Rose à Charlitte

by Marshall Saunders

  CHAPTER I.

  A NEW ARRIVAL AT SLEEPING WATER.

  "But swift or slow the days will pass, The longest night will have a morn, And to each day is duly born A night from Time's inverted glass."

  --_Aminta._

  Five years have passed away,--five long years. Five times the Acadienfarmers have sown their seeds. Five times they have gathered theircrops. Five times summer suns have smiled upon the Bay, and five timeswinter winds have chilled it. And five times five changes have therebeen in Sleeping Water, though it is a place that changes little.

  Some old people have died, some new ones have been born, but chief amongall changes has been the one effected by the sometime presence, and nowalways absence, of the young Englishman from Boston, who had come soquietly among the Acadiens, and had gone so quietly, and yet whoseinfluence had lingered, and would always linger among them.

  In the first place, Rose a Charlitte had given up the inn. Shortlyafter the Englishman had gone away, her uncle had died, and had lefther, not a great fortune, but a very snug little sum of money--and witha part of it she had built herself a cottage on the banks of SleepingWater River, where she now lived with Celina, her former servant, whohad, in her devotion to her mistress, taken a vow never to marry unlessRose herself should choose a husband. This there seemed littlelikelihood of her doing. She had apparently forsworn marriage when sherejected the Englishman. All the Bay knew that he had been violently inlove with her, all the Bay knew that she had sent him away, but noneknew the reason for it. She had apparently loved him,--she had certainlynever loved any other man. It was suspected that Agapit LeNoir was inthe secret, but he would not discuss the Englishman with any one, and,gentle and sweet as Rose was, there were very few who cared to broachthe subject to her.

  Another change had been the coming to Sleeping Water of a family from upthe Bay. They kept the inn now, and they were _proteges_ of theEnglishman, and relatives of a young girl that he and his mother hadtaken away--away across the ocean to France some four yearsbefore--because she was a badly brought up child, who did not love hernative tongue nor her father's people.

  It had been a wonderful thing that had happened to these Watercrows inthe coming of the Englishman to the Bay. His mission had been to searchfor the heirs of Etex LeNoir, who had been murdered by hisgreat-grandfather at the time of the terrible expulsion, and he hadfound a direct one in the person of this naughty little Bidiane.

  She had been a great trouble to him at first, it was said, but, underhis wise government, she had soon sobered down; and she had also broughthim luck, as much luck as a pot of gold, for, directly after he haddiscovered her he--who had not been a rich young man, but one largelydependent on his mother--had fallen heir to a large fortune, left to himby a distant relative. This relative had been a great-aunt, who hadheard of his romantic and dutiful journey to Acadie, and, being touchedby it, and feeling assured that he was a worthy young man, she hadimmediately made a will, leaving him all that she possessed, and hadthen died.

  He had sought to atone for the sins of his forefathers, and had reaped arich reward.

  A good deal of the Englishman's money had been bestowed on theseWatercrows. With kindly tolerance, he had indulged a whim of theirs togo to Boston when they were obliged to leave their heavily mortgagedfarm. It was said that they had expected to make vast sums of moneythere. The Englishman knew that they could not do so, but that theymight cease the repinings and see for themselves what a great cityreally was for poor people, he had allowed them to make a short stay inone.

  The result had been that they were horrified; yes, absolutelyhorrified,--this family transported from the wide, beautiful Bay,--atthe narrowness of the streets in the large city of Boston, at the rushof people, the race for work, the general crowding and pushing, theoppression of the poor, the tiny rooms in which they were obliged tolive, and the foul air which fairly suffocated them.

  They had begged the Englishman to let them come back to the Bay, even ifthey lived only in a shanty. They could not endure that terrible city.

  He generously had given them the Sleeping Water Inn that he had boughtwhen Rose a Charlitte had left it, and there they had tried to keep ahotel, with but indifferent success, until Claudine, the widow ofIsidore Kessy, had come to assist them.

  The Acadiens in Sleeping Water, with their keen social instincts, andsympathetically curious habit of looking over, and under, and into, andacross every subject of interest to them, were never tired of discussingVesper Nimmo and his affairs. He had still with him the little Narcissewho had run from the Bay five years before, and, although the Englishmanhimself never wrote to Rose a Charlitte, there came every week to theBay a letter addressed to her in the handwriting of the young BidianeLeNoir, who, according to the instructions of the Englishman, gave Rosea full and minute account of every occurrence in her child's life. Inthis way she was kept from feeling lonely.

