by Frieda Watt
Marie,
Would you come to Quebec? I know you’ve just come home, but I miss you so much. I can find a place to rent. It won’t be anything grand, but it would be enough for the two of us. I can take care of you now. Renault is trying his best to have me officially take over all of his duties. There’s an issue because I never went to law school, but even if he doesn’t succeed in convincing the French government to waive that requirement, I can still work here as an official or judge. It would be a stable life. I know you have no connections here except your uncle, and I don’t think he’s presently stationed here. But I have family and you would find people soon enough.
I love you,
Pierre
He wanted to write more, but he was too afraid. He put the letter into an envelope, sealed it, and locked the missive in his bottom desk drawer, where no one would find it.
Pierre eventually found an eccentric pair of trappers travelling to Acadia in the dead of winter, who promised to see the letter delivered for a fee. Pierre didn’t completely trust them but felt it was worth a try. In the worst case, he’d have to re-send the letter when the river thawed and boats were travelling again.
The nearby region of Acadia wasn’t peaceful, though. Since the Treaty of Utretch in 1713, the Acadians, located on the mainland west of Île-Royale, had been under the rule of the British. The Acadians tried their best to remain neutral. They’d promised to not raise arms in support of Louis XIV, but they’d refused to pledge allegiance to King George II. They did not want to disown their French roots. For forty years, they had successfully balanced these two contradictory positions, but things were now becoming serious for them. The British ruling government was growing impatient, and the fate of these people was becoming a matter of intense debate. There was talk among the British officials of just getting rid of the entire population.
In early April, a reply arrived, carried by one of the first boats coming from Île-Royale.
He didn’t open it until late that night when he was alone in his room.
The piece of paper bore only one word: Yes.
He wrote a letter to Marie and then another to his father, telling them he was heading out to Louisbourg and would see them in a few weeks. Daniel then helped him find a small apartment not far from Renault’s offices. It wasn’t difficult. Quebec was a city full of transients, and rooms of one sort or another were always available. He then booked passage on the Gloire, said his goodbyes to Uncle Tomas and his cousins, and set off for Louisbourg to bring back his bride.
***
Marie stood in the corner of the de la Rocque’s large ballroom in mid-May of 1750. Augustin de Drucour, the new Governor, had replaced Louis Du Pont Duchambon. Duchambon and his family, including Charlotte, had stayed in France. They had no desire to continue living in the difficult conditions of the colony. Governor Drucour had held a party of epic proportions at the end of the summer in 1749 when most of the residents of Louisbourg had returned to the fortress from France. Paper lanterns had been hung in the gardens, a huge feast had been laid out, and the dancing had lasted until dawn. The city’s clergymen had not been pleased.
This year, 1750, the de la Rocque family had decided to hold a ball as part of its continuing tradition of reminding the rest of Île-Royale that their family were of importance in France. Marie found him insufferable, but his connections were enough to keep the rest of the upper class simpering at his feet. She knew vaguely from Pierre’s letters that the rest of New France wasn’t quite like this. Less cut off from the rest of the world, the Valley of the Saint-Laurent wasn’t nearly as impressed by a relative of a remote Duke and focused more on the leaders who actually contributed to society.
All the same, Marie was relieved to be back in Louisbourg. It was as much her home as it had been in her mind when she was missing it so desperately in France. It looked exactly as it had when she’d last seen it, but that was a problem. The walls were in ruins, since the British soldiers and civilians hadn’t bothered to fix most of the damage that had been done during the siege. Some repairs were complete, but even those were just quick fixes for the military that had been stationed there. Drucour had ordered massive renovations for the fortress, and 3,500 new soldiers were stationed there. The Swiss regiment had not returned, nor had they been invited.
