The Displaced

by Frieda Watt

  “Is that your idea of a happy marriage?” Marie asked cuttingly. “As long as your physical needs are met, that’s enough? Love, happiness, and amicability have nothing to do with it?” She had to bite her tongue before she started comparing Nic’s marriage to the situation.

  Nic glowered at her. “No, but the last few hours haven’t exactly proved me wrong.”

  “I didn’t know Pierre was transferred back until last night as I was leaving the party. I was trying to get home and grab some things before Claude found me. I was hoping to hide at the hospital. It didn’t work, though,” she finished quietly.

  “So Pierre was a coincidence?”

  Marie smiled sadly. “I doubt you’ll believe me, but it’s true.”

  Nic leaned back in his chair. “Why did you do it, though? Why last night?”

  Marie lay back on the pillows. “I don’t know. I just couldn’t take it anymore. Anyway, it was better to do that now than in a month when it would have been too late,” she said simply.

  “But marrying Jacques would have been better than this.” Nic pointed to her ruined body. “That was the idea behind agreeing to the engagement. What are you going to do now?”

  Marie shrugged her shoulders and then gasped as the movement jostled her left forearm. “I’m just going to stay here and heal.”

  Nic shook his head. “Marie …”

  “Please stop blaming him, Nic,” a voice muttered from the recesses of the pillows. “This isn’t his fault.”

  Nic ignored her. “Uncle Joseph is still stationed at Fort Saint-Frédéric at Lac Champlain. But he had offered you his home.”

  Silence greeted this announcement.

  “If we hurry, it can happen before the siege. The British blockade is not yet as effective as it has been. The entire island isn’t surrounded. If you got to Baie des Espagnols, the rest of the journey should be fairly straightforward.”

  Marie was moving again, trying to sit up and pull herself off the bed. Nic scrambled to help her.

  “What are you doing?”

  Marie grasped his forearm so tightly it hurt. “I want to get up and walk.”

  Nic knew better than to argue and helped her manoeuvre out of bed so she was standing upright. He stayed within arm’s reach as she slowly shuffled around the room.

  “That feels better,” Marie sighed. She moved slowly to the window and looked out at the afternoon sun.

  Nic followed her in case she suddenly felt weak. “Going to Quebec would spare you from the coming siege and get you away from Claude, and you would have more independence,” he continued on as if she wasn’t trying to avoid the subject. “You could work at the hospital there. Joseph would happily support you.”

  Marie turned from the window, scowling. “I don’t want to go.”

  “And why do you suddenly not want to go?” He couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of his voice. This had always been Plan B before the engagement had happened. He was beginning to seriously regret helping Pierre come back to Louisbourg. At the moment, he didn’t care about anyone’s feelings; he just wanted Marie to be safe. Joseph had agreed to take Marie on as his charge. And Augustus and Nic had arranged, several times, for her to leave for Quebec. However, every time Marie had actually packed and left the manor, Claude had found her before the ship left.

  Marie didn’t answer but began moving slowly around the room, not looking at her brother. It felt good to stretch her muscles.

  “Marie, Claude will find you if you stay here too long.”

  Marie suddenly felt her legs buckle. The room was spinning. She grabbed the back of a nearby chair, trying to steady herself before she fell over. Nic’s arms wrapped around her and scooped her up as easily as if she was a bag of flour, setting her safely back on the bed.

  Embarrassed, Marie settled back into the warmth of the bedding. “Thanks, little brother.”

  Nic shook his head. “Only by five minutes.”

  “Six.”

  Nic smiled despite himself. “If you want to see Pierre again, that’s fine, but I need to make plans for you to leave. We’ve been trying to do this for years, Marie. For all we know, tomorrow Claude will be breaking down the door. And if you’re set on avoiding Jacques, this is the only way.”

  “Fine,” she sighed. “How long do you think it will take to find a ship?”

  “Not much more than two weeks. Father Weber says no travel for a fortnight.”

  Marie nodded and stretched out her hand. “Thank you for taking care of me, Nic. I’m sorry it happened again.”

