The Displaced

by Frieda Watt

  The muscles around Pierre’s eyes contracted with concern. “Are you hurt at all?”

  She shook her head. “I feel like a coward for saying it, but I can’t keep watching all these people die. There’s nothing I can do, nowhere for any of them to go to be safe. And the British … they knew they were bombing the hospital. They knew it!” She smashed her fist into her thigh in frustration.

  Pierre nodded solemnly. “Yes, there’s the spire—an easy target—but there are also the deserters. Soldiers going over to the British side, exchanging information for a chance at life.”

  Marie’s anger, which was barely in check, boiled to the surface. Pierre was unjustly branded as a deserter, but here he sat after weeks of defending the fortress. “So much for loyalty,” she spat on the ground. “Why don’t we just give up now?”

  “I know, beautiful,” Pierre said, moving her gently out of his lap and onto the stoop beside him. “Everyone feels like it’s hopeless. Not just you. And that is because it is hopeless.”

  Another explosion ripped through the air. “Sara died today,” Marie said quietly.

  Pierre wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “The young nun you were working with? I’m sorry.”

  They sat in silence, watching the clouds and smoke move over the city. The bombardment slowed down as night encroached, but it wouldn’t stop completely.

  “I saw Sophie today,” Marie said miserably. “She now knows I’m here.”

  His body stiffened beside her. “Is she here?”

  “No, her daughter was here alone when the mortars hit, and she was burned.”

  “Of course, she was,” Pierre muttered furiously.

  “I didn’t realize that the girl was Sophie’s daughter. I just saw a child hurt and alone and took her home. I didn’t realize it was Sophie’s house until it was too late.” There was a note of pleading in her voice. She needed him to understand that it was an accident. She hadn’t meant to compromise them like this.

  He rubbed the back of his neck and thought for a moment. “Do you trust Sophie?”

  “Of course not,” Marie said indignantly. “She’s the same as ever, harassing me for being selfish and not thinking of Annette.”

  Pierre snorted. “Well, you can’t stay here anymore then—not if there’s a chance that Claude or Jacques could show up looking for you. Everyone here has enough to do without keeping you hidden.”

  “And what am I supposed to tell them? I’ve changed my mind? They’re depending on me now!”

  Pierre gave her a crooked smile. “Tell them your husband thinks it’s too dangerous, and you have to do what your husband says.”

  “Like hell I do!” She pulled away from him, nettled.

  He laughed and grabbed her hand. “I know that. I wouldn’t dream of trying to force you. But they don’t know that.”

  “And where would I go? sit in a tavern until a bomb drops on me?”

  A pained look crossed Pierre’s handsome features. “No amount of effort is going to save us now. The walls are starting to fall apart. The British can’t even shoot the cannons in some locations for fear that the wall will give way. Madame Drucour starts every morning by firing a cannon at the enemy, but now it’s getting too dangerous for her to climb the walls because they’re so fragile.”

  Marie raised her eyebrows. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

  “I wish I was,” he replied heavily. “Would you leave if I asked you to?”

  She studied him carefully. “By myself?”

  “No, I would come with you,” he assured her. “I’m not going to abandon you or the baby.”

  “You would desert?” She never thought he’d actually do that.

  “Not desert—change assignments,” he said slowly.

  Marie looked dubious. “What are you talking about?”

  Pierre stretched his legs. “Is Father Weber still alive?”

  “Barely. Both his legs were broken today. He’s in terrible shape.”

  “Is he conscious?”

  “Not last I heard.”

  Pierre stood up and pulled her up with him. “Well, I think it’s time we had a visit with him while he’s still in the land of the living.”

  ***

  Thoroughly confused, Marie followed Pierre back into the stifling hospital. After the quiet of the courtyard, the noises coming from the injured seemed deafening. Marie led the way to the private room where Father Weber was convalescing. Sister Miriam passed them in the hallway and gave them a questioning look, but Marie just shook her head and moved on.

