Chapter 15
Sensing Brielle’s sudden disquiet, Bleu led her out of the church to walk around the settlement on the river path, weighing whether to take her across the river, too.
The day would be ablaze by noon but for now all was cooler and shaded, the river a continual rush.
They’d not gone far when two women came toward them, baskets dangling from their arms.
Geneviève Turcot and Eulalie Benoit?
Brielle seemed shy again, unsure of herself. Was she out of her depth because of their rapid French? Or her new surroundings?
“Bleu?” Eulalie called out. “Is that you?”
“At long last,” he replied as their attention shifted to Brielle.
He knew what they were thinking. He always came to the Rivanna settlement alone. Rarely was he seen walking with any woman save his sister or his nieces. In the past he’d always avoided such, even Sylvie’s subtle attempts at matchmaking. He made brief introductions, their curiosity apparent.
“Gabrielle Farrow?” Eulalie asked in Francais. “Do you speak French?”
When Brielle hesitated, Bleu said, “She’s unfamiliar with our French patois—our Acadian French.”
Brielle said as if in apology. “I remember some of my mother’s tongue, but English is what I know best.”
“Are you visiting the Rivanna?” Geneviève asked in English, shifting her basket to her other arm. “Or will you stay on?”
Brielle hesitated and looked at Bleu.
“She comes from the Winchester area and has yet to decide,” he said, hoping they wouldn’t delve deeper.
“For now, I want to be of help here in the settlement,” Brielle said quickly. “Learn where I’m most needed.”
“Start in the garden, perhaps,” Eulalie said at once. “Summer’s harvesting and preserving and pickling keep us continually busy and shorthanded. The usual seasonal fevers take a toll. We’ll not stop till winter starts.”
“Since we feed so many year-round, we must put by as much as we can. And now that we have another masculine mouth to feed”—Geneviève smiled at Bleu—“our work is unending.”
“Come,” Eulalie said, linking arms with Brielle. “We’ll show you the gardens. Acres and acres of vegetables, herbs, and flowers.”
Bleu watched them go, needing to return to his own task in the stables but reluctant to part with her. He stood by the river, watching them walk away. And then his whole world righted when Brielle looked back at him over her shoulder and smiled.
That night they sat in Orchard Rest’s dining room, Bleu taking Will’s chair at the head of the table, Sylvie at the other end while Brielle sat with the children, three on one side and four on the other, including Titus.
Jolie, only two, sat upon Brielle’s lap, having taken a liking to her that was amusing to all and made her feel all the more welcome.
Dark haired like Sylvie, she was stout, a baby beignet, her eyes the same startling shade of Acadie Bleu as her uncle. In fact, Brielle saw Bleu in all their faces, especially his nephews.
“Papa?” Jolie said, pointing to her father’s chair then looking up at Brielle as if she alone knew the answer.
“Papa will be home soon,” Madeleine told her with the authority of an older sister. “This is your Oncle Bleu, remember, though you were just a baby when you first met.”
Dinner was a delicious chicken fricot, followed by berry tart, and washed down with plenty of cider.
“An extra serving for you three,” Sylvie told her guests, eyeing Bleu particularly. “I’m sure you’ve had no tarte since coming from Fort Pitt.”
They all lingered at the table, their shared laughter and talk reminding Brielle what being part of a family was like. Here all was safety and security and contentment. When she offered to help with the dishes, Sylvie shook her head in mock surprise.
“No need. That is what daughters are for.” Smiling, she whisked the empty tureen off the table while her older girls did the rest. “Perhaps my brother can show you the walled garden instead.”
Bleu stood and Brielle met his eyes and accepted his silent invitation. Out the back door they went, down steps that led to a gravel path and a small, scrolled iron gate.
She went in ahead of him as he said, “You wouldn’t recognize this piece of ground had you been here when Will bought it at auction.”
The aged brick walls seemed a vial of perfume and contained countless flowers—lavender, phlox, bee balm, wisteria, and clematis to name a few. Bees and butterflies abounded. Overcome by the sight and scent, Brielle came to a halt by a trellised climbing rose and savored the moment.
