The Displaced

by Frieda Watt

Nic held up his hand. “It’s not that simple.”

  “Why not?” she demanded, her anger rising. Did Nic have any idea what this meant to her?

  “Sit down.” She glared at him but sat down anyway.

  “Pierre can’t communicate with anyone—I mean anyone,” he said slowly. “Anyone he’s with believes he’s Charles Geroux.”

  “But your friend—”

  “My friend told me there was a blond-haired giant who’d just emerged from prison. This giant is also from Louisbourg. Who else would it be? In seven weeks, he goes south to the Ohio Valley.”

  “But he’s not an actual solider—”

  “You really need to stop interrupting me,” Nic snapped. “Pierre Thibault is now a soldier. The paperwork exists; it was signed by a General Picard. It’s completely legal and binding. There’s nothing anyone can do. You can’t just quit the French army, especially when there’s a war going on.”

  Marie bit her lip to keep from crying.

  “He might have been held as Charles Geroux so no one could find him. I don’t know what name he goes by now, but either way, he’s in, and there’s nothing anyone can do about this.”

  “But it was faked! Renault, Bigot, they can get him out!”

  “You need to listen to me!” Nic pushed his face forward so it was only inches from hers. “He’s in the army, and with a war going on, there’s no way he can be released. The desertion charge may have been faked, but now he’s a soldier through and through. Maybe once the conflict is over things will change, but until then, he’s going to the Ohio.”

  Nic watched as the tears formed in his sister’s eyes. He tried to put a comforting hand on hers, but she pushed him away. “I’m sorry, Marie.”

  She just shook her head and stood up.

  “I’ll figure something out,” he promised. “He’s alive. That’s one good thing.”

  Marie ignored him and ran upstairs to her room, slamming the door loud enough that the sound reverberated throughout the house.

  Madame Badeau emerged from the cold cellar. She’d been waiting there for the exchange to finish before emerging with her armful of beets. “She’s not going to stay put while she knows where he is,” she warned sternly.

  Nic stood up. “But she’s not stupid enough to go after him alone. I’ll think of something.”

  Madame Badeau shook her head, dumped the beets on the kitchen table, and began peeling.

  ***

  The next day the rain finally stopped, but the mood around the fortress was still glum. Though the declaration of war had little impact on the everyday lives of people in the city, the memories of the last siege were going through everyone’s minds. Just as bad, the walls weren’t completely rebuilt, so the destruction the bombs had caused eight years before still stood in some places as a constant reminder of what was most likely going to happen again. So far, the ships were still coming. Maybe with the battles being waged in Europe, Britain would ignore the fortress. Everyone wanted to think that, but it was a desperate hope, not a likely eventuality.

  Late that evening, Augustus was sitting behind his desk on the first floor of his house. The room was littered with papers. He never let the housekeeper to clean here; it was his own private place. The piles of paper drove everyone crazy, but Augustus found comfort in the clutter.

  He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. His son had been found but was now heading into battle. After six years of waiting, with Pierre rotting in prison the whole time, the news came as little comfort. He was still unreachable and would continue to be, unless he survived the war.

  The ships would stop coming too. When was anyone’s guess, but the British navy was too powerful for regular vessels to contend with.

  A quiet knock came at his door. “What?” he shouted. He had given very specific instructions not to be disturbed while he was working.

  The sun-darkened face of Marie Lévesque appeared around the doorframe. Embarrassed, Augustus stood up, sending papers flying off the overcrowded desk.

  “Marie. Good to see you.” He tried to cover his awkwardness by offering her a drink but then remembered that young women didn’t drink whisky.

  “I’m fine,” she smiled, unsuccessfully trying to hide her agitation. She stayed in the doorway as if afraid to enter the chaos of the room.

  Augustus nodded. “What can I do for you?”

  The man looked so much like his son. She’d avoided him as much as possible since the disappearance because the reminder of Pierre just caused her pain. “I’m going to Montreal,” she announced.

  Augustus nodded his grey-blond head, impressed by her daring. Despite her brother’s belief to the contrary, he had been expecting this. “I’m not surprised.”

