Chapter 25
When the sleigh pulled up outside the bakery, Francoeur gave élisabeth a tender kiss, helped her disembark, and drove away, leaving her feeling as if her heart were being torn from her chest. Maman Poulin pulled her close, staunching the bleeding.
She embraced élisabeth as if she were her own child—pinching her cheeks and exclaiming that she was skin and bones and needed to be fed until she was as plump as a chicken and fit to roast.
“What sort of scandal is it that makes your husband rush off and leave his bride so soon after he is married?” Maman Poulin prattled as she pulled élisabeth into the salon where customers gathered.
Marthe stood in the corridor. élisabeth could see she was vying for her attention, but she was exhausted from having been jostled and lurched in Jambon’s ox-drawn sleigh for the better part of an hour.
She paid no attention to Marthe and sank into a chair.
“The governor has attacked one of the village wives,” élisabeth said, untying her cap and scratching her head. “Francoeur is going to see about having him recalled to France.”
“What a to-do!” Maman Poulin’s eyes gleamed as she leaned forward.
“Though I’ve been in this colony almost since its founding and have known scandals much worse than that.
” She poured élisabeth a cup of beer and continued her tale.
“One of the worst was the girl-for-marrying from La Rochelle who landed in Québec already fat with child. She tried to pass herself off as a virgin fit to be married! The recruiting agent paid a hefty fine for the deception, I can tell you. The girl was sent straight back to France, and I expect she got fifty lashes on her return.”
“How terrible,” élisabeth said, slipping her hand into her pocket. She vowed then that no matter how generous and kind Maman Poulin was to her, she would never tell her about Rémy. She did not want fifty lashes on her back.
“Lili, you must want to lie down,” Marthe said from her position at the door. Her sister was behaving as if she did not dare step foot into the widow’s room. “It is long after nightfall.”
“I am tired,” élisabeth said. And heartsick, she thought.
“We haven’t any ticking or fresh straw to make you a mattress of your own, so you shall make your bed with me,” Maman Poulin insisted.
“Why should she sleep with you?” Marthe asked crossly.
“Because, little mistress, in case you have forgotten, you share your bed with your husband. Whereas I have plenty of room for your sister. You will like my pallet, Lili, it is made of cattail. Though I confess I never sleep entirely easy. I would prefer a house with a second story so that I could pull a ladder up behind us at night and thwart the Iroquois from scalping us in our sleep.”
“Have you ever known anyone who was scalped, Maman?” élisabeth asked. Marcosi stirred and she felt the demon’s hot breath in her throat.
“Oh yes. Yes, indeed,” the widow said, providing no further information.
“But the Iroquois do not come into the village anymore. Not now there is a truce,” élisabeth said.
“On the contrary. I saw one today.”
All of a sudden Maman Poulin leaned forward and sliced her thumbnail across élisabeth’s forehead.
élisabeth shrieked, startled at the mock scalping.
The widow started to laugh, the sound of a donkey’s honk filling the room.
élisabeth laid her hand on her chest to see if the demon was sharpening his claws, readying himself to attack.
Would Marcosi try to sink his fangs into Maman Poulin’s flesh, here in her own home?
But élisabeth found that the demon did not mind the jest. Perhaps Marcosi was placated by the fact that Maman Poulin was as fearful of him—and all of his demonic kin—as élisabeth herself was.
As the sound of braying echoed around them, the spirit inside her curled himself into a ball and settled his horned head down upon his paws for a rest.
élisabeth took a deep breath. Perhaps it would not be such a bad thing to spend the winter in Ville-Marie with Maman Poulin.
While she would do well to make sure Maman Poulin did not glean anything about Rémy, the widow’s influence might be just what she needed.
She was certainly righteous, keeping track of slatterns and fallen women, and pious, for her regard for the church higher than none.
Maman Poulin would take care that their winter was free of both witches and sin.
And besides, Marcosi seemed soothed by her presence.
élisabeth felt her shoulders loosen for the first time in many weeks.
Yes, a winter with Maman Poulin would do her good.
She did not notice that Marthe had left the room.