Chapter 17 #2
“But the strength! The unholy strength that allowed me to attack those men! I know I have not had a fit as yet, but what if that is still to come? What if it is only a matter of time before I’m grunting like a pig, or—or howling and gnashing teeth like a wolf, and sticking out a long, slithering snake’s tongue—”
“Oh, ma chère! What horrors you describe.”
Maman Poulin peered around the corner, her black eyes glittering. Marthe froze as the widow stepped into the room. “Tell me, what manner of creature do you speak of? Is it a goblin? Or a demon?”
Marthe stiffened. How much had the widow heard?
“Y-yes,” élisabeth blanched. “A demon.”
Marthe stood up. “Lili,” she said cautiously. “This is Barbe, the widow Poulin, whose husband was once the baker here. She lives in our house still. Barbe, this is my sister, élisabeth.”
“Lili? What a pretty name. You must call me Maman Poulin. I’ve lived in this village long enough to have everyone call me mother.” The widow curtseyed and élisabeth followed suit. “Now tell me, what sort of demon grunts and barks and has the tongue of a serpent?”
“I don’t know,” élisabeth said nervously.
“Where did you see it?”
“She has not seen it,” Marthe interrupted before élisabeth had a chance to confess to anything.
“My sister heard the story from a woman who passed through our village in Normandy. The woman angered a witch, so the hag sent a demon to plague her. Lili was just telling me how she still worries about the poor cursed soul. My sister has a very sentimental nature.” Marthe kept her voice so steady she wondered at her own ability to spin a tale from the air.
Maman Poulin’s eyes narrowed for a moment, then her face crumpled into a picture of concern.
“It is a most cruel thing to be cursed by a witch,” she sympathized, shaking her head.
“Why, there was a girl here in New France who was cursed, several years ago now. By a male witch, if you can imagine! A filthy Huguenot. He sent demons to harass her when she refused to marry him. Then he poisoned the air so that the children could not breathe. They died in droves, gasping for breath, poor lambs. I will never forget the sound.”
“What happened to the girl?” élisabeth rose from her stool anxiously.
“She recovered once they caught and killed the witch, thank God. She went on to marry and have a dozen children. But it was not the only time it has happened here. There was also once a nun who was plagued with a demon. Satan himself came to her at night, as cold to the touch as the dead.”
“Satan was here in Ville-Marie?” élisabeth whispered, crossing herself. Marthe watched uneasily as she took a step closer to the widow. She did not need Maman Poulin filling her sister’s head with dark tales. In the distance, church bells started to ring.
“Lili, the bells!” Marthe leapt on the distraction. “We must go or we’ll be late for Apolline’s wedding.”
“It’s only a few strides to the H?tel Dieu from here, and the first bells are but a warning that it is time to gather,” Maman Poulin said without looking at Marthe.
She patted élisabeth’s arm. “How fortunate to be wed on a Monday, don’t you think?
The charm from yesterday’s holy sacrament will still be upon them.
Now, tell me more about this dreadful demon. ”
Maman Poulin pulled élisabeth into a snug hold and led her out of the bakery. Marthe could do nothing but follow behind, her sister’s shadow.
“The woman… she came through our village several years ago. She spoke of feeling… much turmoil inside her,” élisabeth started as they walked down Rue Saint-Paul. “I-I wish I could tell you more. The woman, she found it hard to describe.”
“You mentioned a howling like a wolf.”
élisabeth hesitated. “I suppose.”
“And having a tongue like a serpent.”
élisabeth’s face was becoming pinched with worry. Marthe frowned.
“The girl would have rested easier knowing which of the demons it is,” the widow said.
“Which of the demons?” élisabeth stared at Maman Poulin.
“Yes. There are so many of them, and each has its own weakness. It is important to know which one ails her so that the priests may know how to defeat it.”
“I believe the woman should not have thought about it all!” Marthe chirped from behind. “It only distressed her further. It only added to her worries.”
The widow stared at Marthe with an open mouth, then turned to élisabeth. “Your sister is surely the most callow little mistress I know. Of course the woman was right to worry. It must be her only concern.”
The wind blew so forcefully that Marthe’s hood was almost lifted off her head. She grabbed it with both hands, her knuckles white.
“She was nervous to tell any priest…” élisabeth said. “Lest the exorcism be the death of her. For she heard that it is a procedure of… of great violence.”
The widow shrugged. “I do not know if that is true. You could ask the Sulpician priest who lately arrived in Ville-Marie how it is performed. He is a great expert on witches and demons. I’m sure he would also know which one has afflicted this woman.
He could write to your curé and explain what must be done, should she return to your village again. ”
“An expert on witches?” Marthe tried to insert herself between the two women.
“Yes, a witch hunter from France. His name is Father de Sancy.” The widow gave her a backwards glance. “He’s the cleverest man who has ever set foot on this island, or so I heard him say.”
“We know him.” élisabeth began to lather soap between her hands once again.
“He was on our ship on the journey over,” Marthe explained. “Though he mostly kept to his quarters. He would have no reason to remember us.”
“You must speak to him.” The widow ignored Marthe and turned to élisabeth. “Tell him what you know of this woman.”
“I shouldn’t like to disturb him with such a tale.”
Marthe could see the widow clinging ever more tightly to élisabeth’s arm, forcing her hands apart.
“Lili is right,” Marthe agreed. “No good will come of telling this priest about a woman back in Saint-Philbert. It’s a French story that must stay in France.”
“Nonsense. It is best that we understand as much about the workings of the Devil as possible. Lest he tries to strike here again.”
Before Marthe could counter the widow or pull élisabeth aside to plead with her not to draw the inquisitor’s attention for nothing, another gust of wind lifted her hood right off her head, tossing it in the air and down the street.
She scurried to capture what she had lost, while Maman Poulin drew élisabeth into a tight embrace.
Marthe wondered why the widow was so taken with her sister when she had had nothing but strict words for Marthe about how to cook and clean and take care of her husband.
Was it élisabeth’s frailty or the frisson of magic that drew Maman Poulin in?
“I will accompany you, chère Lili, if you like,” Marthe heard the widow say when she had recovered her headdress. “Shall we go together to see the priest?”
Marthe’s heart sank as she heard her sister’s answer.
“Yes, Maman Poulin. I’ll seek out the priest and ask him about this demon.”