  She took a deep breath. “Would you come with me?”

  Augustus sank back into his chair. He picked his glasses up from the top of one of his towers of paper and cleaned them with his handkerchief. He delayed his response until he’d placed the spectacles back on the bridge of his nose.

  “I don’t think so, my dear,” he said sadly. “I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

  “Why not?”

  He didn’t answer but drummed his fingers on the arms of his chair.

  “I need a boat.” She tried to sound more confident than she felt. “I don’t have much money, but I can pay for passage there. Do you have one going to Montreal? preferably, one that will get there in the shortest possible time?”

  Augustus studied her for a moment, trying to decide whether it would be wise to help her. He could see the pale-blue pattern that looked suspiciously like faded bruises on her chest that she had tried to hide. Annette would be furious with him when she inevitably found out, but it seemed a small price to pay for Pierre to have Marie again. It would help him appease his guilt for having neglected his son so much over the years.

  Augustus rifled through the mountain of papers on his desk, finally finding what he was looking for. Marie glanced around the room. Every surface from the bookcase to the extra chair was covered in loose piles of paper.

  “How do you ever find anything?” Marie asked, amazed.

  Augustus smiled. “Surprisingly easily. My housekeeper, Madame Cloutier, has tried from time to time to get me to organize this mess, but I can never find anything once it’s filed away. He pulled a crumpled piece of paper out from the bottom of a stack and held it up triumphantly.

  “I don’t have any boats going to Montreal—at least none that will get you there before he leaves. But I do have a captain, Côté, who isn’t too busy at the moment. I could send some things on the Meriette. I have some rum and claret the capital would probably enjoy.” He continued to mumble to himself as he pulled more lists from the stacks.

  Marie waited patiently but eventually cleared her throat to remind him she was still present.

  “Oh, my dear. I’m sorry. Yes. As long as Côté is willing, I think I could have you on your way by tomorrow afternoon.”

  That was better than Marie had hoped for, and she thanked him profusely. He waved the gratitude away. It was the least he could do.

  “I need to ask one more thing of you, though.” She paused as if worried that it would be too much. “Please don’t tell anyone, especially Annette, where I’m going.”

  Augustus looked at her sharply. “You know I can’t hide it from her forever.”

  Marie nodded. “But at least give me a few days’ head start. I need to find Pierre before anyone can find me.”

  There was a bit too much understanding in the look that Augustus gave her. Evidently, he knew more about what went on behind the doors of the Babineaux household than most.

  “I will do my best to make sure that Claude does not find out where you have gone.”

  ***

  Everything was settled, and the Meriette was on the open water as night fell the next day. The ship would travel around the north shore of the island in order to avoid Acadia and the British as much as possible. They would travel t
hrough the Gulf of the Saint-Laurent, past the Madeleine Islands, before reaching the safety of the Saint-Laurent River. Augustus had seen her off, giving Côté specific instructions to keep an eye on Marie. Knowing how rough and rude sailors could be and despite his justifications to himself, he still wasn’t sure he’d made the right decision. If anything happened to her, he would hold himself responsible.

  He retired to his home and waited for the fireworks to begin.

  Sure enough, the next morning, as he was preparing to leave for the warehouse, a visibly distraught Annette barged into his bedroom. Madame Cloutier stood helplessly behind the woman, clearly upset that the visitor had made it past her to such a private part of the house.

  Annette’s usually well-set, dark hair was wild, standing in bunches around her puffy face. Her eyes were red after what Augustus assumed was a night of hysterics. He knew he should feel slightly bad about the night she had obviously spent pacing around the house, but he didn’t.

  “What’s the matter?” He continued to tie his cravat.

  “Marie is missing!” Annette wailed. “She never came home last night.”

  Augustus tried to look surprised, but acting had never been his strong suit. “Do you know where she is?”

  “No! She’s missing! How could I know where she is?” Annette stomped her foot in frustration. “Nic hasn’t seen her, and the hospital has no idea where she is. What if she’s dead?”