But it was still Louisbourg. Most of the old inhabitants were back as well as several new ones, and the place felt like home, even though she was standing in a corner of the ballroom, wishing desperately that someone she knew would show up. She’d received Pierre’s letter a few days previously, and her stomach had been in knots ever since she’d read it. Almost five years had passed since she’d last seen him. Five years could change a lot, but she hoped what he’d said in his last letter really was true and that he hadn’t changed his mind since writing it.
Marie had put extra effort into her appearance. Her hair had been carefully curled and set so the curls hung artistically around her face. Her pale-blue dress fit her perfectly, and she’d borrowed simple earrings from Elise and had allowed her friend to do her makeup. But still she worried. She’d made herself sick yesterday wondering what if, what if, what if.
A moment later, Sophie de la Rocque walked in on the arm of her new fiancé, Philippe Eurry de la Pérelle. She walked among the guests, ebony hair held high, accepting their greetings and congratulations. Philippe was the son of the city’s major and therefore had some prominence.
Marie knew that Sophie was only too thrilled about her upcoming marriage because of Philippe’s high position in Louisbourg society. Her wedding to Philippe would also mean that she would no longer have to be terrified of being single for the rest of her life. Her fear of never marrying was how, in the past, she’d found herself in a few compromising positions with Nic. Sophie was doubly elated because the marriage had been jeopardized by the siege. Only when peace returned and Philippe’s father had been reinstated as major in Louisbourg did the actual wedding become a reality.
Sophie spotted Marie and made her way across the room alone, her green eyes dancing. “Guess what I did today?” she exploded without any introduction.
Marie eyed her acquaintance with amusement and some disgust. During the deportation, Sophie had been stuck in southern France, hundreds of miles away from Marie, and that geographical distance had not brought them any closer together in their personal non-relationship.
“Today I convinced Philippe we should have a Christmas wedding.”
“Where will you go afterwards if everyone is covered in snow?”
Sophie waved her hand dismissively and bounced her dark curls. “I don’t care. He can figure it out. I just think that getting married in winter will be so romantic.”
Marie laughed. Sophie didn’t have a practical bone in her body. “And it’s bound to be all the more romantic, since it will take an hour to get to church because everyone will be snowed in.”
Sophie threw Marie a dirty look. Before she could respond, Marie spotted Elise and her cousin Diane across the room and waved them over. They happily obliged. Marie hadn’t seen Elise very often during their exile. Though she lived only twenty miles away in the next town, Annette was too nervous to let Marie take the carriage. It was a long time to be without her best friend. They’d spent most of the last few months talking late into the night when Marie went for sleepovers at Elise’s home. Marie was only too happy to escape the cavernous manor house, where Annette and Claude had resumed their frosty relationship now that they were no longer bound together by the common British enemy. After several late-night conversations, it felt as if she and Elise had never been apart. Elise knew all about Pierre’s impending visit and Marie’s nerves.
“He’s here,” Elise whispered in Marie’s ear. Marie looked around quickly but didn’t spot him. She thought she might sweat through her gown if she didn’t calm down soon.
“Who’s here?” Sophie snapped. “Is there a Duke visiting?”
“Pierre,” Elise said with an eyero
ll.
“Why didn’t you tell us?” Diane demanded.
“I didn’t think you cared?” Marie asked, faltering under the glare of her companions. Marie had the distinct impression Sophie still had a soft spot for Pierre.
Elise nodded toward the far door, where a thin crowd of people had gathered. Diane and Sophie followed her gaze.
He must have grown, if that was possible. He’d let his hair grow longer so even though it was pulled back, some still hung over his eyes, framing his face. He carried himself differently too—with great confidence. His broad frame had filled out, and his muscles were packed tightly around his bones. He no longer looked at all like the scrawny teenager who’d caused so much trouble. He stopped in the doorway and looked around, trying to spot someone.
“Go and talk to him,” Elise whispered to Marie, prodding her in the back.
“He has other people to talk to,” Marie said.
Elise was growing impatient. “Yes, because he came back to see a bunch of people he hasn’t spoken to in years,” Elise huffed. “Don’t be silly! He came to see you.”
