The Displaced

by Frieda Watt

  “It wasn’t!” Pierre insisted. “I got the frogs down at the marsh, and I wasn’t sure what I was going to do with them. But I didn’t put those frogs in your bed. Nic did that all by himself. I just took some of the blame.”

  Marie snickered. “Right. You think I’m stupid.”

  “I do not!” Pierre said indignantly. “I’m the one who cut six inches off your braid at school. I’m the one who started the snowball fight that ended up with Nic getting a cut on his forehead. I’ll even admit that I’m the one who broke Annette’s vase from Versailles, but I didn’t put the frogs in your bed.”

  Marie began to swell with exasperation. “You broke that vase? I had to scrub the floors for a month because Annette thought I was lying to protect Nic.”

  Pierre blushed in the darkness. “Sorry about that,” he said meekly.

  “She still brings that up to this day, and it was almost five years ago!” Marie couldn’t believe she’d been punished for Pierre’s clumsiness. “All that time and Nic never said a word, and I never heard him complain when he was punished for actually breaking the vase. Ferdinand made him clean out the stables.”

  “Sorry,” Pierre repeated in a small voice. “Nic figured I would probably get beaten for that stunt.”

  “You’re lucky Claude didn’t hit Nic for that,” Marie huffed.

  “Do you believe me about the frogs at least?”

  For a moment Pierre thought she might explode, but instead, Marie began to laugh.

  “Yes, I believe you,” she hiccupped, finally calming down. “But if I ever find out I was punished for something else you did, I’ll hurt you.”

  Pierre chuckled, the moonlight shining off his grin. “That’s the worst of it. I promise.”

  Marie wasn’t completely convinced. They continued to sit, staring up as more faint rays of light tumbled from the sky. Pierre eventually asked, “Do you like it here?”

  Marie was surprised by the question. “Of course.”

  “I just mean you were born in Quebec, and you’ve seen the world outside the island. I just wondered how Louisbourg compared.”

  Marie looked up at the heavens. “It’s the same stars over Quebec as here.” Then she paused. “People are wealthier in Quebec or more civilized as they would put it. The pirates and smugglers hide there because they’re afraid of the law, whereas here, they move around unmolested. There’s more nobility in Quebec, more people from Europe visiting.” Pierre nodded. He’d heard as much. “There’s more food too. They can sustain themselves on what they grow. I don’t remember being hungry because of low food supplies until I came here.”

  “We definitely never have enough of anything here,” Pierre remarked.

  “But I love the ocean and the sky, how you can’t tell where one ends and the other begins. I love the wilderness, the forests that haven’t been tamed yet.” She stopped, embarrassed. “I sound ridiculous, don’t I?”

  Pierre shook his head. “No. You sound happy.”

  She smiled. “I mean I miss my parents, but I don’t want to leave here.”

  “What happened to them?” Pierre always wanted to ask but had never had the courage to inquire before now. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.” He already half-hoped she wouldn’t want to say anything.

  Marie pulled her cloak closer around her. “There was a fire that ripped through three homes before it was contained. Ours was the second house. The maid got Nic and me out. My parents were upstairs with our brother.”

  “You had a brother?” Pierre was startled. This was new information.

  Marie nodded sadly. “François. He was two at the time. Don’t mention him to Nic. He doesn’t like to talk about it.”

  “I didn’t know that.”

  “Few do, but apparently you’ve been keeping a few things to yourself over the years as well.” Marie touched the end of her nose, which was starting to sting from the chill.

  “You look cold,” Pierre said, watching her rub her face. “I think that’s enough stargazing for one night.”

  “Can we do this again?” Marie asked eagerly. She’d never spent time looking up at the minuscule pinpoints of light like this before. Now that she thought about it, it seemed a little ridiculous to ignore that amazing sight.

  “Yes, of course we can do this again … if Claude ever lets you leave the house with me, that is. I doubt he would be very pleased about that. And it’s not very often that there’s a festival we can go to and then sneak away from.” Pierre helped Marie get up. “At least you wore gloves.”