  These letters were said to be delectable, yes, quite delectable. Celinasaid so, and she ought to know.

  The white-headed, red-coated mail-driver, who never flagged in hisadmiration for Vesper, was just now talking about him. Twice a dayduring the long five years had Emmanuel de la Rive flashed over the longroad to the station. Twice a day had this descendant of the old Frenchnobleman courteously taken off his hat to the woman who kept thestation, and then, placing it on his knee, had sat down to discusscalmly and impartially the news of the day with her, in the ten minutesthat he allowed himself before the train arrived. He in the village, sheat the station, could most agreeably keep the ball of gossip rolling, sothat on its way up and down the Bay it might not make too long atarrying at Sleeping Water.

  On this particular July morning he was on his favorite subject. "Has ithappened to come to your ears," he said in his shrill, musical voice toMadame Theriault, who, as of old, was rocking a cradle with her foot,and spinning with her hands, "that there is talk of a great scheme thatthe Englishman has in mind for having cars that will run along theshores of the Bay, without a locomotive?"

  "Yes, I have heard."

  "It would be a great thing for the Bay, as we are far from thesestations in the woods."

  "It is my belief that he will some day return, and Rose will then marryhim," said the woman, who, true to the traditions of her sex, took amore lively interest in the affairs of the heart than in those connectedwith means of transportation.

  "It is evident that she does not wish to marry now," he said, modestly.

  "She lives like a nun. It is incredible; she is young, yet she thinksonly of good works."

  "At least, her heart is not broken."

  "Hearts do not break when one has plenty of money," said MadameTheriault, wisely.

  "If it were not for the child, I daresay that she would become a holywoman. Did you hear that the family with typhoid fever can at last leaveher house?"

  "Yes, long ago,--ages."

  "I heard only this morning," he said, dejectedly, then he brightened,"but it was told to me that it is suspected that the young BidianeLeNoir will come back to the Bay this summer."

  "Indeed,--can that be so?"

  "It is quite true, I think. I had it from the blacksmith, whose wifePerside heard it from Celina."

  "Who had it from Rose--_eh bonn! eh bonn! eh bonn!_" (_Eh bien!_--well,well, well). "The young girl is now old enough to marry. Possibly theEnglishman will marry her."

  Emmanuel's fine face flushed, and his delicate voice rose high indefence of his adored Englishman. "No, no; he does not change, thatone,--not more so than the hills. He waits like Gabriel for Evangeline.This is also the opinion of the Bay. You are quite alone--but hark! isthat the train?" and clutching his mail-bag by its long neck, he slippedto the kitchen door, which opened on the platform of the station.

  Yes; it was indeed the Flying Bluenose, coming down the straight trackfr
om Pointe a l'Eglise, with a shrill note of warning.

  Emmanuel hurried to the edge of the platform, and extended his mail-bagto the clerk in shirt-sleeves, who leaned from the postal-car to takeit, and to hand him one in return. Then, his duty over, he felt himselffree to take observations of any passengers that there might be forSleeping Water.

  There was just one, and--could it be possible--could he believe theevidence of his eyesight--had the little wild, red-haired apostate fromup the Bay at last come back, clothed and in her right mind? He made amute, joyous signal to the station woman who stood in the doorway, thenhe drew a little nearer to the very composed and graceful girl who hadjust been assisted from the train, with great deference, by a youthfulconductor.

  "Are my trunks all out?" she said to him, in a tone of voice thatassured the mail-man that, without being bold or immodest, she was quitewell able to take care of herself.

  The conductor pointed to the brakemen, who were tumbling out someluggage to the platform.

  "I hope that they will be careful of my wheel," said the girl.

  "It's all right," replied the conductor, and he raised his arm as asignal for the train to move on. "If anything goes wrong with it, sendit to this station, and I will take it to Yarmouth and have it mendedfor you."

  "Thank you," said the girl, graciously; then she turned to Emmanuel, andlooked steadfastly at his red jacket.