  Despite the warmth of the night, a fire was crackling in the hearth, bathing the small room in amber light. Father Weber was no longer unconscious, though he looked terrible, his legs elevated, propped up on several pillows. He glared at Pierre when he saw him.

  “Can’t a man die in peace?” he said in his thick accent, now glowering at the pair of them.

  “You’re not dying,” Marie replied reasonably. “You might not walk again, but you’ll live to see the British conquer us.”

  Father Weber scowled from his cocoon of blankets, his white hair sticking up from his head as usual but looking somewhat limp. A plain wooden cross was suspended above the bed.

  Pierre bent and whispered in Marie’s ear. “Can you give us a moment?”

  She didn’t really want to, but Father Weber motioned for her to get out of the room. She stepped out into the corridor but stayed right at the door, so she could go back inside if anyone found her and demanded that she continue treating the injured.

  Pierre approached the cot where the little priest was lying and stared down at him. Beads of sweat were glistening on his pale brow as the man fidgeted with his blankets.

  “So you finally decided to accept my offer to take those documents,” he said weakly. “I was starting to worry you’d never come.”

  Pierre smiled thinly. “Marie is pregnant.”

  “So I’ve heard. Funny how that puts things into perspective.”

  “I don’t want a lecture,” Pierre sighed heavily.

  Father Weber gasped as he shifted his weight. He looked at Pierre, his pale eyes glossy with pain. “I knew Claude, you know. Not well, but I knew him.”

  Pierre looked startled and glanced behind him at the door.

  “Don’t worry about running, young man.” The old priest laughed and then moaned as the vibrations shook his body. “By the way, I never told Claude where to find Marie when she lived in his home. It was the scullery maid, listening at the locks for bits of information. She was ill two months ago when you removed Marie from the house and missed that vital conversation. I’m afraid Claude treated her to the same attention he paid his niece when he found out the maid couldn’t tell him where Marie had gone.”

  Pierre sat down in the chair opposite the cot.

  “I met Marie after you’d been sent to Montreal. She was assisting at this hospital. I was actually a patient here. I’d slipped on ice and fractured my knee cap. There isn’t much to do when one’s knee no longer works, other than sit and wait for it to heal. Much like now.”

  Pierre grimaced as he thought of the injury.

  Father Weber smiled. “Yes, it was very unpleasant. However, your dear friend spent time every day talking to me. She would sit and draw for me, and I quite enjoyed watching her do that. She has a remarkable talent for it. I’m afraid I’m not a very interesting companion, but she made an effort to see me every day no matter how busy she was.”

  Pierre nodded. “She’s like that. She’s spent a lot of time feeling lonely, so I think she wants to make sure no one else feels that way.”

  The little priest nodded. “She definitely made the time pass more easily. She told me about Claude too. What he did to her. Once I recovered, I met with Nic, trying to figure out how to get her out of the situation, but Claude was always a step ahead.” He sighed heavily under the weight of the burdens of the last few years. “I tried to befriend Claude, or at least communicate with him, to see if th
ere was some way he could be persuaded to stop, but it didn’t work. He’s not right in the head. Something is missing there. I’ve never met someone with the devil inside him like that.”

  Pierre pursed his lips and looked away.

  “Claude told me about you. Or some version of you. Of the ruckus you caused as a young man. Marie never mentioned you, as far as I know, to anyone. I did try to get a second opinion on the matter, but unfortunately, I chose my colleague Father Allard. He merely validated everything Claude said about you.”

  Pierre laughed darkly. “I’m afraid I was quite the little demon when I was in school. Father Allard compared me more than once to the spawn of Satan. I can’t say I blame him after some of the things I did, although he deserved a great deal of it.”

  “Father Allard was always a little high strung,” Father Weber commented, the corners of his mouth twitching. “I’m afraid that I thought that by denying your marriage to Mademoiselle Lévesque, I was protecting her from a lifetime of continued hardship. While I could not protect her from her uncle’s wrath, I could protect her from you.” For the first time, the priest looked remorseful.