  “I’m not completely hopeless,” Marie said, flexing her wool-covered fingers.

  Back at the celebrations, the warmth of the firelight was welcome after the gloom of the night. Marie stood close to the flames, letting the heat thaw her extremely cold toes and fingers. Pierre came back to where she was sitting, carrying a cotton cloth filled with some of the roasted beef. In the firelight, she could see that Pierre’s ears and cheeks were red from the elements. Marie stripped off her wool gloves and gladly accepted some of the steaming meat.

  As they stood silently munching, Nic rounded the corner, eyes blazing. He had clearly noticed their absence. Marching up to them, he stopped just a hair from Marie’s nose. “Where have you been?” he demanded, his chest puffed out in indignation. Marie had a very strong impression of Madame Badeau as he stood with his arms folded across his chest. She fought the impulse to laugh. This wasn’t a good time to mention the resemblance.

  “What are you talking about? We’ve been here the whole time, haven’t we?” Marie looked up at Pierre, who nodded enthusiastically.

  “You have not! I’ve spent the last half hour looking for you!” Nic said heatedly.

  Marie wiped her greasy fingers on the cloth. “I thought you were with Diane and Elise.”

  Nic huffed. “It didn’t end well.”

  Marie bit her lip to keep from laughing. “What happened?”

  He just shook his head. “Let’s just say there are some levels of madness even I am not willing to deal with.” Marie purposely avoided Pierre’s eye and tried to look concerned.

  “So I’ll ask you again,” Nic said. “Where were you?” He directed his comments toward his friend. Pierre might be taller, but he seemed to shrink under Nic’s stern gaze.

  “There’s a group of soldiers over there,” Marie said, pointing abstractly across the blaze, “who challenged Pierre to a bit of cards.” It seemed like a plausible idea that Nic wouldn’t be able to verify.

  “Yes, I thought it would be fun,” Pierre said, catching on. “Went and played, but I lost miserably. My father won’t be very pleased.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Marie here was quite sensible, though. She tried to talk me out of it.”

  Nic didn’t look even slightly convinced. He was about to say more when the image of Diane emerged from the crowd. He quickly ducked behind Pierre’s towering silhouette. Pierre and Marie exchanged a look. Diane glanced around for a moment and then walked away, frustrated.

  “She’s gone.” Marie worked to keep her voice steady.

  Nic peeked around Pierre’s black jacket cautiously, his grey cap lopsided. “Okay, Marie,” he whispered from his less than dignified position. Clearly, he’d led Diane to believe something about his intentions that were not true. “If we go home now, I won’t ask you anything else about where you’ve been.”

  Marie stifled a laugh and was sorely tempted to alert Diane as to her brother’s whereabouts, but after some hesitation, she decided to let him off the hook. She bade Pierre a hasty goodbye and slowly headed back into the city and to the safety of being inside the walls.

  ***

  September 30th dawned bright and clear. The first frost glittered on the ground and encased the trees’ colourful leaves in shimmering ice. Marie awoke to a cold house, her breath clearly visible. She dressed quickly, trying to expose as little skin as possible. When she walked into the kitchen, she was informed that Nic had already left for the day
, but where he’d gone Madame Badeau didn’t know. She had a suspicion that his plans for his birthday would not be approved by Annette, so that was probably why he’d left before he could be interrogated.

  The roaring fires in the ovens were a welcome relief. The maids lit fires in all the fireplaces in the house, but there was still always a chill in the morning—except in the kitchen. Madame Badeau placed a cup of coffee in front of Marie once she settled onto the wooden bench.

  “What’s the occasion?” Marie teased, gladly accepting the steaming cup and wrapping her fingers around the warm porcelain.

  “It’s not every day someone turns sixteen.” Madame Badeau gave Marie an affectionate pat on the cheek before bustling off into the cold cellar below the kitchen.

  Marie stood by the window, sipping the hot delicacy. She looked around at the things in the kitchen. She always found it amusing that while Claude did his best to fill his home with all the luxuries of France, he still had the same dishes as everyone else on the continent. Despite his opulent taste, the same, plain, blue and white china that almost everyone else owned filled his cupboards.