  Nic grabbed her offered hand. “Don’t say that. It’s not your fault.”

  “This time it kind of was. I was feeling reckless.”

  “Still …” Nic cleared his throat. “Get some sleep, sis.”

  ***

  True to his orders from Nic, Pierre had gone back to the barracks and spent the night in his bunk surrounded once again by the smelly, belching men of the Louisbourg garrison. The barracks housed rows of bunks suspended from floor to ceiling. Some bunks accommodated up to three soldiers a night, but Pierre, through a rigorous routine of pretending to kick in his sleep, had managed to get a bunk to himself. Even so, he was too tall to properly stretch out on the thin mattress.

  During peacetime, there wasn’t much to do in the fortress. Most men spent their free time doing labour for extra pay on the farms surrounding the fortress or in the city. Now, however, with the knowledge that the British forces would eventually leave Halifax, the garrison began training in earnest. Artillery was moved and ships were armed. Trenches were dug outside the walls, and men were stationed in the fields, trenches, ramparts, and within the city, looking for signs of trouble.

  All the same, these activities didn’t take up the entire day. It was a waiting game. Nerves were stretched to the breaking point, and time off was encouraged to keep the soldiers sane. Having lived through the last invasion, Pierre knew roughly what was coming, although he didn’t plan on living through it this time. That wasn’t why he’d been stationed here.

  Pierre usually went down to the warehouse to help his father when not on duty as a soldier. While he was paid less than his colleagues, who did manual labour, it did help him feel more like a human being again after years as a soldier running around the countryside killing anyone who opposed him.

  The morning after he brought Marie to his father’s house, Pierre was back, walking into his father’s first-floor office. It was difficult to be in that place, which he had once thought would be his. Most of the clerks who had been employed before he had been sent to Quebec were still there, but he wasn’t the owner’s son anymore. He could see it in their eyes. He was just another soldier trying to make extra pay.

  His father was in the office surrounded by his usual mounds of paper. There wasn’t as much current paperwork to do now, though. There were rumours of blockades starting in the summer, and no merchant ship wanted to go head to head with a British warship. Most of the clerks came in only once a week now because of Augustus having mercy on them and paying them a bit while they looked for other part-time employment.

  Augustus looked up, nodded in recognition, and continued with his paperwork.

  “How is she?” Pierre tried to make the question sound conversational, without success.

  Augustus sighed and shook his thick, grey-blond mane. “Madame Cloutier has taken over as the chief attendant. Marie will recover.”

  “You say that like you’ve seen worse,” Pierre accused.

  Augustus didn’t raise his head but nodded into the papers he was writing on. “In Montreal, Claude whipped her. On the trip home, some of the wounds became inflamed. She had a terrible fever. I’m not sure how she survived. She spent several weeks in the hospital, and somehow they were able to mend her.”

  Pierre clenched his fists and turned away bitterly. Augustus saw the emotion and stood up and moved toward his son. “What’s done is done, Pierre. You cannot change it.”

  Pierre snorted in dismissal. “
Is that how you live with yourself?”

  Augustus sighed but didn’t rise to the bait. “Focus on now. You are both alive. She will recover, and for the first time in a very long time, you are together in the same place.”

  Pierre stared out the window at the mostly empty harbour.

  “She has asked not to see you for two weeks,” Augustus said, quietly turning back to his desk.

  Pierre spun around. “Why not?” Fear that she had reverted back to her original attitude gripped him.

  “I would guess that she’s embarrassed. She’s in a great deal of pain and wants to heal more before she sees you again,” he replied calmly.

  “Is this her idea or Nic’s?”

  “I would hazard Nic’s, but I wouldn’t fight him about it.”