“Have you been writing to him?” Sophie asked. She didn’t look at Marie for an answer but stared at Elise instead. Elise picked at her nails.
“We’re friends,” Marie snapped, but no one believed her. Pierre turned in the direction of where Marie was standing. Reluctantly, heart hammering in her chest, Marie waved her arm in the air nervously.
Pierre spotted her and grinned. Then his face suddenly changed to a look of confusion and something else—something Marie couldn’t identify. He started toward her, and because of his size, he easily made his way through the crowd as if he were Moses parting the Red Sea.
“I don’t think he wants to be friends anymore,” Sophie said, making Diane and Elise giggle. Marie barely had time to hiss at them before Pierre drew up in front of her. He must have grown. Either that or she never really appreciated how tall he really was.
There was a time when she would have teased him for standing awkwardly at a dance in an ill-fitting jacket, trying his hardest to catch the eye of an attractive debutante. But those days were obviously over.
“Hello, beautiful,” he laughed. She’d forgotten what his voice sounded like, how deep and husky his laugh was. For a moment, her brain forgot how to work. “You’re more gorgeous than I remember.” The awe in his voice was clear.
“I don’t know if the surprise is really complimentary,” she chided. However, she had grown and matured in the last five years, and now almost twenty, with her thick, chestnut hair and creamy complexion, she now knew she was attractive to others.
“It’s not,” he admitted a little breathlessly, “but you’ve always been beautiful. I guess I just didn’t remember.”
Marie wanted to get off this subject. “Have you grown?”
He had to bend slightly to make himself heard. “About three inches.”
“Three inches?! You’ll soon have to duck to get through doorways.”
“I’ve been doing that for years,” he laughed. “Just have to bend over a bit more now.”
The musicians were beginning a new piece. “Come and dance with me,” Pierre said, holding out his arm.
Marie didn’t really want to dance with him. For one thing, she was a terrible dancer. For another, she’d decided to borrow shoes from Elise that were slightly too small, and she was already losing circulation in her toes. But even more important, all Marie wanted to do was talk to him, find out all about his life in Quebec, the stuff that hadn’t made it into the letters.
And she said as much to Pierre: “We have so much to talk about. How can we do that when we’re dancing or when you’re dancing and I’m falling over?”
Pierre’s blue eyes twinkled. “There’ll be time for talk, I promise.”
Grudgingly, Marie accepted and went to take her place in the line across from Pierre. He smiled reassuringly. “I know you hate dancing with an audience but just a few sets and then no one will pay us any attention.”
Marie doubted that. She could almost feel the eyes of Lady Isabelle, the town gossip, burrowing into the back of her skull. The dance was a simple one, and Marie was grateful for that because she wouldn’t need to think too hard and could focus instead on her companion. Her hands were still sweaty with nerves, though, so she tried to wipe them surreptitiously on her skirts.
“You look well,” Marie said to Pierre between dance steps. That was an understatement to say the least.
Pierre laughed. “I could say the same to you. France obviously agreed with you even if you hated it.”
Marie smiled. “You paid attention when you read my letters.”
“I hope so. You’re the only one who wrote to me.”
Marie stopped in surprise, and the woman next to her crashed into her, sending them both toppling into a nearby table. The music stopped, and with cheeks glowing, Marie stammered a hasty apology. She wished the floor would open and devour her. She’d spent the last fortnight counting down the days to Pierre’s arrival and now she wanted to run away.
Pierre was trying not to laugh, but he wasn’t succeeding.
“Really? No one else ever wrote to you?” That was a rather unfortunate revelation. She was thrilled that she was the only woman to write him but it put more pressure on all the letters she had sent him. Pierre shrugged, unconcerned. She looked behind Pierre to see Diane, Elise, and Sophie gossiping and giggling behind their fans. Diane blew them a kiss. Throwing caution to the winds, Marie grabbed Pierre’s arm, dragged him away from the dancers, and steered him toward a door leading to a garden. He was guffawing intermittently all the way and didn’t stop until they’d found a quiet spot to sit.
