He shook his head and stiffened under her as if he was trying to control his anger.
“I don’t think he was. The poor woman looked as if she’d been crying. I don’t understand how a man can mistreat the mother of his children that way, but it’s not my place to interfere. Pierre did once last year when he caught one of the trappers beating his wife. The poor Huron girl couldn’t have been fifteen years old. He threatened to have the man horsewhipped if he ever saw him hurting her again. I doubt it changed his behavior once he was back in the woods, but one can only hope it did. Marie says the brother-in-law does nothing to help Lucille either. No doubt he rules with his fists as well. If he tries that at Les Trois Moines, he’ll find himself tossed out on his ear. Marie’s husband is a big man who’s very protective of all women but especially his wife. As I will be of mine.”
She’d been about to reveal her heart to Guy until he mentioned Pierre. Deciding there would be a better time for such a confession, she sat silently, leaning into him, the steady sound of his heart blending with the other night sounds, just as it had on Saint Pierre. As the sky darkened, the stars populated it, and Guy pointed out the constellations.
“Do you see that cluster of stars dancing over there? The Huron call them the Singing Maidens. They’re the daughters of Sun and Moon. Curious about the Great Island below them, they disobeyed their father and left the safety of the sky to go down and visit with the people there. They were so taken and pleased with what they saw, they began to sing. When Sun heard them, he was furious. He punished them by placing them higher in the sky, making it hard for them to visit man again, but some believe the maidens found a way around their father’s restrictions. At night, when they tuck their little ones into bed, many Huron mothers tell them to close their eyes and listen for the sound of the Singing Maidens as they dance on the wind blowing through the leaves and branches of the trees.”
“That’s a beautiful story,” Isabelle said and chuckled, “but it shows that a father’s word is law everywhere.”
“A father, like a husband, only wants to protect those he loves.”
When she couldn’t stifle her yawns any longer, Guy stood, set her on her feet, and walked her up to her room. He kissed her tenderly, but broke the kiss before it could light a fire within her.
“Goodnight, my love. Sleep well.”
“Goodnight.”
Isabelle closed the door and leaned against it. While she would love to be in his arms, for tonight, she would content herself with dreams of their future together.
Chapter Twenty-Four
The rooster’s cock-a-doodle-doo, a sound she hadn’t heard in months, woke Isabelle. She got out of bed, dressed in one of her lighter gowns, choosing not to wear her stays or a crinoline, and went downstairs. Aline was at work in the yard, a huge cauldron of water heating on an open fire.
“Bon matin, Tante Aline. You must’ve been up early to get so much done so quickly. Isn’t it a glorious day? How can I help?”
“You can gather the small clothes and anything else that needs to be washed. Henri has strung a line for me. The breeze and the sun will dry things beautifully today. You can feed the hens and collect the eggs if you like. Sophie is milking Gertrude and Amalie. There’s biscuits and jam in the kitchen when you finish.”
“Gertrude and Amalie?” Isabelle asked, frowning.
“Yes.” Aline chuckled. “Sophie named them. She claims it would be rude to milk the poor things without a proper introduction. They may not give much milk for the first few days, but once they settle into a routine, they’ll supply all we need and more. Feel free to name the chickens if you can tell them apart, but she’s chosen Ti-Coq for the rooster. I’m sure she’ll get around to naming the pigs and the goats soon enough. I think the carriage horses already have names.”
Isabelle laughed.
“I’m sure they do. Leave it to Sophie. We had a toy barn with wooden animals as children. Those are the names Sophie gave them. As I recall, the pigs were Cochon and Cochonette. I’m glad she’s happier here now. Meeting Captain Leclerc seems to have been good for her. If Murielle ever makes it here, her world will be complete.”
As would hers. She said a small prayer, hoping that if their nanny did choose to come to the new world she would have a better crossing than the bride ship that had arrived in Quebec.
“I’ll get the wash, collect the eggs, and then break my fast. Is Guy up?”
“He left for the fort just after dawn. He wanted to get his things and those belonging to Pierre. They should be delivered by midday or soon after. It’s better to do it now, n’est-ce-pas?”