  “I’m sure she’s not dead.” Augustus began to comb his hair. “When was the last time you saw her?”

  Annette glared at him, furious that he wasn’t taking this as seriously as she was. “Yesterday morning. We need to do something!”

  “My dear, why do you think I would be able to do something? Isn’t Claude the one with all the power?” He ducked as Annette threw his snuff box at him.

  “Don’t you dare bring Claude into this. He doesn’t care about her. Never has.”

  Augustus straightened up and walked out of the room. There were far fewer things for her to throw at him in the hallway. She let him pass without argument, following as closely behind him as possible.

  “Don’t you walk away! I need your help! I have to find her.”

  Augustus stopped at the top of the stairs. He watched Annette with a wary expression. It was hard to want to help her when she was in such a screaming state. “You need to calm down.” If he told Annette where her niece was, there was a chance Claude would find out as well. He very much doubted that Claude would go to Montreal to chase his niece down but he still didn’t like the idea of it.

  “I am calm!” she exploded.

  “Give it a few days. I’m sure she’ll turn up.” Augustus headed down the stairs. Annette followed him, worming her way between him and the front door.

  “You know where she is, don’t you?” Her voice was very quiet.

  Augustus shrugged. “How would I know that?”

  “I know they found Pierre. Nic told me. Has she gone after him?”

  Augustus shifted his huge frame. He had never been able to lie to Annette. And he knew that despite her failings, she loved her niece deeply.

  “Did you help her?” She was pleading.

  “You have to promise this will never reach Claude.” Annette nodded. “She’s on her way to Montreal.”

  Annette let out a cry of despair. “How could you?”

  His anger finally kindled, Augustus rounded on her. “How could I? How could I not? She wants to go. Let her. She’s an adult. She can make her own decisions. I put my best captain on the job. She’s in good hands.” He was so loud he was sure the neighbours could hear.

  Annette swelled indignantly.

  “Save your breath.” Augustus spat. “They deserve to be happy.”

  “Why didn’t she tell me?”

  “Probably because she knew this is how you would react.”

  With the anger out of her, Annette seemed to shrink, stepping toward him and wrapping her arms around his middle. “I’m sorry,” she said in a small voice.

  Augustus patted her head, trying to control his temper. “She should be fine.”

  Chapter 9

  BY THE MIDDLE OF AUGUST, THE MARIETTE HAD REACHED Montreal, and Marie was looking out at the place from the ship’s deck. It certainly didn’t hold a candle to Louisbourg or Quebec with their heavy fortifications and thick walls, jutting up to protect their citizens from attack. Montreal was surrounded only by a crude, wooden palisade made from sharpened logs. A stone steeple and many tall buildings soared above the palisade, giving an impression of power, but the city still seemed vulnerable in the face of the encroaching wilderness.

  Marie had spent the entire voyage second-guessing herself. Once she was out on the ocean, she realized no one in their right mind would just quit a job at the hospital and run away to find (or not find) a man she had not seen for six years. She didn’t doubt that it would be wonderful to see Pierre, but would he be happy to see her? She just assumed that prison wouldn’t have changed his opinion of her, but she became more and more afraid of his reaction as the ship rocked along the Saint-Laurent.

  Augustus had made sure she had a cabin, a place where she could be alone, away from the prying eyes of the crew. It was clear to everyone on board that this voyage was just a ruse to get Marie to Montreal, and that didn’t generate any extra respect for her. As long as she kept to herself, though, the crew largely ignored her, and she was prudent enough to know that she shouldn’t go out and roam the decks of such a large ship without a chaperone. Most of the sailors believed it was bad luck to have a woman on board, so that was another reason for locking herself in her minute cabin most of the time.

  As soon as the ship dropped anchor, Marie quickly scrambled ashore. Her heart was hammering and she thought she might be sick. She debated trying to find a room in a nearby inn to freshen up, but she thought she might lose her nerve if she didn’t start her search immediately.