  He, meanwhile, politely tried to avert his eyes from her, but he couldnot do so. She was fresh from the home of the Englishman in Paris, andhe could not conceal his tremulous eager interest in her. She was notbeautiful, like flaxen-haired Rose a Charlitte, nor dark and statuesque,like the stately Claudine; but she was _distinguee_, yes,_tres-distinguee_, and her manner was just what he had imagined that ofa true Parisienne would be like. She was small and dainty, andpossessed a back as straight as a soldier's, and a magnificent bust. Herround face was slightly freckled, her nose was a little upturned, butthe hazy, fine mass of hair that surrounded her head was mostbeauteous,--it was like the sun shining through the reddish meadowgrass.

  He was her servant, her devoted slave, and Emmanuel, who had neverdreamed that he possessed patrician instincts, bowed low before her,"Mademoiselle, I am at your service."

  "_Merci, monsieur_" (thank you, sir), she said, with conventionalpoliteness; then in rapid and exquisite French, that charmed him almostto tears, she asked, mischievously, "But I have never been here before,how do you know me?"

  He bowed again. "The name of Mademoiselle Bidiane LeNoir is often on ourlips. Mademoiselle, I salute your return."

  "'MADEMOISELLE, I SALUTE YOUR RETURN.'"]

  "You are very kind, Monsieur de la Rive," she said, with a frank smile;then she precipitated herself on a bed of yellow marigolds growingbeside the station house. "Oh, the delightful flowers!"

  "Is she not charming?" murmured Emmanuel, in a blissful undertone, toMadame Theriault. "What grace, what courtesy!--and it is due to theEnglishman."

  Madame Theriault's black eyes were critically running over Bidiane'stailor-made gown. "The Englishman will marry her," she said,sententiously. Then she asked, abruptly, "Have you ever seen herbefore?"

  "Yes, once, years ago; she was a little hawk, I assure you."

  "She will do now," and the woman approached her. "Mademoiselle, may Iask for your checks."

  Bidiane sprang up from the flower bed and caught her by both hands."You are Madame Theriault--I know of you from Mr. Nimmo. Ah, it ispleasant to be among friends. For days and days it has beenstrangers--strangers--only strangers. Now I am with my own people," andshe proudly held up her red head.

  The woman blushed in deep gratification. "Mademoiselle, I am more thanglad to see you. How is the young Englishman who left many friends onthe Bay?"

  "Do you call him young? He is at least thirty."

  "But he was young when here."

  "True, I forgot that. He is well, very well. He is never ill now. He isalways busy, and such a good man--oh, so good!" and Bidiane clasped herhands, and rolled her lustrous, tawny eyes to the sky.

  "And the child of Rose a Charlitte?" said Emmanuel, eagerly.

  "A little angel,--so calm, so gentle, so polite. If you could see himbow to the ladies,--it is ravishing, I assure you. And he is alwaysspoiled by Mrs. Nimmo, who adores him."

  "Will he come back to the Bay?"

  "I do not know," and Bidiane's vivacious face grew puzzled. "I do notask questions--alas! have I offended you?--I assure you I was thinkingonly of myself. I am curious. I talk too much, but you have seen Mr.Nimmo. You know that beyond a certain point he will not go. I amignorant of his intentions with regard to the child. I am ignorant ofhis mother's intentions; all I know is that Mr. Nimmo wishes him to be aforester."

  "A forester!" ejaculated Madame Theriault, "and what is that trade?"

  Bidiane laughed gaily. "But, my dear madame, it is not a trade. It is aprofession. Here on the Bay we do not have it, but abroad one hearsoften of it. Young men study it constantly. It is to take care of trees.Do you know that if they are cut down, water courses dry up? In Clare wedo not think of that, but in other countries trees are thought usefuland beautiful, and they keep them."

  "Hold--but that is wonderful," said Emmanuel.

  Bidiane turned to him with a winning smile. "Monsieur, how am I to getto the shore? I am eaten up with impatience to see Madame de Foret andmy aunt."

  "But there is my cart, mademoiselle," and he pointed to the shed beyondthem. "I shall feel honored to conduct you."

  "I gladly accept your offer, monsieur. _Au revoir_, madame."

  Madame Theriault reluctantly watched them depart. She would like to keepthis gay, charming creature with her for an hour longer.

  "It is wonderful that they did not come to meet you," said Emmanuel,"but they did not expect you naturally."