  ***

  It was a long two weeks. While Marie finally felt well enough to wander around, she was forbidden to leave the house during the day for fear that someone would see her. She was permitted to walk around the garden behind the house after darkness fell, but she still chafed at having to spend so much time inside. She understood the concern for her safety, but she felt as cooped up as a chicken in a cage. She had no clothes, having escaped from the house with nothing but what she was wearing the night of the ball. The green silk gown lay blood stained and crumpled in a corner. She had borrowed a chemise and thick shawl from one of the maids downstairs. She could possibly have borrowed more, but her injured ribs prevented her from wearing her stays.

  The coming conflict seemed unimportant at the moment, her world having been turned upside down with the reappearance of Pierre. As far as she could tell, the British were doing nothing. Her only information came from the servants and Augustus, however, none of them wanted to cause her more stress.

  Elise visited a handful of times during the fortnight that Marie was convalescing. She had the ability to see past the injuries and baggage they carried, treating Marie as if their times together were just more visits in Elise’s front room. Marie appreciated those interchanges more than Elise would ever realize. The two women would just sit on the bed, drinking tea. Elise refused to bring up Pierre and the chain of events that had led to this particular beating. Marie would bring it up when she was ready. Besides, the British invasion and the reality of Nic going into action was now consuming most of Elise’s energy. So it was better for her not to delve too deeply into Marie’s problems but to be there for her as a kind presence.

  ***

  The two-week recovery period had been Nic’s idea, but Marie hated it. Nic would secure some sort of passage off the island for her as soon as she was considered well enough to travel.

  Meanwhile, Pierre and Nic met every night in the tavern. Since Pierre’s return to the fortress, they had had little to do with each other. But now that Pierre knew Marie had seen him at his worst in Montreal, he could no longer blame Nic for his anger. Pierre felt as responsible as Nic believed him to be.

  Nic now seemed resigned to the fact that Pierre was back in his sister’s life. He knew, when he signed the papers to have Pierre stationed at Louisbourg, that he was also leaving open the possibility that Pierre could reconnect with Marie. He felt deeply conflicted. Marie was happy that Pierre was back, a feeling she hadn’t had in years. However, Pierre’s proximity to Marie put her in danger. Though they were both adults and could do what they wanted, Nic was the one who had picked up the pieces after Pierre had left, and he couldn’t stop resentment from boiling up in him. All the same, now that they shared deep concern for Marie’s well-being, they went out for drinks from time to time to discuss her condition. At first, their conversations revolved around Marie and her injuries, but they eventually morphed into a resurrection of the friendship they had once shared.

  “Have you been to see her?” Nic asked one night out of the blue, the smoky tavern around them teeming with drunken sailors unable to leave the harbour.

  Pierre choked into his tankard. He thought they were talking about fishing. Eyes streaming, he eventually muttered, “I thought two weeks ended tomorrow.”

  Nic gave Pierre a shrewd look. “Counting the days?”

  The cadet wiped his face and glared across the room at the tavern owner, who was pouring ale at a long counter.

  Nic’s dark eyes danced with mischief. “She’s bored. I think she’d like to see you now.”

  Pierre’s neck snapped around so quickly he pulled a muscle.

  Nic snickered as Pierre massaged his left side.

  “I was there two days ago.” Nic paused to take a drink. “She’s bored out of her mind and could use some company.”

  “I thought you visited her every day.”

  The black locks waved in disagreement. “I don’t want to go too often. Claude might be watching.”

  Pierre arched an eyebrow. He hadn’t thought of that. “Aren’t you being a tad paranoid?”

  Nic shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know. I have no idea how he keeps finding her.” He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands.

  “Is it the priest? Weber?”

  “No, she hasn’t needed treatment every time. I’ve ruled out most of the servants too. I trust most of them but I don’t tell them where I take her. Except for Madame Badeau, whom I trust completely.”

  Pierre sat back and scratched his chin. He knew Marie considered the heavy housekeeper a surrogate mother. No, it wasn’t Madame Badeau.

  “I wouldn’t worry about it, though,” Nic said, trying to be reassuring. “You have every reason to go to visit your father’s house.”

  Pierre looked dubious.

  “And even if Claude figures it out this time, he’s no match for Augustus. Augustus would knock him senseless before Claude got anywhere near the house.”

