Chapter 23 #2
“What can the priests do?” Jambon said. “They don’t have pistols or muskets. They can’t stop him. They might not even care about missing slaves and throttled wives.”
“They might if he’s killed those girls.”
“Killed them?” élisabeth steadied herself against the table.
“Who in Ville-Marie would care about a pair of Panis slaves?” Lajeunesse shook his head.
Everyone at the table understood his meaning.
In a land of reluctant brides, indentured labourers, and new farmers trying to outwit winter to survive, who indeed would look beyond their own hardship to care about the fate of two Panis girls?
“I do not know much about their alliances,” Francoeur said slowly.
“But if we French are allied to the Algonquins and the Huron, perhaps the Iroquois count the Panis as their allies. The children’s deaths could be the spark that causes the truce to be abandoned.
The church would certainly care if the Iroquois took up arms again. ”
“Why do you believe he’s killed them?” élisabeth demanded. “What happened in New York?”
The taller man let out a sound halfway between a snort and a guffaw. “New York was the finest mutiny in the history of the French army. It was when your husband took a stand against Lafredière,” Lajeunesse said.
“I’ll tell her,” Jambon interrupted. “I’m better at telling stories.” He leaned back and cleared his throat. “It was a wintery day in January. Almost five years ago now to the day, in 1666. We had marched south to burn the Iroquois villages—”
“That’s enough,” Francoeur said, shaking himself from his stupor. élisabeth could see his jaw clench. “You need to decide what to do about Lafredière, not dwell on old tales.”
“You need to decide,” his friend whined. “You’re the captain of the c?te.”
Francoeur frowned, chewing the inside of his cheek. The room was silent, all eyes on him. Then Jambon piped up.
“You could shoot him again. Only this time, don’t miss.”
The demon shot upright so quickly that élisabeth almost fell over. She gripped the table again.
“You tried to kill the governor of Montréal?”
“To be fair, he wasn’t the acting governor then,” Jambon said. “Only our captain.”
“And he had it coming,” Lajeunesse added.
“There will be no shots fired.” Francoeur stood up. “We have to appeal to the intendant in Québec. Get the civil authorities involved if the military can’t tame him. We can tell Intendant Talon what Lafredière has done and demand that he be recalled to France.”
“Why would the intendant listen?” Jambon stayed seated, scowling at his friend’s suggestion. “Lafred is the Marquis de Salières’s own nephew.”
“We will make him see the risk of ignoring Lafredière’s crimes.
If we petition the intendant in person, with the signatures of anyone who knows about his behaviour, the authorities will have to see sense.
Between the villagers he’s harassed and the men who were with us in New York…
there will be a hundred signatures, maybe more.
If we bring them to the intendant and explain what’s at stake, he cannot ignore it. ”
“If we bring the evidence? So… you’ll do it?” Lajeunesse stood up.
Francoeur’s hands tightened on the back of his chair. He stole a glance at élisabeth. “If he’s attacked one of the village wives…”
“Hell’s teeth,” Jambon grimaced. “Another long winter’s march for us then.”
“We’re going to freeze our balls off. Again.” Lajeunesse cupped his hands over his groin.
“I will pack our bags,” élisabeth offered, stepping towards her husband.
“élisabeth, you cannot come with us,” Francoeur said gently. “It will be a difficult journey and may take more than a month to reach Québec. A woman cannot travel for so long in such cold.”
“You would leave me here?”
She had grown used to how her husband lumbered around the house with his hammer and nails, making a racket as she plucked a bird or skinned a rabbit for their dinner.
She wondered what it would be like to sit by the fire, peering at her darning in the dim light, and not hear him hum, or smell the sweet tobacco he stuffed in his pipe.
She wondered why he did not roll over at night and insist she perform her duty as his wife.
“I would die without you,” she stated.
He stroked his beard and smiled. “You would die without me?”
Their guests tried to smother their smirks. élisabeth walked away from the table, beckoning for Francoeur to join her by the hearth.
“It is no lovelorn declaration,” she said. “It is a fact, I cannot survive here alone.”
“Forgive my teasing,” he said, at once serious. “Of course you cannot stay here alone. But you cannot travel with us either.”
“What would you have me do then?”
“I’ll bring you to stay with your sister in town.”
“Is it not more dangerous to be in Ville-Marie with the governor stalking the streets for women to choke?” She slipped her hand into her pocket, seeking the smoothness of the rosary beads against her fingertips.
“You could stay here, if we ask Jeanne Roy to come and live with you.”
“No!”
Jambon and Lajeunesse peered at them from the other side of the hearth. She lowered her voice. “No. I won’t have her in this house.”
“Then I will take you to your sister’s. A month or two with Marthe and Verger. Does that not sound fine?”
She tried to imagine it. She thought of Marthe and Maman Poulin sitting at the table in the warm bakery, sharing stories.
The other brides from the ship—Thérèse and Francoise, even Apolline—visiting every day.
The bustle would be more cheerful than her own hearth.
But it was at her own hearth that she longed to stay, with Francoeur.
“Will it really be as long as a month or two?”
He reached his hand out to stroke her cheek.
“By the time I am home, winter’s back will be broken and we will start afresh in the spring.
” She wanted to turn her face towards his calloused palm.
Start afresh. She wished he would kiss her.
What harm could come from one kiss? She almost wished she had abandoned her piety, listened to Marcosi’s sly whispers and touched him that first night, and every night afterwards.
Start afresh? If only she could.
“élisabeth, I know life here is not easy.”
“I do not mind the work,” she said quickly.
“I mean to say, it is a lonely life. You will be happier with your sister. And when I return, we will begin again.” He leaned down and spoke softly. “We can start our family then.”
She blinked several times to hold back the tears stinging her eyes. Never mind a long winter’s march. The one thing her husband required of her she could not do.
She was barren. Useless.
And now he wanted to be rid of her.
A wilful tear slipped down her cheek. Francoeur took her face in his hands and stared into her eyes. “élisabeth, what frightens you so? Is it me?”
“What do you mean?”
“I see you jump when there is a knock on the door or praying as if the Devil himself is near. Do you fear that I am some kind of brute, like… like Dufossé?”
“No, of course not.” She stopped and looked at her hands.
She wished she could tell him the truth about the Winter Witch and the curse and how the old priest said the spirit had the jaw of a wolf and the tail of a serpent and black gryphon’s wings as well.
She could not. The friendly crinkles around her husband’s eyes would melt into a gaping mask of horror.
He would turn her over to Father de Sancy to be stripped and whipped.
Or never come back to collect her from her sister’s house. She would be shunned, again.
“It’s not you that I’m frightened of,” she whispered.
“Then what?”
She faltered. She could see Jambon stretch his arms above his head, impatient to be going. They had to start their journey now or risk travelling at night.
“You are right. It is the loneliness I fear.”
“Then we shall take you to the bakehouse and surround you with people all winter long.”
He took her hand, his mind made up. He seemed so satisfied with his plan, the mending of his broken wife. élisabeth felt her heart ache as he pulled her to her feet. She smiled as best she could.