Aline looked at her, her kind eyes filled with sympathy.
“I loved Pierre, Tante Aline, but that part of my life is gone. He’ll always have a place in my heart. Guy will be my husband soon, and I’ll be a good wife. I promise.”
“Of that I’ve no doubt, but do you love my son?”
“More than anything.” Isabelle turned and left the room.
The rest of the morning was spent getting the summer kitchen ready. At Marcel’s suggestion, they decided to leave both openings to the fireplace and oven functional so that cooking could be done indoors in poor weather.
Guy had yet to return although the footlockers waited by the door to be examined.
She and Sophie had just finished a light lunch and settled down to embroider a tablecloth when Tante Aline entered the room, a scowl on her face. She carried a freshly folded nightgown. Things had dried quickly in the morning sun.
“Monsieur Giroux is here to see you, Izzy. Were you expecting him?”
“No, I wasn’t.” She put down her needlework and stood. “Guy mentioned he wanted to see him this morning. He wants me to have my musket before we go on our canoe excursion.”
“You go and speak to him, Izzy. I’m not ready to do so yet,” Sophie said.
Isabelle nodded. “I’ll be back.”
She followed Aline out into the back yard. Gerard stood next to Henri. The man didn’t look happy and was relieved to see his wife approach. Aline walked over to her husband and stood by his side.
“Bonjour, Gerard,” Isabelle said, trying to suppress her new disliking for the man. “I didn’t expect to see you so soon.”
He laughed, but the sound of it wasn’t pleasing.
“Neither did I, mademoiselle. I didn’t want to leave my family again today, but business can’t wait,” he said. “His lordship came to see me and has offered to pay me handsomely to teach you how to fire your weapon. He insisted it be done as soon as possible. Being in France severely depleted my coffers, and a job is a job. The children must eat. Since the weather’s good, I thought I would take this opportunity to give you your first lesson. If it’s not convenient, I can come back tomorrow.”
Isabelle thought of the three young children. She would make sure Guy paid him well for their sake, not his. Perhaps tomorrow, she could help Aline make sugar cookies for them, too.
“Very well,” she said, turning toward the house. “I’ll just get my bonnet and meet you out front.”
“I don’t like the idea of you going off with him alone,” Sophie said, following her up to her room.
“I thought you said he behaved like a gentleman.”
“He did, but he kept his family a secret. He may as well have lied about them. He wanted information from me, and now that I think about it, he avoided talking about himself even when I asked a direct question. What if he works for the chevalier? What if he’s part of the conspiracy?”
Isabelle shook her head and chuckled.
“Just because you don’t like the man anymore is no excuse to accuse him of wrongdoing. I’m sure Guy had him checked out. There’s no way he would’ve sent him to me otherwise. But you’ve reminded me of something.”
She went to her birthday chest and removed Pierre’s papers.
“I’ll put these in Guy’s room so he can look at them later. I forgot all about them last night. I’m sure Monsieur Gir
oux and I will be back by late afternoon. Claire said there are berries in the fields ready for picking. When I return and she’s finished helping Aline with the wash, if Henri is willing to come with us, she can show us where they grow. Tante Aline would love to make fresh strawberry jam.”
“Maybe.” Sophie lowered her voice. “Are you wearing your ... you know?” she asked.
Isabelle nodded. “Don’t worry. I’m sure I won’t need it. I’ll only be gone a few hours.”
While she wasn’t looking forward to spending a minute let alone an hour in Gerard’s company, she went out into the bright sunshine and found him standing next to a wagon. She frowned.
“I thought your shop was on the Rue Saint Paul. I can certainly walk that far.”
“It is,” he answered smoothly. “But we can’t very well fire a weapon with my children around. We have to go outside the town walls to do that. While we might be able to walk to a decent practice area, since I’ve got several muskets, powder, and shot with me, it would be difficult.” He indicated the bundle wrapped in canvas on the floor of the open wagon. “It’s warm today. With the heat, this is easier.”
