The Displaced

by Frieda Watt

  Exhausted, Marie found a small tree near the edge of the water. She wrapped herself in her cloak and curled up under the tree’s protective branches. It was too early to approach any of the cottages, though as a single woman, she posed little threat. Her last thoughts as she drifted off to sleep were of the heaviness in her womb and the father her child might never meet.

  Chapter 16

  SHE WAS DREAMING. SHE WAS SURE OF THAT. They were children of ten, walking home from school. Nic had started it or that’s how Marie felt. He’d been bothering her all day, teasing and pulling on the ribbons of her braids. Being the mature child that she was, Marie had called him every name she could think of. Nic had retaliated by throwing a giant glob of mud all over her favourite green dress. She was livid, and instead of doing the sensible thing and rushing home to tattle, she’d launched herself on her brother, wrestling his face into the mud and sitting on him until he’d begged for mercy.

  Her victory had been short lived. As they’d walked down the street, two of Nic’s friends, one being Pierre, had caught sight of them and slung so much mud at Marie that by the time the two of them had arrived back home, they were almost unrecognizable. Annette strapped them both, then forced them to bathe and clean their clothes before forbidding them to go outside for three days except under her supervision. Nic’s ears had burned as his aunt chaperoned him around, and he hadn’t spoken to Marie for a week.

  The sound of children playing jarred Marie back to reality. The morning sun was still low in the sky. She’d slept for only a few hours. She felt awful but pulled herself up and looked around. A small group of children had crowded near her, too afraid to approach closely. She smiled tentatively and waved at them. I must look like quite a sight, she thought, dishevelled and covered in dirt. The youngest pulled back in fear, but a girl of about eight walked up almost close enough to touch her.

  “Who are you and what are you doing here?” the girl asked confidently, gazing up at Marie with her hands on her hips. Her upturned nose was sprinkled with freckles.

  Marie smiled and tried her best to brush her hair from her face. “I’m looking for a boat.”

  The girl shook her head and frowned as if worried about Marie’s sanity. “There are no boats here. Only our fishing boats, and they don’t go out anymore or the British will catch them.” The other children murmured and nodded their heads.

  Marie nodded. “This is Baie des Espagnols, yes?”

  Another of the boys from the group, heartened by his companion’s interaction with the stranger, stepped forward. “Yes, Madame. Are you lost?”

  Marie shook her head and turned toward the water, thinking. So she had to convince a fisherman to ferry her out of here. That wasn’t going to be easy. The banging of a door brought her out of her thoughts.

  A tall, plump woman came thundering out of a nearby cottage, shooing the children as she went. But she stopped when she saw Marie sitting in front of her. She looked for a moment as if she’d seen a ghost, and one of her hands flew to her throat. Marie realized that she must look worse than she thought. “Who are you, and what are you doing here?”

  Marie stood up, trying her best to rid her clothes of the dirt and grime from the journey. She tried to smile, but the muscles wouldn’t work.

  Although surrounded by a dozen curious children, some of whom were undoubtedly her own, the woman was probably younger than Marie. She looked torn between concern and suspicion.

  “I’m from Louisbourg,” Marie finally blurted.

  The woman’s eyes grew round, and she took a few steps back. “Nobody comes from there,” she whispered. “The siege.” She crossed herself.

  Marie looked around. Panic was bubbling in her chest. She hadn’t counted on people not believing her. “I did,” she said quietly.

  The deep lines of worry on the woman’s forehead grew deeper with concern. “What happened?” She sent some of the children back to her cottage. They reappeared a moment later, carrying a chipped mug full of sour ale.

  “My name is Madeline,” she said, passing Marie the drink. She said nothing more but waited. Marie took a deep gulp of the burning liquid and tried not to cough. All around her the dirty faces of the children were still peering at her.

  “Are they all yours?”