  Marie traced the blue flowers that encircled the rim of her mug. She liked the intricate patterns, and it amazed her that something so fragile could have survived the turbulent Atlantic crossing.

  After finishing her coffee, she settled herself near the warmth of the fire, picking up a quilt she was working on. Annette’s latest charitable cause was to provide the marginalized with whatever they needed. The nuns at the Hôpital du Roi were attempting to get their patients who were well enough to knit outerwear, but the enterprise was not going well. Most of the men felt knitting was a woman’s job and weren’t eager to learn, and many of the female patients were slow, since they were still convalescing. So large numbers of women from the city were enlisted to knit or quilt blankets. With the winter months coming, those blankets would be greatly appreciated. For her part, Marie preferred quilting to sorting vegetables and was eager to keep Annette going with these types of projects. As she was threading her needle, she heard Annette moving throughout the upper level of the house. It was still relatively early in the morning for her aunt to be starting her day, but Marie paid little attention to the sounds.

  After only a few stitches, Marie’s thoughts turned to Pierre. She felt silly thinking about him as often as she did. She wasn’t sure what to make of the time they were spending together. Of course, Nic still wasn’t happy to be sharing his best friend with her. He continued to warn her that she wasn’t the first person to receive Pierre’s attention, but that didn’t bother Marie. He hadn’t asked her to go into any deserted alcoves yet, and she doubted that was his intention. What she found surprising was how much she enjoyed his company. She had known him for years as a school troublemaker, but he was surprising her … there was a sensitive soul beneath the bravado.

  The front door blew open, bringing with it a blast of chilled air that found its way right to the kitchen. Marie heard Nic yelling a greeting, and she went to meet him, laying her sewing on the table.

  Marie stopped in the doorway. Nic wasn’t wearing his regular clothes. Instead, he was wearing the blue military jacket of the fortress’s garrison. His dark eyes shone with excitement, but his hunched shoulders showed his nerves.

  Annette appeared at the top of the stairs. Marie saw her own shock mirrored in her aunt’s face.

  “I’ve ah … ,” Nic cleared his throat. “I’ve enlisted.”

  Annette let out a cry of despair. Marie tried her best not to roll her eyes but just said, “Why would you do that?” Annette came running down the stairs, a robe over her night clothes, stopping just a few inches from her nephew. “What on earth possessed you to do this?”

  Nic’s cheeks flushed. This wasn’t the reaction he’d been expecting. “What do you mean? I’m sixteen. I’m old enough to start my military career.”

  “Why, though?” Annette’s voice was becoming higher and higher. Soon only dogs would be able to hear it. “There was no need for you to do that!”

  Marie saw Madame Badeau peering out from the kitchen. She made a quick assessment of the situation and then retreated. Marie thought of joining her.

  “No need?” Nic exploded. “We’re at war. We won at the Canso Islands and brought British prisoners here. A dramatic defeat for the Brits! You think the British will endure an attack on their fishing fleets and just let it go? Though it’s not really a victory because the British prisoners are eating our already scarce food supplies.”

  “None of that concerns you.” Tears were forming in the corners of Annette’s eyes.

  “Of course, it concerns me. I’m one of the men living here. It’s my duty to protect my country!” Nic’s temper was rising to meet his aunt’s. “I either join the militia or I join the military. I picked the military.”

  Annette pushed out her chest indignantly. “But this is just irresponsible.”

  Marie had heard enough. Their shouts followed her as she entered the kitchen. Madame Badeau gave her a knowing nod. Wrapping her cloak around her and putting a hat on her head, Marie exited through the back entrance, ignoring Ferdinand, who was watching her intently.

  Despite the cold, the streets were teeming with activity. Marie passed the butcher, who was busy slaughtering a pig in the entranceway. Several residents were waiting patiently for the fresh meat. She sidestepped the pool of steaming blood that was blossoming out onto the dirt road as the pig let out a final squeal.

  Marie didn’t know where she was heading until she arrived: the large stone warehouse with a sign jutting out from the wall, saying “A. Thibault, Merchant and Trader.”

