his vows, Lorenz remained silent.
Emilie eyes shot up, staring at the man who relentlessly hounded her about marriage, but still he said nothing. Finally, after several minutes of silence he turned toward Emilie with a frown playing his forehead. “Perhaps we should think about this.”
Emilie couldn’t believe her ears. She was ready to shout “What!” when the edges of his lips turned up in a smile. “I do,” he said, a sly grin emerging.
Emilie knew they were crossing a threshold that day, entering adulthood as man and wife, but she couldn’t help herself. She threw Lorenz a solid punch in the arm. Lorenz laughed, then snaked an arm about her waist and pulled her into a kiss.
“I haven’t finished,” Emilie heard the priest say but Lorenz refused to obey his orders. As Lorenz held her tightly and delivered a slow, seductive kiss, Emilie heard Father Broussard sigh. “I now pronounce you man and wife.”
Lorenz released her, then let out a cry of happiness. Suddenly, everyone was at their sides, congratulating them, patting them on the back, offering hugs and kisses. When Emilie looked over at Lorenz, he was grinning broadly.
The entire town joined the festivities and everyone brought forth food and drink. Emilie and Lorenz sat at a special table while those who knew them stood and told anecdotes or offered a toast. Then one of the town’s people brought out a fiddle and they all began to dance. As was the custom, Emilie danced with every man present and made sure every maiden girl had a partner. They enjoyed jigs, reels and group dances, thankful to be together and rejoicing as free Acadians.
As evening descended on the small community of St. Gabriel, women of the town approached Emilie and presented her with gifts, items useful in beginning a household. Two of the bachelor men offered Lorenz use of their home, which Lorenz gratefully accepted. The thought of a real bed, as opposed to one made of hay, was the best gift anyone could give, Emilie thought with relief.
When the fires waned and the children grew sleepy, Marianne proposed one last toast. “To Emilie and Lorenz,” she began. “And to those who love them who are absent today, may you look upon them and guide them on their journey.”
Marianne then sang A La Claire Fontaine, and Emilie and Lorenz danced one last dance. As they turned around the floor made of dirt and damp grasses, Emilie gazed up into the black eyes she had adored since she had first noticed them staring back at her across an apple tree. She wanted to tell him how much she loved him, how silly she had been to doubt of their marriage, how her whole life had led up to this moment, but words were not needed.
Lorenz gazed back lovingly and his eyes spoke volumes.
Emilie
Chapter Seventeen
The Rev. John Leggett stared at the destitute man before him, wondering if the papist French problem would ever be solved in Maryland. Acadian refugees still remained in the colony, but most had chartered ships for the Louisiana territory, several at the expense of the Maryland government. Anything to rid their land of the unappreciative exiles thrown on their hands by the governor of Nova Scotia.
“They should be grateful for the colony’s assistance,” John told his wife on a weekly basis. “We give them some food and shelter. But they refuse to work on farms throughout the countryside for fear of separation.”
His portly wife, never looking up from kneading bread, always offered the same answer. “Imagine the prospect of losing your religion,” she had told him. “Imagine losing your family.”
John tried to remember her compassionate words as he watched the pale, thin man devour his offering of soup and bread. He didn’t like the French, never approved of them in North America. They incited the Indians to attack, hoping to secure the continent for their own greedy country. They were papists and not to be trusted.
Yet this poor man had traveled thousands of miles to be reunited with his family, arriving in Port Tobacco to find them gone to Louisiana, and John could only feel sympathy.
“Merci,” the Acadian said, trying to employ an ounce of dignity wiping his face, heavy with weeks of beard growth.
“You can use my barn to rest,” John said. “My wife will make us a proper supper when she returns.”
The man’s eyes met his and John shivered at the pain reflected in them.
“Are you sure?” the man asked. “My wife is Marianne Gallant. I have three daughters.”
John shook his head. “I’m sorry sir. I know for a fact that the Gallant family traveled on the last Acadian ship headed for New Orleans. I took the roll myself. There were five of them, a mother and three daughters and a young man named Dugas.”
The pain in the man’s eyes intensified and John turned away to escape them.
“I do have something to offer,” John said, rising from his chair. “My wife bought something from one of your daughters, the dark one who resembles you.”
“Gabrielle,” the man whispered as if the sound of her name would unravel him on the spot.
“Yes,” John answered, watching him intently in case he might faint. The Acadian was much too thin. More than likely he spent every dollar on the ship from Louisiana and had little left over for provisions. It was doubtful he would be able to pay for a return voyage. “She carved crosses and sold them to villagers to help support the family. My wife bought this one.”
John placed the small oak cross in front of him and the man quietly slid his fingers across the elegantly carved wood, closing his eyes as to mentally call Gabrielle to his side. When he finally opened his eyes, John saw the tears lingering there. Uncomfortable at the sight, John moved to his desk to retrieve what the man would need, anything to send the Acadian on his way.
“I have map
s, and will give you some provisions to take with you,” John said over his shoulder. “You must stay the night. Annie will never hear of anything else.” Searching through his desk drawer, he finally spotted the crude map showing the neighboring town. “There is a farmer in the next village, Patrick McConnor. He has seven daughters and is always in need of help running his farm. You could stay with him until you earn enough to pay for a ship...
“Non, merci.”
When John turned, the man stood before him, pulling on his coat.
“You can’t leave without supper,” John insisted. “And rest. You need rest. You won’t find his place easily after nightfall.”
The dark-haired man placed his hat on his head and tilted the rim for a snug fit. “My name is Joseph Gallant,” he said confidently in a thick French accent. “I have been without my family for thirteen years. I will not waste another moment of your time or mine.”
“But it is hostile territory out there,” John began. “You can’t possibly think to walk to Louisiana.”
Instead, the man tipped his hat politely and headed for the door. “Again, merci monsieur.”
He was crazy, this Acadian. John imagined himself party to a suicide. “You have no maps, no guide to help get you there,” he pleaded. “You will never find it.”
The Acadian paused at the threshold and smiled knowingly. “I will find Louisiana, monsieur. I will follow the sound of my wife’s singing and she will bring me home.”
And with those final words, the Acadian walked out of the door, heading west toward the territory of Louisiana.
Acknowledgements
Merci beaucoup to my dear friends in the Maritimes for the assistance in writing this book — Suzanne McDonald, Marci Lin Marvin, Betty Dugas, Evelyn DeCoste, Stacy Crawshaw, Cheryl Leger, Jocelyn Marchand, Norah Wilson, Deborah Hale, Barbara Mary Phinney and Lorraine Coyle.
A huge thanks to Lauren Royal and Glynnis Campbell for that inspiring New Year’s lunch. I can’t thank you both enough.
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