  Madeline shook her head and pointed to three who had frizzy, curly brown mops like hers. She may have shared drink with the stranger, but she clearly didn’t trust her. Marie cleared her throat and tried her best to explain. The words were hard to get out and she choked when she spoke of Pierre, but when she was finished, Madeline looked convinced if not very sympathetic.

  “We have only fishing boats here,” she hedged, continuing to appraise Marie. “Maybe someone would take you to Miquelon.” But the woman didn’t seem truly convinced of this possibility.

  “I can pay them,” Marie said hastily, “whatever they want.” She paused for a moment, considering how to proceed. “I’m pregnant,” she swallowed. “Anywhere off the island and I can make my way from there.” She could hear the pleading in her own voice.

  Madeline looked reluctant. “Most of the boats are out right now, getting what they can close to shore.”

  Marie nodded.

  “But there are two who may be able to help,” she said almost to herself. She looked very reluctant to share any more information. “Follow me.”

  Marie handed the ale cup to one of the children and followed Madeline, the gaggle of children clamouring in their wake. The village was made up of small cottages with thatched roofs and no chimneys. It felt far more remote here than in the bustling fortress.

  Madeline walked purposefully toward one of the homes lining the wharf and knocked. Marie stood a way off, not sure what position she was supposed to play in the negotiations. The door was opened by a bad-tempered, middle-aged woman. The conversation between her and Madeline lasted less than a minute before the door was slammed shut with remarkable force.

  It looked as if it took a great deal of self-mastery for Madeline to carry on. She moved away from the house with an ugly look and started walking away at a fast clip. “That woman is the most miserable human being,” she spat as Marie rushed to keep up.

  “I appreciate this,” Marie said quietly.

  Madeline waved a large hand and kept walking. Marie had a distinct suspicion that the woman wasn’t helping her out of the goodness of her heart or out of Christian charity, but from a desire to no longer have this stranger in the community. If the British hadn’t molested this village yet, she couldn’t blame Madeline for not wanting an escapee from Louisbourg to attract the attention of the enemy army.

  After a few minutes, they approached a rather shabby cottage. An ancient man answered the door. Marie thought he looked old enough to have personally welcomed Cartier when the explorer had first arrived in what was now New France. She couldn’t hear what Madeline was saying, but the wizened old man nodded and stared openly at Marie.

  Some agreement must have been reached because before she knew it, Madeline had said her farewells and wandered back to her home with the children following closely behind. Marie turned to face the old man. His wrinkled face broke into a toothless grin. “Well, come on, sweetie. Come on in.” He motioned her into the poor quarters, hunched almost completely over with age. “I’m eighty and seven. I shan’t hurt ya.”

  Marie was surprised by how quickly he moved about the small room, which was kitchen, bedroom, and living space, all in one.

  “Now, ol’ Mad Maddy says ye be needin’ to get to Quebec.”

  Marie nodded. She was desperate to make travel arrangements, but she doubted this man could make such a trip. He looked as if a strong wind could blow him away.

  He seemed to know what she was thinking. “I’m Bernard.” He thrust a hand, twisted with arthritis, at her. His grip was surprisingly firm. “I may be an old seaman, but at least I know my way around the ocean,” he wheezed merrily through his nose. He seemed completely unperturbed by her lack of enthusiasm.r />
  “You can take me to Quebec?” Marie asked, still amazed that the little creature could walk, never mind sail.

  Bernard ran his hands through what little white hair he had left. “Well, no,” he conceded. “My son died last year and he was my right-hand man. I can’t move as fast as I once did. Me grandson helps now, but he has a baby on the way next month. Can’t be gone too long,” he grinned, showing soft pink gums. “I can take ye to Miquelon.”

  Marie wanted to point out that the island of Miquelon was terribly close to Newfoundland, which had belonged to the French since 1713. She thought for a moment, still standing awkwardly near the door. She was tired and sick, and her head was beginning to ache from all the tension. She rubbed her eyes.

  “In Miquelon, ye can find someone to take ye to Quebec. The bastard Englanders aren’t there and lots’ll still ’elp a woman in need.”

