The Displaced

by Frieda Watt

  The man grinned mischievously. “Well, then, sweetie, if you ever want to change your life calling, I’ll happily take ya.”

  Sara rolled her eyes and muttered something rude in English.

  Unperturbed by this, the man turned back to Pierre. “I guess you’re in good hands then.”

  “I doubt it. She’ll be less concerned about my comfort than if she was treating a stranger. She’s still mad at me for getting involved in this whole mess.”

  “Oh, shut up, you.” Marie glared. “You’ll be just fine. Now take off your shirt.”

  Both men howled with laughter. Pierre needed help getting his shirt above his shoulders, so Marie stopped the joking and gently pulled it off.

  The wound was deep but fairly clean. Sara washed it with boiled water, and Pierre grunted as Marie pressed against the wound.

  “Do you have any other injuries I should know about?” Marie asked, though she was afraid to know the answer.

  “No. All good except for this one.”

  Then Marie realized that minor injuries were usually treated on the battlefield, and this one, bad as it was, would be considered minor. Pierre had used the need to drop off a comrade as an excuse to see her. She sat down beside him, preparing to stitch him back together.

  “Yes, so far, I’m fine,” Pierre went on. “More than I can say for most of the boys … and … I’m sorry about Nic.” He gripped Marie’s shoulder as he said that. “I wanted to come and see you, but I wasn’t allowed. Almost punched my new commanding officer.”

  Marie fumbled with the needle but held her composure. “I went to tell Elise with one of the priests … I haven’t heard from her since.”

  Pierre leaned forward unconsciously. “Has anyone been to check on her?”

  “The house was empty,” Marie muttered.

  Pierre leaned against the wall, trying to think of where Elise could be. “That’s not good.” He clamped his jaw tight together. No noise escaped from him, but Marie could see his hands clenched, the knuckles white with strain as the thread slowly pulled the flaps of angry, red skin back together. It wasn’t neat, but he was in one piece again. Pierre then leaned forward so Marie could wrap the bandages around him, adding extra padding for protection. He leaned back again, sweat beading on his forehead.

  “How are you?” he asked, grasping her hand, his eyes closed as he recovered. “I’ve missed you.”

  “I’ve just been here, saving the world.” Marie handed him the bottle of whisky. A smile played on his lips as he took a healthy measure.

  Pierre kept a firm grip on her hand and opened his eyes. “Are you all right?” It was clear that he’d spent as much time worrying about her as she had about him.

  She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

  Sara glared at her from across the patient beside Pierre. Marie just shook her head. “Tell him,” Sara mouthed. She looked as if she was ready to lunge across her charge if Marie didn’t take action soon.

  “Do you think you can walk?” Marie asked gently.

  Pierre groaned and shifted his weight. “You’re trying to get rid of me already?”

  Marie laughed feebly. “No, I need to talk to you. Somewhere private if possible.”

  Pierre looked surprised but moved out of his chair, groaning as his feet took his weight. She helped him shrug on his shirt. Then he downed as much liquor as possible before saying, “Where to?” Marie pointed to the door that led to the garden and the nuns’ apartments. She could feel Sara’s eyes following her out of the building.

  ***

  The air was hot but not nearly as stuffy as the atmosphere in the crowded hospital. It was wonderful to enter into the silence and feel the breeze. The British were evidently taking a break from the continual bombardment.

  Pierre’s massive form stood in the shadows. Marie took his hand silently and led him toward her room.

  He came to a stop when he saw where she was headed. “I can’t go in there. That’s where the nuns are.” She tried half-heartedly to pull him along, but injured or not, he was still incredibly strong and resisted her.

  “All the nuns are at the hospital now. They aren’t here.”

  Pierre shook his head stubbornly, the light from the hospital windows flashing off his golden hair. “A man in the nuns’ apartments? I don’t want to be blamed for that.”

  Marie sighed, defeated. “Fine, then. We’ll just stay out in the open.”

  There were no seats in the courtyard. Obviously, the clergy felt sitting was a waste of time. Pierre sat down and leaned against the stone wall of the hospital building, exhausted. Marie stood in front of him, balanced between his legs. He placed his hands on her hips, stroking her gently.

