Darcy looked away, but inevitably her eyes went back to him unable to resist drinking in every detail. She had never forgotten how appealing he was with his dark skin and long black hair tied back with a leather thong. There was only a shadow of a beard on his face. She watched his icy, blue eyes appraise Raoul. Suddenly, as if he knew she had been watching him, he turned in his chair and looked directly at her. Darcy jumped and moved back to the hearth, saying nothing.
The men continued to make small talk. They found common ground in the Lupe' trading post of the past. Darcy knew Raoul could go on forever once the voyageur stories started, and she was relieved that she did not have to contribute anything to the conversation.
Jean Michel pretended to be listening, but he was distracted by Darcy. How could she have married this squat, little man? How dare this old voyageur call Darcy his wife and take her to his bed. She was not his wife. She could never be his wife. From the moment she was born, she had been meant for him-and him alone.
Jean Michel decided at that moment to tell them his reason for coming. “It is no coincidence I have found your wife, Monsieur LaRoche. I have been in fact searching for her.”
Darcy stood up from the hearth, holding her breath. Her eyes were on Jean Michel.
“The man who held Madame LaRoche’s servitude has changed his mind. I was to pay the ransom and take her back to New England, but I see that I am too late."
Darcy was aghast. He was merely running an errand for Nathan Lawrence. She remained motionless trying to absorb the blow.
After a few moments, she bent down to stir the bubbling stew, choking back hurt and rage.
“Oh Mon Dieu!” declared Raoul. “I am glad that I found her first. She would have been lost to me forever.”
Raoul asked Jean Michel if he had a wife and children. “No. There is no one,” he replied.
Darcy stood up from the hearth and said, "Oh come now, Monsieur Lupe‘. It is common knowledge that you will marry the refined and elegant Elizabeth Campbell of Picscataqua then take a woman on the side."
Jean Michel stopped smoking and stared at Darcy. He was stunned by her words.
Ignoring Jean Michel, she turned to Raoul and explained, "In England, gentlemen marry ladies and keep lower class women as their whores. This is the convention."
Raoul chuckled and added, “Well, it is the way in France too.”
Jean Michel was livid. He looked at her and said, "What you say is often the case in Europe, but this is not England or France. It is the Colonies and we have our own minds. Love is my only criteria for matrimony. Too many people marry out of need. Wouldn't you agree with that observation, Madame LaRoche?"
Jean Michel saw Darcy's jaw tighten, and she looked away. Raoul brought the talk back to fur-trading stories, and Darcy fell back into agonizing silence. The whole night reminded her of Nathan Lawrence's dinner party over a year ago when she and Jean Michel shot barbs at one another all night.
Jean Michel stood up and thanked them both for supper. Raoul looked surprised and said, "Surely you will sleep here tonight. The weather is growing cold."
"No, thank you, Monsieur LaRoche, I prefer to sleep under the stars. You can certainly appreciate that choice being a voyageur."
"That I can," he acknowledged, nodding his head.
The truth was Jean Michel could not bear the thought of Darcy sleeping next to that man. He would put as much distance as he could tonight between the LaRoches and himself and return as soon as possible to apologize and marry Elizabeth Campbell.
As he unlatched the door to leave, he turned to Darcy one last time and said, "I don't believe you have to search for Sagittarius in the night sky any longer, Madame LaRoche. There is a new constellation now."
Darcy said nothing and kept her eyes to the floor. She could not bear to watch him walk out that door and leave her forever. The door shut, and she turned to clear the supper dishes. She knew that if she didn't stay busy, she might lose control and run out the door after him.
"What was that about the stars?" asked Raoul, as he lit his pipe.
"Oh, nothing much, he is a surveyor, and they know about constellations." Darcy looked at Raoul for signs of suspicion, but he seemed unconcerned as he sat in front of the fire. She could rest; he had not seen them embracing in front of the bonfire.
Darcy started to clean up from the meal. She was on edge and welcomed work to help burn off her pain and anxiety. When she picked up Jean Michel's supper dishes, she froze. There, concealed under the napkin was the chain with the cross and charm. Hot tears blurred her vision, as she stared at the symbol of their commitment to one another. She could not bring herself to put it around her neck again, so she placed it in her apron. Closing her eyes, she tried to fight back the tears, knowing that with this gesture, Jean Michel had severed his ties to her forever.