  “All right,” Marie smiled. Despite her reservations, she found Bernard entertaining. Also, he seemed to be the only one willing to take the chance.

  “Excellent!” He clapped his long fingers together. “When would ye want to leave?”

  “As soon as possible.”

  “Wonderful!” Bernard exclaimed. “I haven’t been out in weeks. Me grandson thinks I’m of a weak constitution.” He shook his head as if that was the most foolish thought in the world. “I told ’im my father fished for his whole ninety-two years and died at sea, and I expect to do the same.”

  Marie bit her lip to keep from laughing. “That’s quite impressive.”

  “Aye.” Bernard rooted around the kitchen for his fishing gear, only half listening. He seemed elated about the prospect of this unexpected trip.

  “Do you happen to know anyone in Miquelon who could take me to Quebec?”

  Bernard straightened up, his arms full of equipment. “Aye, sweetie. I was born there. Me wee brother still lives there. Only seventy and six. He’s got some connections.”

  Marie felt immediately relieved and grateful that Madeline had found this man. He hoisted a large rope over his shoulder.

  “Should you really be carrying that?” Marie stepped forward to help.

  “Nonsense,” he snorted. “I’m still alive. Besides, this is terrible work for one who’s pregnant.”

  Marie stopped short. “How do you know that?”

  He grinned, gums gleaming. “When ye’ve been around as long as me, ye just know things. Besides, Mad Maddy told me.”

  Marie laughed.

  ***

  It took a few hours, but eventually, Bernard announced that they were ready to leave. His grandson Saul had been reluctant to go, but he’d been persuaded to join them. He did not share his grandfather’s optimism that he was strong enough for such a trip, but the old man had shouted him down. No doubt, Marie thought, Saul had been convinced to come largely because he was afraid of what would happen if his grandfather was allowed to navigate the waters alone. At last, the three of them were standing on the small deck of the Françoise, named after Bernard’s late wife.

  Saul was compact and muscular. He had five children at home, with another one on the way, and his wife wasn’t happy that he was “abandoning” her as she put it. Saul also made it quite clear that he felt shepherding one lone woman to Miquelon was a waste of time.

  “We’re only going to the island,” Bernard said soothingly when Saul complained for the tenth time. “As long as the weather stays pleasant, you’ll be back home in a few days.”

  Marie moved away as the two of them squabbled with each other. She sat at the end of the boat, on a small wooden bench, cloak wrapped around her shoulders, slowly watching Île-Royale disappear. Deep in her bones, she knew she would never be returning, and her heart ached as she watched the misty forests grow smaller. Her life and everyone she knew and loved was on that island. Her thoughts then turned again to Pierre. She prayed that he would be preserved, that somehow he had lived through the encounter in the woods, but the longer she was without him, the more pessimistic she became.

  The fortress would fall, and everyone in it would be at the mercy of the vengeful British. She thought of Anne, Sophie’s small daughter, and the tiny and elderly Sister Agatha at the hands of the conquering enemy and wiped away a tear.

  Marie still did not know what had become of Elise. There had been no word from her since Nic’s death. Moving away from Île-Royale, Marie knew she may never know what had become of her sister-in-law. She prayed Elise was safe, perhaps finding refuge with her mother until the boats left for France, but Marie couldn’t know for sure.

  The boat finally turned out into the open ocean, its small sails snapping in the breeze. Then, as the boat began to roll with the waves, her stomach writhed in rebellion. She leaned back against the solid wood of one of the sides, trying to steady herself. The smell of sea salt filled her nostrils as she tried to focus on her breathing.

  Bernard came and stood beside her, watching her discomfort with great amusement. “Have yer never been to sea before, sweetie?” His pale eyes were dancing with delight.

  Marie glanced at him through half-closed eyelids. “I have. Many times. I was born in Quebec. But this trip isn’t agreeing with me.”

  The old man laughed, the few wisps of hair still attached to his head dancing in the wind. “Yer just need yer sea legs.”