  The Thibault warehouse was located right near Augustus’s residence, at the corner of Orléans Street and Champlain Street. His business was once situated on Rochefort Point, but an extension of the fortress wall and the addition of the Maurepas Bastion meant that he’d had to relocate. Marie climbed the hill to the sturdy, two-storey home. The bottom of the house was made of rubblestone but the second floor and the warehouse were constructed of wood. The warehouse sat right beside the home, with a garden and stables for pigs and chickens behind. The street was filled with labourers loading the last of the summer’s merchandise from the few ships that hadn’t yet left. Frost meant snow was soon to follow, and once the snow flew, no more trade would be carried out until the spring thaw. Hundreds of pounds of salted cod needed to be shipped before the ice came. Hopefully, the ships heading east to France would be free from encounters with the British navy.

  Augustus Thibault’s office occupied the entire main floor of his house. He often entertained the captains and representatives of the Master of the Quay, the excisemen looking for taxes, who came through his door. Augustus employed two clerks and a dozen labourers during the summer when business was flourishing.

  That morning, the office was busy with end-of-year affairs. Two captains sat near Augustus, impatiently waiting as he finished preparing the documents they would need for travel. No one noticed Marie as she stepped in quietly.

  She spotted Pierre on the far side of the room, bent over his father’s desk, receiving instruction. Despite the sheep fiasco, he was showing an aptitude for running the business side of things. As long as he stayed away from livestock, and if his father finally forgave him, he might be successful. Marie waited near the entrance for him to finish before making her way across the room. His spot in the office was at least warm—since it was nearest to the stone fireplace. Pierre looked up, surprised. “What are you doing here?”

  Marie now felt badly that she had come. Obviously, they were very busy. She should have waited until office hours were over instead of disturbing him now. “Do you have a moment?” Clearly, he didn’t.

  Augustus looked up from his papers briefly as his son conferred with him. The two ships’ captains glared at Marie for delaying their departure. “You have time,” Augustus said, nodding at Marie. “You can’t be too long, though,” he added as if concerned that hi
s goodwill would be taken advantage of.

  Pierre grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair and led Marie outside into the streets.

  Many of the men there were soldiers, who were working for various merchants and traders to supplement their meagre military incomes. As Pierre buttoned his jacket, Marie watched them for a moment, trying to imagine Nic among them.

  “Are you all right?” Pierre took her arm and led her away from the labourers toward the quieter interior of the city. “Something must be wrong if you came all the way here in the middle of business hours.”

  “Did you know that Nic was thinking of joining the army?” There was no point in wasting time on pleasantries when he needed to return to the office. She could see the muscles in Pierre’s jaw begin to work.

  “He mentioned it,” Pierre said, slowly watching a horse and wagon pass in front of them, laden with barrels. “Why?”

  Marie felt hot tears spring to her eyes. She blinked quickly to prevent them from spilling over. “He enlisted this morning.”

  “And he didn’t tell you first?” Pierre guessed.

  “No! And why didn’t you tell me?” She knew it wasn’t Pierre’s fault, but she had to blame someone. She was scared and hurt that Nic hadn’t told her his plans. He must have been considering this for some time. It couldn’t have been an impulse decision.

  Pierre stopped walking and turned to face her. “I thought you knew.” He pulled her out of the way as another horse and cart went by, headed for the harbour.

  “Well, I didn’t,” she said thickly, staring at the dirt.

  Pierre pulled her close, in a one-arm hug. “I’m sorry,” he said after a while.

  She buried her face against the scratchy wool of his dark jacket. She felt stupid for being upset. If Nic wanted to join the military, that was his right. As the nephew of Claude-Jean des Babineaux and General Joseph-Jean Dumas, it would be possible for him to have a successful career. Claude’s noble stock and Joseph’s high-placed command could only help Nic. Marie sniffed and straightened up. Pierre smiled down at her. For the first time, she realized there were flecks of yellow mixed in with the blue of his eyes. “Sometimes he just makes me so angry,” she mumbled.