  She wasn’t sure what the best course of action was. There were no barracks in Montreal, since the garrison was billeted with the civilian population. Pierre could literally be anywhere. So she decided to search for the military offices and found them after asking various merchants and passersby where they might be. This took less time than she thought, since Montreal was smaller than Louisbourg and Quebec. The last city before the wilderness of the interior, it also had a frontier feeling that Louisbourg, with all its isolation, did not possess. Nic’s officer friend was not at the military offices, since he’d already left to join his battalion in the Ohio Valley.

  The officers that she spoke to had no idea where Charles/Pierre was stationed at the present moment, nor did they know where he was bunking. They did know that he was to be sent to the Ohio Valley in a few days, but that was the only information they could give her. Marie felt they were being purposely unhelpful. Exhausted, she found a small inn, somewhat cleaner than the vessel she had just left, and cried herself to sleep. The morning didn’t offer much more promise, as Marie had no plan. She had hoped the military would give her all the help she needed, but that obviously wasn’t going to happen. She had money but didn’t want to offer any bribes, at least not at this stage. She had a week to find Pierre.

  Montreal was bustling with activity. Marie spent her first day carefully checking every tavern, warehouse, and construction site she could find. She even hired a trustworthy-looking farmer to take her beyond the palisades in his oxcart as he was leaving the market, so she could go outside the palisades to check some nearby farms. There was no one in any of those places who looked remotely like Pierre. She realized she might not recognize him right away after six years. He could have lost weight or cut his hair. And he could have permanent injuries from beatings he’d probably received during his incarceration.

  The people who ran the inn were concerned about her. Young women of good reputation did not travel alone in Montreal. The plump, matronly innkeeper tried to befriend Marie and give her advice, but Marie had other things to do. The own
ers made sure she ate and knew her way around the city, but Marie couldn’t bear to tell them why she was there. The longer the search took, the more pathetic she felt. As she lay in bed the night of the second day, she started to feel afraid. Even if Pierre was here, she was running out of time, since he’d soon be marching to Ohio.

  The next day, Marie awoke feeling as if there was nowhere left for her to look. However, she made the rounds of various drinking establishments and began asking people if they had seen anyone matching Pierre’s description. To her initial delight, a few people seemed to recognize who she was talking about. But they refused to elaborate and just gave noncommittal shrugs or averted their eyes. No amount of begging, pleading, or offers of bribes got any more information out of them.

  Wherever she inquired, she left her name and where she was staying. If someone had a change of heart or did see Pierre, maybe he would find her.

  Dejected, she went back to the shores of the Saint-Laurent. It wasn’t the ocean, but the sound of the rushing river water helped calm her down. She watched the setting sun sink low behind the evergreens on the opposite bank. But none of the beauty around her helped give her any hope of finding Pierre. And even if, by some fluke, she did find him, he would be leaving in a few days. Then she’d have to find one of the ships’ captains whose names Augustus had written down for her and sail back to Louisbourg alone.

  Was Nic’s officer friend right when he’d said Pierre was in Montreal? Could he have confused another man for Pierre? It was possible, and that would mean she was here on a fool’s errand. Pierre may never even have made it to prison. He could have been pushed overboard anywhere along the route and ended up at the bottom of the ocean.

  Evening was closing in, and sailors and labourers were slowly trickling into the heart of the city, looking for food and drink. Marie got up and followed them, but in the gathering dusk, she could hardly make out the features of anyone, let alone Pierre’s.

  Marie knew she had to get indoors before night fell entirely. Montreal had the highest crime rate in the colony, partly because anyone wanting to make a quick escape—coureurs de bois, voyageurs, or petty thugs—could easily melt into the surrounding forests and escape detection. She didn’t want to add to the crime rate. Marie hurried through the streets, paying extra attention to her surroundings, afraid of getting lost in the semi-darkness. There was no point in going missing herself, and if she was late getting back to the inn, she knew the innkeepers would be in a state. All of this was nothing, though, compared to the fact that she had not found Pierre. Had Nic’s officer friend betrayed Nic—and her? Would someone lure her to Montreal for nefarious purposes? She shook her head to get those paranoid thoughts out of her mind.