  "I sent a telegram from Halifax," said Bidiane, "but can you believeit?--I was so stupid as to say Wednesday instead of Tuesday. ThereforeMadame de Foret expects me to-morrow."

  "You advised her rather than Mirabelle Marie, but wherefore?"

  Bidiane shook her shining head. "I do not know. I did not ask; I didsimply as Mr. Nimmo told me. He arranges all. I was with friends untilthis morning. Only that one thing did I do alone on the journey,--thatis to telegraph,--and I did it wrong," and a joyous, subdued peal oflaughter rang out on the warm morning air.

  Emmanuel reverently assisted her into his cart, and got in beside her.His blood had been quickened in his veins by this unexpected occurrence.He tried not to look too often at this charming girl beside him, but,in spite of his best efforts, his eyes irresistibly and involuntarilykept seeking her face. She was so eloquent, so well-mannered; herclothes were smooth and sleek like satin; there was a faint perfume oflovely flowers about her,--she had come from the very heart and centreof the great world into which he had never ventured. She was chargedwith magic. What an acquisition to the Bay she would be!

  He carefully avoided the ruts and stones of the road. He would not forthe world give her an unnecessary shock, and he ardently wished thatthis highway from the woods to the Bay might be as smooth as his desirewould have it.

  "And this is Sleeping Water," she said, dreamily.

  Emmanuel assured her that it was, and she immediately began to ply himwith questions about the occupants of the various farms that they werepassing, until a sudden thought flashed into her mind and made herlaughter again break out like music.

  "I am thinking--ah, me! it is really too absurd for anything--of theastonishment of Madame de Foret when I walk in upon her. Tell me, I begyou, some particulars about her. She wrote not very much about herself."

  Emmanuel had a great liking for Rose, and he joyfully imparted toBidiane the most minute particulars concerning her dress, appearance,conduct, daily life, her friends and surroundings. He talked steadilyfor a mile, and Bidiane, whose curiosity seemed insatiable on thesubject of Rose, urged him on until he was forced to pause for breath.

  Bidiane turned her hea
d to look at him, and immediately had herattention attracted to a new subject. "That red jacket is charming,monsieur," she said, with flattering interest. "If it is quiteagreeable, I should like to know where you got it."

  "Mademoiselle, you know that in Halifax there are many soldiers."

  "Yes,--English ones. There were French ones in Paris. Oh, I adore theshort blue capes of the military men."

  "The English soldiers wear red coats."

  "Yes, monsieur."

  "Sometimes they are sold when their bright surface is soiled. Men buythem, and, after cleaning, sell them in the country. It is cheerful tosee a farmer working in a field clad in red."

  "Ah! this is one that a soldier used to wear."

  "No, mademoiselle,--not so fast. I had seen these red coats,--Acadienshave always loved that color above others. I wished to have one;therefore, when asked to sing at a concert many years ago, I said to mysister, 'Buy red cloth and make me a red coat. Put trimmings on it.'"

  "And you sang in this?"

  "No, mademoiselle,--you are too fast again," and he laughed delightedlyat her precipitancy. "I sang in one long years ago, when I was young.Afterwards, to save,--for we Acadiens do not waste, you know,--I wore itto drive in. In time it fell to pieces."

  "And you liked it so much that you had another made?"

  "Exactly, mademoiselle. You have guessed it now," and his tones weretriumphant.

  Her curiosity on the subject of the coat being satisfied, she returnedto Rose, and finally asked a series of questions with regard to heraunt.

  Her chatter ceased, however, when they reached the Bay, and, overcomewith admiration, she gazed silently at the place where

  From shore to shore the shining waters lay, Beneath the sun, as placid as a cheek.

  Emmanuel, discovering that her eyes were full of tears, delicatelyrefrained from further conversation until they reached the corner, whenhe asked, softly, "To the inn, or to Madame de Foret's?"

  Bidiane started. "To Madame de Foret's--no, no, to the inn, otherwise myaunt might be offended."

  He drew up before the veranda, where Mirabelle Marie and Claude bothhappened to be standing. There were at first incredulous glances, then agreat burst of noise from the woman and an amazed grunt from the man.

  Bidiane flew up the steps and embraced them, and Emmanuel lingered on ina trance of ecstasy. He could not tear himself away, and did not attemptto do so until the trio vanished into the house.