  Pierre wasn’t sure what to say, although many things were popping into his head.

  “Please forgive me,” the small priest whispered.

  Pierre bowed his head. “I can’t. At least not tonight.” He stared into the flickering flames.

  Father Weber’s eyes followed the hulking form as Pierre stood and paced around the room. “Will you give me what I came here for tonight?” Pierre asked bluntly.

  The priest nodded. “Yes. You will need to leave immediately.”

  Pierre stopped, his back to the priest, staring out the window. “An acquaintance of Marie’s saw her today, and she can’t be counted on for discretion. Marie will have to leave the hospital tonight.”

  “I can make excuses for her. But this is a dangerous trip.”

  Pierre shrugged. “Is it any more dangerous than staying here with the bombs falling?”

  “Possibly not, but the British will be patrolling the area.”

  Again, Pierre seemed unconcerned. “In ’45, I left with three other men and made it to Quebec. At that point, the British were systematically trying to conquer the entire island. That’s not happening this time. Most of the British are staying put around the fortress.”

  “Most of them but not all of them,” said Father Weber, “and if you get captured …”

  “If I’m captured, I’ll do everything I can to make sure that Marie gets to safety,” he said with finality. “Believe it or not, I do love her … very much.”

  The Prussian nodded. “Montcalm may give you an honourable discharge from the army in appreciation for carrying these documents to their destination.”

  Pierre looked more closely at Father Weber. He had been so focused on escape that he hadn’t thought of the consequences for his military life—in this case, good ones.

  “At the very least, you’ll finally be promoted. Your days as a cadet will be over.”

  Pierre turned his face toward the door so as not to betray his feelings. The promise of freedom from the army without deserting was too tantalizing. He pushed the door open. Marie was standing so close that the door almost knocked her over.

  “Were you eavesdropping?”

  “Trying to, but the door was too thick,” she said unapologetically as she scurried back into the room. “What’s going on?”

  Pierre glanced at the bed, but Father Weber was feigning sleep. He sighed. “The priest has information that needs to get to Montcalm in Quebec.”

  Marie’s eyebrows shot up. She wasn’t expecting this. “What?” she asked blankly.

  “Letters have been gathered by people here in Louisbourg about the British invasion plans for the continent. Obviously, he can’t go to Quebec with two broken legs.” Pierre rubbed the back of his neck.

  Marie had to agree with him there. Even before Father Weber had broken his legs, he would never have been called athletic, and he wasn’t a young man either. From what Pierre said about the journey, it would be a difficult one.

  “He wants me to go. Us, if you’re willing. We can escape the bombardment, Claude, Jacques, all of this.” He waved his arms around the room. “It would give us a reason to leave that wasn’t desertion.”

  His eyes were intense. He was telling her, giving her the option. He wouldn’t force her, but it was clear he had thought it through. While his voice was calm, he stood on edge, his shoulders tight with tension.

  Marie motioned him over to the corner, as private a place as they could get. The priest was still pretending to sleep. “How dangerous is it?”

  Pierre shrugged. “I don’t know. It can’t be worse than staying here.” As if to reinforce that point, cannons rumbled in the distance. “The British aren’t patrolling the entire island the way they were last time, and I escaped last time.” He hated himself for putting Marie in this position. If anything happened to her or the child, he would never forgive himself. “In return, Father Weber will marry us.”

  Marie tried to keep the excitement out of her voice. “He would marry us tonight?”

  “Yes.”

  “But how do we get out of the fortress? The entire area is surrounded, isn’t it?”

  “I think you’ll find there’s a way out if the proper resources are arranged,” Father Weber called from the bed. He had obviously been listening to every word.

  “People are starving because we’re running out of food. There’s no more medicine. Wouldn’t it be better to use those resources to provide nutrition?” Marie tried to keep the tone of accusation out of her voice.