  “What’s the matter, beautiful?” he asked softly.

  “What makes you think there’s something wrong?” She bent forward to kiss him, trying to put off the moment of truth.

  Pierre stayed motionless, but she could see the muscles of his face tightening as he tried to endure the exhaustion and the pain.

  She sighed. “I didn’t want to tell you because you’re out fighting. I was hoping for a better time.”

  He gazed at her through half-closed eyes. “What’s the matter?”

  “I’m pregnant.” She tried to keep the fear out of her voice, but it quivered.

  His eyes snapped open. “What?”

  “I’m pregnant,” she repeated, stronger this time. “About six weeks.”

  He was stunned. Shock was etched in every line of his face. “Are you sure?”

  She nodded. Pierre held her at arm’s length and stared at her in disbelief, his eyes bright in the muted light from the windows. “Pregnant,” he whispered and then pulled her into a rib-crushing bear hug, laughing. “This is wonderful!”

  Marie tried her best to pull away from him. “Are you sure?”

  He stopped laughing, looking at her with concern and drawing her closer to him. They were both now sitting on the ground. Marie worried for a minute about someone seeing them in that compromising position, but then realized no one would care. Not in the middle of the chaos of pain surrounding them. “You’re not happy about this?”

  Marie paused, then shook her head.

  “Why? Is something wrong? Are you terribly sick?”

  Marie looked away. She felt like a traitor. Of course, he was happy. Everyone was happy about the baby. What was wrong with her?

  “Talk to me,” he pleaded gently, stroking her cheek.

  Marie drummed her fingers on the ground. She probably couldn’t articulate everything that was on her mind without causing offence. “We’re in the middle of a war that we aren’t going to win. You’re on the front lines. Every day, I see the sick, wounded, and dying come in looking for help that I probably can’t give them. If they survive, they’ll never be the same. Nic’s already dead, and you’ve just been stabbed. There’s barely enough food. The hospital is running out of medicine. When we lose, what happens? I’ll be sent to France, and you’ll probably be in a New England prison somewhere if you’re lucky. Will we ever see each other again? It could be years before we’re reunited and then what?” She paused to take a breath, tears beginning to leak down her cheeks. She brushed them impatiently away. Pierre stood silently, looking stricken.

  “And I promise I don’t care,” Marie went on. “I don’t. But we’re not really married. So what about the baby? It can’t be a bastard. Not our baby!” It was all out, but she still felt a deep sense of shame, having ruined what should have been a happy moment.

  Pierre didn’t say anything for a long time. He just continued to stare at her, his arms limp at his sides. The door to the courtyard creaked open, and Sara became visible in the candlelight. She saw the two of them and quickly ducked back inside.

  Very slowly, as if awakening from a dream, Pierre wrapped his arms around Marie and pulled her close to his chest. Marie tried to be mindful of the bandages, but Pierre didn’t seem to care.

  “Did you not realize that this
was a possibility?” She could hear the hint of amusement in his voice, and anger boiled within her.

  “Of course, I did,” she snapped, her feelings hurt. “I just didn’t think it would happen so quickly … I’m old.”

  Pierre released her and made a face. “I forgot that expectant mothers can be touchy.” Marie bristled. He sighed. “I’m sorry I laughed at you …”

  A cannon roared from the direction of the harbour. Marie felt Pierre’s body stiffen beside her. The temporary peace was over.

  After Nic arranged for me to be posted here at the fortress last year,” Pierre said slowly, “I got on a boat and arrived in the middle of November. Ships usually don’t travel at that time. The winds and storms were awful, and I didn’t think we were going to make it. I remember one poor cadet spent the entire trip hanging over the edge of the boat.” He smiled at the memory. “First time I saw someone sicker than me … . Nic had told me to stay away from you. Told me you’d moved on. You already know that, but I kept my word. I didn’t want to interrupt your happiness, but there isn’t a lot to do when you’re a soldier here in the middle of winter.”