Elise, Diane, and Sophie and an embarrassed Philippe tried to follow but were waylaid by the Governor, who was quite pleased to find himself surrounded by three attractive women. He completely misread the situation and launched into a lengthy dialogue, giving Marie and Pierre a chance to escape.
“It’s not funny,” Marie said crossly once they were in the safety of the garden.
Pierre tried to control himself. “I’m glad you haven’t changed.”
Marie crossed her arms and ignored him while he regained his composure. Her face was on fire.
“Surely I wasn’t the only one who wrote to you.”
“No,” he admitted. “But even the letters from my father were sporadic at best. You wrote me every month. Sometimes six of them would arrive at once. It was nice.”
Pierre found a decorated wood bench tucked between a bed of roses and some rhubarb, and he beckoned her to follow him. Still supremely self-conscious, Marie sat beside him. His hand brushed hers. For a moment, she thought it was an accident. Then his little finger gently intertwined with hers.
It was time to say something. “I missed you,” she said, barely above a whisper. “Annette and I stayed in the country while Claude attended Court. We were less than a mile from where your father was living. It made me sad thinking of the trouble we could have stirred up and the fun we could have had if you’d been there.”
He laughed again, a great belly laugh that filled the garden. “We could have raised some eyebrows.” He pushed one of the curls that fell across her forehead out of the way. “Tell me about France.”
There wasn’t much to tell that she hadn’t already told him. Her letters were always twice the length of his. She told him about going to Paris and visiting the Court of Versailles—how people looked down on her for being a lowly “Canadian” even while they were wrapped in furs from the colony. She told him how Annette had tried more than once to set her up with an eligible bachelor of the Court who was willing to look beyond her “wildness.” She had refused everyone. She couldn’t imagine spending the rest of her life in such a boring world with no ocean or wilderness, where people created their own drama to distract themselves from the meaninglessness of their own lives.
Pierre listened attentively, but she could tell that the world she was describing was
as foreign to him as the West Indies were to her.
“You really don’t want to spend your life with all that finery?” It seemed easier than constantly fighting against the wilderness here.
Marie rolled her eyes. “At Versailles, people actually fight for the chance to watch the King relieve himself. It’s the most ridiculous thing ever. I couldn’t live there another moment.”
Pierre didn’t believe that piece of information. It was too bizarre to be true. So he told her about Quebec, the family he had met there, his cousins and his work. He told her about Renault and their adventures together and the wars he had fought in the courtroom. Marie had never seen him so at peace as he described the world he had built for himself. For his part, Pierre was surprised by how much there was to tell. He thought he’d communicated everything in his letters, but the words just kept spilling out of him.
Other people walked through the garden, seeking a reprieve from the heat of so many bodies packed together in the house. Marie and Pierre ignored them all, focusing only on each other. And the butterflies in both of their stomachs began to slowly dissolve.
“Is Annette here tonight?” Pierre asked eventually. He was surprised she hadn’t come to interrupt them yet.
Marie shook her head, the tight curls bouncing around her face. “No. Two days ago she developed another one of her headaches. Possibly the worst she’s ever had. I’ve never seen her so sick. She’s still in bed.”
“That’s a shame.”
“All sorts of people have been coming in to see her to try to solve the problem, but so far, nothing has helped.” Marie was beginning to worry. Annette may have enjoyed drama, but this was beyond her usual actions.
“Want to go for a walk?” Pierre stretched his large frame. Sitting for long periods of time wasn’t that comfortable for him, since the world hadn’t been made for someone his size.
They took a turn around the garden, pausing to let others go ahead of them on the narrow stone pathway. As they neared the shadow of the house, Pierre led her off the path toward a secluded spot under a bent and gnarled fruit tree.