  Father Weber seemed deeply amused by her question. For the first time since they’d entered the room, Pierre thought he looked genuinely entertained.

  “Believe it or not, Marie,” the priest said, “there are issues more important than food at the moment.” Marie looked dubious. “It will be far easier for the two of you to sneak out in the dead of night than for a ship full of supplies to come in past the British defences.”

  Marie felt Pierre slip his hand around hers. She squeezed it in acknowledgement. “How did you get this kind of information?” The idea of the tiny priest as an agent seemed rather ridiculous.

  Father Weber’s white hair quivered as the priest replied with indignation, “I have my sources.”

  Marie gave Pierre a searching look.

  “I wasn’t crazy about the idea at first,” Pierre said quietly in her ear. “But now that you’re pregnant and Sophie knows you’re here …”

  Marie felt a slight panic rising in her chest. “But how do we get out? How do we get there? Quebec is over a thousand miles away.”

  Pierre wrapped his arms around Marie and pulled her close. “It’s an awful risk, love, I know.” He looked very serious.

  Marie nodded. He wouldn’t force her to go, but the possibility of a new life was worth the risk to him. Was it worth it to her? This was madness pure and simple, but it was so tempting to escape Louisbourg and everything that had happened here, to get away from Claude, to leave the army life behind legitimately, and to avoid deportation to France. “I’ll go pack my things,” Marie said quietly and walked out of the room.

  Father Weber looked absolutely delighted, a feeling that Pierre found irritating at the present moment. The priest pointed to his cassock hanging from the back of the door. “In the left pocket, you’ll find the documents.”

  Pierre did as instructed and fished around in the black depths of fabric until he found a grubby leather packet, tied neatly with string. Pierre lifted the bundle, turning it over and over in his hands. “You’ll make our excuses for us?” he asked nervously. He couldn’t bear to live through a second accusation of desertion.

  The priest nodded. “Trust me, no one will call you a traitor when you deliver this.”

  Pierre laughed warily. “If there’s one thing you can count on, it’s that I don’t trust you.”

  “What other
choice do you have? I am a priest.” He made this pronouncement as if it settled the matter.

  Pierre stared back, his blue eyes accusing. “I’ve known many a crooked priest. I even knew one with a few children. You never betrayed Marie’s whereabouts, but with all the power of the Catholic church and the French government,” he said sarcastically, holding up the packet, “you never rescued her from the situation.”

  “I did the best I could with the knowledge I had,” the priest said, showing no trace of embarrassment.

  Pierre turned back to the fire and watched the flames, his thoughts far away.

  “There is nothing for you here except death, destruction, and deportation.”

  The soldier nodded. He knew the battle was lost. It was only a matter of time before the fortress capitulated. Why Governor Drucour continued to hold out was beyond him.

  “But am I really saving Marie from anything? I’m taking her away from the bombardment, Claude, and Jacques and throwing her into the wilderness with the Redcoats.” Pierre leaned back, his jaw working furiously.

  “She’s already made up her mind. A woman like that can’t be forced to stay home while you fight all the battles.”

  This wasn’t the solution Pierre wanted, but the fantasy of a life free from the restrictions of Île-Royale was too tempting to resist. The priest knew it too.

  Marie opened the door quietly, her small bag of belongings hanging limply at her side. She was determined. Pierre stepped over to her and kissed her gently. There was no going back now.

  PART SIX:

  FLIGHT

  Chapter 15

  ON THE NIGHT OF JULY 9TH, MARIE AND PIERRE LEFT the hospital as man and wife, feeling more relieved than joyful. Marie felt like a traitor for leaving the hospital when so much help was needed, but no one seemed to blame her, or Pierre for that matter, when she told them what the two of them had decided.

  The air outside was thick with gunpowder and the smoke from nearby fires, and cannons roared in the distance. The bombardment was never-ending. Stone buildings stood with huge open gashes. Roofs had been blown away and the remaining structures streaked black from the resulting flames.