  “Would he?” Pierre said darkly, standing and heading toward the door.

  “Say ‘hi’ for me,” Nic called to the hulky, retreating back.

  Chapter 11

  A HEAVY MIST HAD BEGUN TO RISE AS PIERRE made the trip across town. Others who were out walking or doing errands were dodging the raindrops, trying to reach their destinations as quickly as possible. Pierre flipped his collar up against the wind. He refused to wear his uniform when not on duty. It helped him feel more human.

  A solitary candle was burning in the window of the second floor. Pierre watched as Marie moved around, silhouetted against the light. He paused, staring at the slight figure. His heart was pounding against his ribs. Eight years was a long time to be without someone you loved so much your life depended on her. The house was quiet. Servants skirted around him as he made his way upstairs.

  The bedroom door was open a crack, and he knocked softly. Marie was still by the window and turned to see who the visitor was. She looked infinitely better than she had at their last meeting. The swelling had gone down, and she appeared to be much more like herself again. Purple and green were still marbled along the corner of her jaw, but otherwise, she looked like his sweet but feisty Marie. Marie gave a shy smile as Pierre peeked around the door. She suddenly wished she’d put more effort into her appearance. She tried desperately to smooth her hair back into the braid she’d slept in.

  “I didn’t know you were coming.” She was moving toward one of the chairs very carefully, afraid to jar her body.

  Pierre slid the chair closer and motioned for her to sit. Marie slowly lowered herself into the offered chair. The intimacy of their last encounter had evaporated with the passage of time. They were both feeling awkward.

  “How are you feeling?” he asked, sitting down on another chair and drawing it up a bit closer to her.

  Marie glanced up quickly, colour flushing to her cheeks as she caught his eye. “Much better than the last time I saw you. Still sore, though.”

  “You look a lot better.”

  Marie laughed and he grinned.

  “I’m afraid I don’t remember much of it.”

  “You were on a lot of drugs.”

  A nervous laugh escaped her. “I just wanted to thank you.
For everything you did.” She moved her fingers nervously along the top of the small table in front of her.

  Pierre shook his head dismissively. “I’m sorry I couldn’t have done more.” His voice was soft with regret.

  Marie looked up at him. “There’s nothing to be sorry for.”

  Pierre shifted his weight uncomfortably.

  Silence fell between them again. Marie was at a loss for something to say. She didn’t want to talk about the past. If he dug too deeply, he wouldn’t want to stay.

  Pierre set two battered books on the table. Marie’s face lit up.

  “Where did you get these?” She pulled them toward her eagerly with her good hand. Books were scarce and expensive—a luxury few could afford in the frontier city.

  Pierre smiled at her reaction. “I borrowed them.”

  Marie opened the top book, fanning the pages with her thumb. “Merci. Your father doesn’t have any books. Since my headaches went away, I’ve been so bored.”

  Pierre’s husky laugh filled the room. “You’re right!” he said eventually, still wheezing. “All he owns are nautical charts and maps.”

  “What does he talk about at social gatherings?”

  “Boats?” Pierre grinned.

  It was Marie’s turn to laugh. “Good thing he doesn’t go out much.” She put a hand on her side as her muscles protested the movement.

  Pierre quickly reached across the table and held her upper arm. “Are you all right?”

  Marie smiled weakly. “I’m not used to laughing.”

  The silence deepened. Marie felt acutely aware of the warmth of his hand through the thin fabric of her shawl. Catching himself, he removed his hand hastily.

  Unsure of what to say next, Marie picked at an imaginary spot on her nail. “Did you know that I didn’t want to leave?” The question was little more than a whisper—as if he hadn’t meant to ask it. Marie nodded.

  “You know that I didn’t choose to join the army, right?” This was the question that had tormented him the most. Had anyone told her what had happened or had she thought he abandoned her and enlisted of his own volition? Marie raised her head slowly and rested her bandaged hand on the table. They were back at the past, exactly where she didn’t want to be.