Epilogue
Of all the babes I have brought into this world, none have I held so close as this child.
My goddaughter. My namesake.
Most children that I deliver I do not see much of, unless they take a tumble and need a bone set or a salve to ease an infection.
But my Angélique visits me every day, an hour here and an hour there so that her mother might have time to tend her garden and mind her chickens.
As I walk along the river path to return her to her parents’ home, she is nestled into the cradleboard on my back.
Wari has beaded pink and red flowers and curling vines onto the leather carrier.
It is now my most prized possession, even more so than the satchel that contains my tools: my lancet, my fleam and cups, and of course, my forceps, Chamberlen’s Secret.
I do not think I shall ever have a child of my own.
My husband has not returned from upcountry.
If he ever does, I suppose that would be another journey for me.
In his absence his friends insisted on building me a more comfortable home.
It is, of course, nothing like the chateau where I grew up, or the estate where I lived with my first husband, but it is all mine.
And it means I no longer need to sleep on furs on the ground, though some nights when the moon is bright and the wind rustles in the trees, I choose to do so anyway.
I do not think I will ever stop spending my winters with Wari in the mission village at La Prairie, whether my husband returns or not.
I will never stop learning about the world around me.
“Jeanne, come join us.”
It is élisabeth. She is waving me over. She and her husband are on the bench he built for them to sit and admire the river.
I believe the sweet waters of the Saint-Laurent are a balm to her.
I am pleased that one course of bloodletting was all that it took for the worst of the melancholy to be put behind her, though Wari doubts it was the reason for her recovery.
She thinks élisabeth is healing all on her own.
If that is true, then it must be sitting by the river that calms her nervous edges.
“Take my seat, Jeanne, I must get back.” Francoeur stands and picks up his hoe, yet he places his hand on his wife’s shoulder, as if even during the hours he works in the fields he cannot bear to be parted from her.
“I cannot. Wari is coming tomorrow for the celebration, and I have many notes to finish before she arrives.”
“Jeanne, sit,” élisabeth pleads. “I am worn to the bone cooking and baking for the wedding feast. Tomorrow Marthe and Verger and the twins will arrive. We will be run ragged chasing those two around the house. If you insist on working, then I will feel that I must as well. Sit with me a while.”
I cannot argue, for it is I who encourages her to rest. As I loosen the cradleboard’s laces, Francoeur steps forward to lift the child from my back.
“This wedding is at a most inconvenient time of year,” he grumbles. “Whoever would think to marry in June?”
“When else would a sailor marry than on his patron saint’s day?” élisabeth chides him. “Besides, if Hélène listened to you farmers, she’d never be wed. The warm months are too busy, the cold months are too cold. Let them have their summer wedding. The crops can wait.”
“Her sailor is so lovesick for her I don’t imagine they will plant a single seed this year,” Francoeur says.
élisabeth laughs. “I imagine he’ll get around to planting at least one.”
He gives her the child and I notice their hands touch for longer than is necessary. I understand this, the laziness of new lovers, though I am surprised it is still upon them, with a nursling at the breast.
“I will see you later, Liliwolf,” he says, leaving her with a look that I can feel burning from where I sit. He puts the hoe on his shoulder and saunters back towards the house.
“So that is true love,” I observe when he is gone.
élisabeth places Angélique in the crook of her arm and helps her latch on to her breast. My goddaughter has her father’s sandy curls and her mother’s blue eyes.
She is not interested in feeding, though.
She is twisting to see me. I make a face to encourage her laughter.
“You will know love one day, Jeanne,” élisabeth says.
“I am quite content with my work. Wari has brought me the most fascinating flower. It’s used for sore throats and mouth sores. I have been thinking about combining the goldthread with a bark I’ve been studying to see if I might improve its effectiveness.”
“Mmm,” élisabeth says, and I know her well enough to know when she is only half listening. Then she looks up.
“Stay for supper. We can talk about your studies while I practice writing my name.”
I sit back. That is a welcome invitation. Yes. I will dine with them and then return to my work.
I watch the sparkle of sunshine dance on the river while Angélique nurses. Perhaps élisabeth is right and one day I will know love again. Maybe even have children of my own.
Or perhaps I am right, and I will take satisfaction in my work and my standing in the community. In the lives I have saved and will continue to save.
I close my eyes. I can feel the sun kissing my cheeks.
Perhaps we are both right.