Chapter 33
Darcy never put the chain on again. It had rested on Jean Michel's chest for months, and if she were to wear it now she might feel close to him again--something which she did not want. Slowly she was losing her faith in God and her hope. She felt tired and empty. In the past she had taken comfort in the knowledge that God was with her, but now her prayers seemed futile and useless. She became cold and apathetic again, and the familiar cynicism returned. The walls which Jean Michel had eroded were now back up and firmly in place. So as her tears dried up, so did her emotions. Darcy could no longer feel anything but emptiness, and she merely existed, going through the motions of a life devoid of joy.
Raoul had his own difficulties which were causing him great anxiety. His cough had worsened, and he found that even crossing the room now caused him to feel as if he were suffocating. He spent most of his time by the fire wrapped in a blanket, and the only things that pleased him were smoking his pipe and watching his lovely wife move about the room.
Darcy was busy from sunrise to sunset, burdened with Raoul's chores and her own. He felt guilty and wanted to help, but every time he would rise from his chair he would end up slumping down again, completely exhausted.
He noticed how quiet Darcy had been lately. Life was difficult up here, and she never quite seemed to fit in with the others. He tried to fill her void of loneliness by asking her about her life in Ireland, but she seemed disinterested and even secretive about her past. As much as Raoul wanted to be everything to Darcy, he knew that it was impossible.
Winter came early in New France, and the river hardened quickly. Darcy had never seen so much snow, and when the temperatures dropped, she found herself trapped in the small cabin, listening to the relentless coughing of Raoul.
Many nights he kept her awake, as the spasms racked his body, but she never left his side. She knew that he took great pleasure in the intimacy of sleeping next to her, and she did not have the heart to refuse him. The lack of sleep took its toll on Darcy, and she too fell ill for weeks with a fever. Raoul was too sick himself to help her, so it was up to Darcy to continue to cook and keep house for them both. Slowly she recovered, and by Christmas she was back to full health.
She made a feeble attempt to celebrate the holiday by decorating the mantle and windows with evergreen boughs while Raoul made a birch-bark crèche and placed corn-husk dolls inside. She had no idea that he was such an artist, and she marveled at the small replicas of the Holy Family and the other meticulously crafted figures of the Nativity. Raoul explained that the French had the custom of observing Christmas with a Reveillion, which was an all-night celebration following Mass on Christmas Eve. Darcy dreaded this affair. She knew that once again she would be snubbed as the English outsider, but when she heard that Faith would be there her attitude changed.
She bustled around the keeping room, making puddings and tarts to contribute to Monsieur and Madame Brunette, the hosts of the Reveillion at the settlement. Raoul would join them later at the party. The journey up to the mission for Christmas Eve Mass would be far too taxing for him.
Darcy strapped on her snowshoes before midnight and made the trek a
lone to Mass. After church, a long parade of settlers walked through the snow-muffled woods on their way back to the settlement and the Reveillion. Darcy and Faith joined the procession as well. Everyone carried a torch as a symbol of Christ bringing light into the world. The forest looked black and foreboding surrounding the small group, but everyone found comfort in the brilliant light and warmth from the dancing flames.
The home of the Brunettes was the largest in the settlement, and they had dressed it gaily in evergreens and dried red berries found in the woods. The food was delicious and abundant, and although much of it was new to Darcy and Faith, they enjoyed sampling everything. A particular favorite of Darcy's was the Buche de Noel, a rich cake decorated to look like a Yule log.
Everyone was dressed in their finest. The men were in their best shirts with brightly colored sashes tied around their waists, and the women were either in their Sunday finery or dressed in beautifully beaded Abenaki clothing. Zigzag or triangle designs decorated their long shirts, and more often than not, the beadwork was in the shape of a cross to celebrate the acceptance of Christ into their lives.
Several men carried Raoul to the Reveillion later, and he stayed with the retired voyageurs, leaving Darcy and Faith alone in the corner. The two women were happy to be on their own, anxious to share news and tidbits of gossip.
Darcy was startled when she saw Faith's appearance. The young woman appeared frail, and there were heavy, black rings under her eyes. "Faith, you look ill. Seeing you so thin and drawn scares me," said Darcy.
"I'm very tired; that's all, Darcy," protested Faith. She picked at her food and gave her friend a weak smile and said, "If I could just get a good night's sleep, I would feel better, but once I go to bed, everything starts to bother me."
"What bothers you? Is Father Cesaire cruel to you?"