Isabelle grimaced. He was right. She couldn’t walk far in this humidity.
“I hope this weather doesn’t mean a storm like we had aboard L’Érable. Guy said they would be less traumatic in the house, but…” She shrugged.
Gerard mumbled an answer before helping her onto the seat of the wagon. He climbed up next to her and shook the reins. The large black horse walked away from the house, turned west and then south.
Isabelle admired the part of the town she hadn’t visited earlier. These roads, with smaller log homes along them, were narrower and almost deserted compared to those they had travelled previously. Soon they came to a little used gate in the southwest corner of the town that led outside the wall to the commons.
Cows and sheep grazed close to the perimeter fence. In the distance, she could see the cultivated fields of the centimes, and every now and then, she caught a glimpse of the river through the trees.
The breeze stirring the heat, scenery pleasant, and the man beside her quiet, Isabelle was enjoying her adventure outside the palisade until clouds began to gather on the horizon. The road was much rougher now, and few animals could be seen in the fields.
“Is it much farther?” she asked, looking around for signs of a farm house. Glancing over her shoulder she was surprised when she couldn’t see the town walls in the distance. Had they really traveled that far?
“No,” he replied. “We’re almost there.”
Isabelle frowned, the hair on the back of her neck rose. Something didn’t feel right and Sophie’s concerns came back to her.
Suddenly, he pulled up in front of a copse of trees.
“We’re here.”
She looked around. They appeared to be in the middle of nowhere.
“Don’t you think we’ve gone too far? Guy mentioned there’s been trouble with the renegades.”
“No; this is a good place. It’s isolated; we won’t be disturbed here.”
His choice of words did nothing to soothe her nerves. Even though she didn’t know how to use it, she was grateful for her knife.
A shrill whistle from Monsieur Giroux startled her, and she gasped.
Six men dressed differently from any of the Indiens she’d seen previously, emerged from the trees. They wore sleeveless shirts, leggings with a long piece of buckskin hanging from a belt covering their loins, and moccasins. Their arms and faces were elaborately tattooed with varying patterns made up of lines and circles. Both sides of their heads were shaved, leaving a ridge of close-cropped hair on their crowns from which protruded dark feathers. They were fierce looking, and Isabelle kept her gaze glued to the strangers.
Monsieur Giroux jumped down from the wagon and moved around to the other side to help her disembark. Isabelle shrank into the seat.
“Don’t be afraid,” he said. “These men are friends. Come.”
He held out his hand, and hesitantly, Isabelle took it. Guy had said there were friendly natives in the area. Maybe these were some of the men he knew, but why were they here now?
Monsieur Giroux led her over to the men who stared intently at her, surrounding her. One reached for her bonnet, yanked it off her head, and grabbed a handful of her hair. It shone red in the sunlight.
Isabelle yelped.
“Kanenna’ke:ne” the man said loudly to his friends, who stared at her.
She swallowed and leaned closer to the man who’d brought her here.
“He says your hair looks like living fire,” Monsieur Giroux said. “Mohawk is a colorful language you know.”
“Mohawk!” she gasped. Guy had mentioned friendly Mohawk who’d signed a treaty, but these men didn’t look friendly.
He indicated the small bundle in the back of the wagon. A man moved forward, asked something she couldn’t understand, but the gunsmith shook his head. The man picked up the bundle and handed it to one of the other braves who disappeared through the trees with it.
“Greedy bastard would’ve taken them both,” he mumbled.
“You said those were muskets,” Isabelle cried. “You’re giving muskets to the natives? Are they the renegades, the enemies?” The sheer horror of it paralysed her.
He chuckled. “Not giving, my dear Isabelle. I’ve been well paid for the work, but these men are not my enemies, not my enemies at all. Maybe soon, they won’t be your enemies either.”
She gasped at the sound of her name.
He laughed.