  “I doubt it.” Her head was spinning. She lay her forehead on the damp edge of the bench, but that didn’t help. If she had had anything much in her stomach, it would have been coming up.

  Bernard continued to stand a safe distance away, looking pleased. “My wife had twelve kids, ten grown. I remember those days.”

  Marie slowly made her way back to the bench, her eyes shut firmly, trying to imagine ground. “Doesn’t Saul need you?”

  Bernard continued to chuckle. “I’ve been demoted. The first mate feels he can handle it now that we’re in open water. Thinks he knows more than me.” He shook his head good-naturedly.

  Marie smiled despite herself. “I’m sure he’s quite capable.”

  Bernard nodded. “He’s a good lad. Don’t judge ’im too harshly.”

  “Don’t worry. I’m not. And I can’t blame him for wanting to stay with his pregnant wife,” she said wistfully.

  Bernard nodded and leaned his twisted body against the withered wood of the boat frame. Suddenly, Saul rounded the corner, his dark hair standing up in the wind. He looked displeased, although for all Marie knew, that may have been the way he looked all the time.

  “We’re making good time,” he growled, his muscular arms crossed over his chest as he glared at the pair of them.

  Bernard nodded pleasantly. “That is good. The trip isn’t agreeing with Madame.”

  Saul grunted. “That’s a shame.”

  Bernard glared at his grandson. “Ye use yer manners, please. Ye’re in the presence of a lady.” He stood and shuffled off to check something, throwing daggers at his grandson as he went.

  Saul looked chastened and slightly embarrassed to be alone with Marie. Marie tried to look reassuring, but she was more concerned with preventing a trip to the rail.

  “I’m sorry,” Saul mumbled.

  Marie nodded, her eyes closed against the rolling water. “It’s all right. I don’t blame you for not wanting to leave your family. Especially with your wife the way she is.”

  “It’s just with the British about … she’s very nervous.”

  “We all are.” Marie risked a look at him. It was hard to sympathize with them when they had obviously been protected from the battles so far.

  “You’re from the fortress?” Saul asked as if that was impossible.

  Marie nodded but looked out at sea, the grey-green water blending into the sky at the horizon. These people were only a few miles away from Louisbourg. How could they not be affected?

  “How bad is it?”

  “When you get home,” Marie said, “you need to get your family out of here.” She continued to look out over the water.

  Saul
scoffed, then realized she was serious.

  “Louisbourg isn’t going to last much longer. When it falls, so does the rest of the island. They won’t be merciful.”

  The sailor looked at her for a long time, trying to determine whether she could be trusted. She stared back, too exhausted to care. Eventually, Saul shook his head and huffed back to the front of the boat.

  ***

  Marie spent most of the journey with her head over the side of the boat. The rest of the time she spent dozing, curled up on the small bench. The illness was worse if she sat inside. The men largely ignored her, but Bernard would come to check on her every few hours.

  They made good time. After three days, Miquelon came into view. The rocky shoreline, topped with green foliage, stood guard over the small port.

  Marie was exhausted and her throat was raw. Saul happily accepted her payment while Bernard accompanied her onto shore. The smell of sea air and fresh fish mingled together, reminding her strongly of home.

  Miquelon was tiny. It held no more than a few streets of jumbled fishermen’s cottages, other homes, and taverns.

  “This is where I was born,” Bernard said proudly, leading Marie away from the bustle of the harbour. “France owned the island then as it still does, but ships came from all over: France, Spain, Holland, England. There was even one from Africa once.” He grinned at the distant memory. “You could travel the world without leaving the town. But now … ,” he gestured to the predominantly French crowd, “it’s just the same as anywhere else.”

  Marie was more concerned about finding a place to eat and sleep than about the island’s history. They had managed to slip in without the officials noticing, and she wanted to stay invisible. As a woman on her own, she was at an extreme risk, even though she was French and a widow, not a woman of ill repute. “Can you recommend a good place to stay—safe for a woman travelling alone?”