  Pierre sighed and twisted his torso from side to side experimentally, wincing as the stitches caught against his skin. “So when I was bored, I sometimes just went out and walked around the city. One day, while I was on one of those walks, I saw you as you were going to church with Annette. You had a blue hat on and that huge grey cape you always wear that’s so ugly.” Marie smiled a little at this. “You were going up the steps to the Chapel and you looked happy or at least I didn’t suspect any of the things that were going on. I just stood there and watched you until you went in.”

  Pierre fell silent, picking at a blade of grass beside him. Marie placed her hand on top of his. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

  He looked up, the yellow in his blue irises glowing in the moonlight. “I thought you wouldn’t want to see me,” he said sadly. “So I just stood in the snow, balls frozen solid, watching you like some creepy, pathetic sod.”

  Marie laughed. “You’ve never been creepy. But I wish I’d seen you,” she finished seriously.

  “I always looked for you whenever I went places. Louisbourg really isn’t that big, but I never ran into you. That night I fought those men, I didn’t know it was you. I just knew someone was in trouble. I couldn’t believe it when I saw it was you. I thought I must be dreaming. You cleared that up for me quickly enough, though.”

  Marie placed her head on his shoulder, trying not to touch his wounded side. He smelled overpoweringly of dirt, sweat, blood, and manliness, but she didn’t want to let him go. “I wish I’d known you were back. I would have sought you out as soon as I could have.”

  Pierre nodded. “I know. I wish I hadn’t listened to Nic. He was always overprotective of you. But it doesn’t matter now. Maybe this is all we get—the last few days of Louisbourg. But I’ll take it.”

  Marie looked down and wrapped her slender fingers around his hand, feeling the calluses and blisters.

  “I might be gone tomorrow,” Pierre continued. “I don’t want to be, but I can’t promise that I won’t. But I’ve had the chance to love you again. If I die on the battlefield, at least I don’t have to die wondering what could have been. That thought had always tortured me.”

  The sound of cannon fire ripped through the silence. Marie pursed her lips together to try to stop the tears. “But I don’t know if I can do this without you.”

  Pierre smiled as he looked down at her, brushing a few strands of hair away from her face. “I know you can. I want to meet my child, but if I can’t, you’ll be more than capable to give it the love it needs.” He kissed her forehead. “But I’ll see what I can do to help with the situation.”

  Marie didn’t understand what he could possibly do to make the situation less bleak, but at that moment, the door opened again. Sara’s incredibly pale head was visible, clearly sending a message.

  “Do you have to go back?”

  Pierre nodded.

  “But you’re injured. You need rest at least for the night.”

  Pierre looked around at the buildings surrounding them. “There isn’t room for me here. You’re up to your elbows with people in far worse shape than I am. I can go back to the barracks and sleep.”

  Marie stood up, placed her hands on her hips in the best impression she could of Sister Berenice at her sternest. “You will do no such thing. You are injured, and you need rest. I’m the ramancheur. I know what’s best.” She could see Pierre fighting valiantly not to laugh.

  He struggled to his knees and accepted her help as he rose stiffly to his feet. “All right, Madame. But if my commander comes looking for me, you can deal with him. I’m following your orders.” He wrapped his arm around her waist.

  “Don’t worry,” Marie said darkly. “If your commander comes, he’ll know his place.”

  “That’s my girl,” Pierre smiled.

  As they re-entered the hospital, they could see that it was even more crowded than when they’d left. The families and loved ones of the admitted patients were slowly trickling in. In several hours, though, things would calm down—as long as tonight’s bombardment didn’t destroy too much of the city.

  Marie found a pallet in a quiet corner of a room at the back of the building. Most of the other patients there were already taken care of and drifting into an uneasy sleep. Despite Pierre’s protests, Marie helped him into bed, tucking the blankets around him.

  “I’m not a little boy anymore, you know,” he said crossly as she kissed his forehead.

  “Are you sure?” she teased. “In that case, I won’t come and check on you tonight.”

  Her husband grinned. “I think you’d better, once everyone else has gone to bed.”