“Yes, I know who you are; I’ve been certain of it ever since Saint Pierre when Sophie identified my step-sister, Irene Desnoyers, as Isabelle de Caen. Did you think I wouldn’t recognize the cross I gave her? I wondered why Sophie would be so quick to identify another woman as her sister if it wasn’t to protect the real one. It seemed odd to me when you showed up after the ship had sailed—I saw the manifest, there was no Isidore Leroux on it. Mind you, that was a clever disguise. You didn’t look like the woman the chevalier had been searching for, but as your hair and your skin lightened, I began to wonder. My suspicions increased when I realized you could read and write. Few women can, especially not a poor farmer’s daughter. I questioned Sophie, but she wasn’t as forthcoming with information as I’d hoped, but that night of the storm before we got to Saint Pierre, I heard every word of your discussion with Guy. It forced me to change my plans.”
“You’re the one who searched his cabin. Why are you doing this?”
“For money. Why else? I was looking for documents linking him to Pierre Gaudin. As you probably realized, our ship and not La Jeunesse was the target of the attack. I was to leave the ship when it began. Do you know how frustrating it was for me to fix those cannons after I’d spent weeks sabotaging them?”
“But why? That ship is needed to protect Guyenne. Why hamper France’s plans for the safety of her colonies?” Isabelle grasped at straws to keep him talking. From what he’d said, he didn’t seem to realize she had been Pierre’s wife, not Sophie.
“I work for a cabal within the French West India Company, one that’s quite frustrated with the king’s insistence on colonization rather than exploration. Sinking that warship would’ve increased hostilities between France and Spain. My employers would’ve urged the king to leave the Dutch alone and go after the wealth of South America, not bothering with seeding colonies that suck profits dry. I’m surprised you and Guy didn’t figure that out while you snuggled on deck, discussing my business instead of yours. Tell me, did you let him make love to you? I hope you did, because it will never happen now.”
Terror filled her heart. Who was this man they’d befriended? Was he going to kill her? She looked over at the warriors. Were they?
He continued chatting about what his group wanted as if he had all the time in the world. The longer he talked, the better she liked it. Guy would be home soon and realize she was missing. He would come and find her. She shook her head. The s
ky was darker now, and the air had cooled.
“I was supposed to sail on La Jeunesse instead of Irene,” he continued, “but at the last minute, my employers sent me to discover what Sophie Gaudier knew of her husband’s affairs, and once I got that information, I was to dispose of her as I did the lieutenant. We needed to know how much he’d told his wife.”
The truth dawned on her. “You killed Pierre!”
“I did. It’s amazingly easy to run a man through when he doesn’t even suspect he’s in danger. Sadly, he wouldn’t speak before he died, other than muttering your name and your father’s—didn’t even mention his poor wife. Had you lain with him? Cheated with him on your own sister? Shame on you. Unfortunately, when I tried to find out what your father knew, he too clammed up. So, when I realized his inquiries might cause problems, I supplied the poison to dispatch your father, too. It was easy to dress as a physician and supply a second dose of the medication. Poor Solange had no idea she was murdering her husband with each drop she added to his tisane. I think she actually cared for him in her own cold way.”
Tears filled her eyes and slipped down her cheeks.
“Why? Why would you do such a thing? My father never hurt you.”
“Ah, but he did, my dear Isabelle, he did. When we accused your brother-in-law of treason after he conveniently gave us all the evidence we needed, your father persuaded Louis to send Pierre back here. We couldn’t allow that. Had your father kept his mouth shut, Pierre would still be alive—rotting in a cell in the bastille it’s true—but your father would still be Count de Caen.”
Tears pooled in Isabelle’s eyes.
“I don’t understand. Why would the company want to start a war and kill innocent women and children?”
“Colonization is not in the best interest of my employers, but Colbert and the king refuse to listen. Colonists spoil the land; they cut down trees, destroy animal habitats, and soon the animals whose furs bring the best prices leave the area. The farther our men have to travel to trap, the lower our profits. It’s my duty to protect the company’s interests and destroy those who’d end our profitable enterprise. For this reason, my employers and those who support them have chosen to take matters into their own hands. Thanks to your interference, we have to step up our plan—inconvenient, but not impossible.”
The Price of Honor (Canadiana Series Book 1) Page 31