“All this loveliness reminds me of Philadelphia. Papa used to take us to Bartram’s Garden on the Schuylkill River.” A rush of happy memories came to mind. “And Maman used to talk of the gardens from her girlhood in France. Chateau de Chambord and Jardin des Tuileries and Chenonceau …”
Picking a rose, he offered it to her. “And her father’s house?”
A bit wistful, she took it and breathed in the exquisite scent no perfumer could duplicate. “Chateau de Villandry.”
For years she’d been unable to think of all she’d lost. But now, removed from the distraction of work and the need to simply survive, her mind seemed open to these hazy, half-forgotten things.
At the same time, she wondered Bleu’s thoughts while trying to navigate hers.
His own losses were many, yet he never bemoaned them.
“Do you remember much of your past in Acadie?” she asked as they slowly walked the gravel paths. “Rather, do you want to remember?”
“For years I’ve tried to outrun the life I once lived. Dwelling on the past makes me furieux. At the same time there are things I don’t want to forget.” He stopped by a sundial. “It is … bittersweet.”
“I understand. We should try to dwell on the good as Scripture says.”
His smile returned in confirmation. “Like your company here and now.”
Soon Brielle felt caught up in the whirlwind of settlement life along the Rivanna.
Titus began helping Bleu at the stables managing the horses, while her mornings were spent in the settlement gardens where she worked nearly as hard as she had at the tavern.
Their days started ahead of dawn before the summer sun wilted both them and the plants.
Weeding, hoeing, harvesting, sorting, cleaning, drying, pickling, and cellaring filled her hours but with all of the fulfillment and none of the fear or fatigue of before. Shared work made a lighter burden.
Sylvie stole her away afternoons where they sewed in Orchard Rest’s parlor or on the covered porch. Her daughters, all but petite Jolie who was napping, joined them, sewing with nimble fingers in mimicry of their seamstress mother.
As the days unspooled, Brielle was able to share pieces of her past. A good listener, Sylvie seemed the sister she’d never had.
Always the conversation circled back to Bleu.
Though she looked forward to his joining them at meals, he began to appear only half the time and she realized he sometimes ate with other Acadians in the communal dining room called the kitchen house.
“He has many friends in the settlement,” Sylvie explained.
“Not only friends, Maman.” Madeleine whispered conspiratorially. “Sabine.”
Sabine?
Brielle felt a qualm as Sylvie and Madeleine exchanged glances. She kept sewing a shirt for Titus, unasked questions swirling. There was much to learn about these Acadians. Though they lived in the American colonies they’d retained many of their customs and traditions as best they could.
Would she find out next that Bleu had a sweetheart?
“Sabine Broussard’s father fought in the Resistance with Bleu,” Sylvie explained as if sensing her sudden unease.
“He’s called Beausoleil. Shining Sun. He was a light for our people at a very dark time.
He tried valiantly to preserve our way of life.
In fact, he never stopped fighting even when most of us were put on prison ships and sent away from Acadie.
He’s since been captured and is a prisoner in Halifax. ”
“Canada?” Brielle looked down the wooded hill toward the settlement. “But Sabine is here?”
“She came seeking refuge with other Acadians after I married Will. She’s been waiting for her father’s release ever since.”
“Might Beausoleil come here then?”
“To see Sabine, perhaps.” Sylvie threaded her needle with beeswax and began work on a petticoat. “But word is he has his sights set on a French colony in the Caribbean.”
Brielle felt inexplicable relief … if Sabine would go with him. Had this woman captured Bleu’s heart like he’d captured hers? Agitated, she poked her finger then wiped the fleck of blood on her apron, wishing her wayward emotions were as easily managed.
“She is very fond of Bleu, as are a few other young women,” Sylvie told her in low tones. “But he’s always avoided any romantic entanglements.”
Brielle’s mounting misery ebbed though her stitches stayed crooked.
“I’m hoping he settles soon, marries, and starts a family.” Sylvie looked up at her briefly. “I want him to be as happy as I’ve been. My wish is that he stay here. He would make a fine husband and father should that happen.”
A fine husband and father, truly. Sylvie echoed what Brielle had pondered more than once since he’d ridden into their lives at the crossroads. Why did he avoid any romantic entanglements? He’d spoken of Sylvie’s matchmaking with a patient amusement—and seemed to take pride in remaining free.
Might she, a mere tavern maid, sway him?