  ***

  The bombardment was becoming more and more deadly. Every day, the shots became more frequent and more precise, and the hospital was filling up beyond capacity. Fires raged; food was scarce; and the dead, dying, and injured kept streaming in. Sister Miriam had taken ill and was confined to her bed, and Father Maneau had been killed by a cannonball, two days previously while travelling to see Governor Drucour, causing Father Laval to take over the hospital’s administration temporarily. The remaining citizens of Louisbourg kept pressing on, but despair was getting the upper hand.

  Marie walked into the kitchen at about midday. She felt terrible and hadn’t been able to keep anything down. So she was getting thinner, and people were concerned. Heavily sugared tea seemed to be the only thing she could take in that wouldn’t come up again. She was drinking it by the bucketful, but she still felt weak and dizzy. She kept working, though. Her suffering compatriots needed her.

  Before she walked into the wards, she looked over and saw Sara standing alone by one of the kitchen windows, her back turned away from the world. At first, Marie didn’t think anything of it, but then she heard the gentle sound of tears. Approaching slowly, she found Sara in a most distressed state. Her face was red and puffy, her hands were shaking, and her usually pressed uniform was rumpled.

  “Sara, what’s the matter?” She had never seen Sara lose control and thought that her friend was beyond letting the war disturb her professional conduct.

  Sara sniffed dramatically but didn’t say anything. The other women in the kitchen simply ignored the shivering figure and continued preparing the little food they had to work with.

  Marie tried again. “Sara, talk to me. What happened? Is it your family?”

  Sara looked at Marie through watery eyes as if just realizing she was there. She shook her pale head. “My family’s fine,” she said flatly.

  “Well, that’s good,” Marie chided. Better than she herself was doing.

  Sara sighed and wiped her face on her sleeve, a gesture Marie had never seen Sara make before. “I don’t know if I can do this anymore, Marie,” she said softly.

  Marie was startled. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean all of this. Trying to save all t
hese people. It can’t be done.” She began to wail. “More and more people keep coming, and more and more of them are dying or losing limbs. Remember that little baby girl yesterday? She hardly even lived and now she’s dead.” She dissolved into tears once more.

  It was true, Marie thought painfully. The bombardment wasn’t stopping. In fact, it sometimes felt as if the British were just getting started. It was one thing to injure and kill sailors and soldiers who had signed up for combat, but to subject the civilians of Louisbourg to such destruction—it was inhumane. Marie tried to remember back to the baby Sara was talking about, then realized that she had simply walked away when the woman came in with her tiny, burned child, unable to handle the overwhelming horror that had engulfed her.

  Marie laid a hand on Sara’s thin shoulder. “I’m sorry I left you alone yesterday. That wasn’t fair.”

  Sara looked up and laughed. A high, mad laugh that scared Marie more than the tears. “Of course you left. You’re pregnant.”

  “Sara, maybe you should go and lie down. I’m sure we can manage without you for a while.” But even as she said this, she knew it wasn’t true.

  Sara stood up, her thin frame shivering from emotion. “No. I can’t leave—not when there’s so much to be done.” And with that, she marched purposefully out of the kitchen and into the waiting wards.

  Marie turned to the kitchen workers. “How long was she in here before I came?”

  One of the girls shrugged, but her companion thought a moment. “Maybe half an hour? She’s actually calmed down quite a bit, but she probably shouldn’t be near any patients.”

  Marie swore under her breath and marched toward the door, if Sara wouldn’t rest, she would just have to find reinforcements and make her take a break. As she reached for the door handle, something huge crashed into the door and ripped it off its hinges. Marie was thrown to the floor, and the door fell onto her, covering the bottom part of her body. Ears ringing, she lay panting, trying to catch the breath that had been knocked out of her. She could hear screaming all around her, and the smell of smoke was thick in the air.

  With a tremendous effort, she kicked the door off and scrambled to her feet. She felt herself swoon as the blood rushed from her head and leaned against the wooden table for support. Thick, black smoke was billowing in from the hallway. The kitchen maids behind her were screaming, and she could hear the sound of what seemed like hundreds of voices coming from beyond the doorway.