Faith jumped at the sound of his name and looked down at her plate of food, hesitating before she answered, "No, not cruel."
"I don't believe it! What is he doing to you, Faith? I don't care what anybody says. I think the man is wicked!" snapped Darcy.
"No, you mustn't say such a thing, Darcy especially on Christmas Eve. Please let's speak of something else. I do so want to have fun tonight."
Reluctantly, Darcy dropped the subject and Faith asked, "How is Raoul? You should be worried about your husband instead of me. His cough is not getting any better," said Faith.
"I am worried, Faith. It is so hard for him to breathe, and now he can't even get out of a chair without assistance. I know he feels guilty, but I can't convince him that I don't mind helping him. He gave me a home and love when I needed it, and I can never repay him enough.
"He is a good man, but he is not the husband you hoped for, Darcy," said Faith, shaking her head. "You too look ill. Your heart seems to have died."
Darcy looked at the floor, ashamed. "Don't say such things. Life has taught me that I must do my best to survive and wish for nothing more."
Darcy jumped up to attend to Raoul during a bad fit of coughing. A few moments later, they gave their thanks to Monsieur and Madame Brunette and returned home, cutting short their all-night celebration.
* * *
Winter seemed endless for Darcy with the days dragging on and on, but when she complained, Raoul would tell her to not wish for spring because the melting snow would bring renewed battles with the English and the Indians.
At least there is plenty of food to eat this season. Darcy remembered last winter at Fort Lawrence and the severe privations endured by them all. She couldn't imagine the French occupying the fort now, and she wondered if Nathan would try to recapture it when the snow melted.
One February afternoon, there came a sharp knock on the door, and Darcy and Raoul jumped with surprise. In the deep snow and cold of winter it was unusual to have a visitor. Darcy opened the door, and there stood Claude Gauthier, a close friend of Raoul's, holding his red cap in his hands. He stepped inside the keeping room, and Raoul said to him, "Come and warm yourself by the fire, Claude. It is so good of you to come."
The retired voyageur sat down in a chair next to his lifelong friend, and looked around the room uncomfortably. He kept darting glances at Darcy until finally he said, "I'm sorry, Raoul, but I have come with bad news today, especially for Madame LaRoche."
Darcy looked up from the spinning wheel and stopped peddling. She did not like the look on his face.
He continued. "Father Cesaire has sent me to tell you that he found the body of your young friend Faith in the mission this morning."
Darcy gasped and stood up, clutching her bodice. Reluctantly, Claude went on, "That is not all, Madame LaRoche. The young woman hanged herself."
"No!" cried Darcy.
Raoul dropped his blanket and stumbled over to Darcy to hold her in his weak arms. With every ounce of strength he had, he rocked her back and forth, gently offering her comfort. Claude put his cap on and quietly left the cabin.
After a while, Darcy raised her head and looked out the window at the sun as it cast long shadows on the snow. Raoul was surprised to see that as grief stricken as she was, Darcy had not shed a tear. She patted Raoul on the hand, helped him to his chair and sat down to resume her spinning. She never said another word about Faith's death, and when Raoul encouraged her to talk about it, she refused.
* * *
The air was bitter cold when Darcy walked up to the mission to see Faith one last time. It was there her body awaited burial, and after Darcy had paid her respects, Faith's remains would be wrapped in bark and put in a high stand until the spring thaw. Since she had taken her own life, no Mass would be offered. Darcy knelt down in front of Faith reminding herself that the girl was better off dead.
As she was leaving, Father Cesaire emerged from his rooms behind the altar. The somber figure approached her, and she turned her back on him not wishing any communication.
As she placed her hand on the door to leave, he said coldly, "You have been here for six months, and you have never given me your confession, Madame LaRoche. Your sins are many. I think that it is time you make peace with God."
At these words Darcy whirled around and exclaimed, "My sins are many? How dare you judge me. I have no proof, but I have an idea of what you did to that innocent child in there, and you had better attend to your own conscience, Father Cesaire, not mine!"
Darcy walked out of the church and slammed the door behind her. From that day forward, she never set foot in the mission church again.
* * *
Slowly the woods came back to life, as the snow melted, and the river opened up. At first large chunks of ice sailed down the blue waters of the Chaudiere then gradually the ice melted and canoe traffic resumed again. Migrating birds returned, and the trees and floor of the forest were alive with chipmunks and squirrels scurrying about gathering food. Darcy loved the way they chattered and scolded her as she walked out to gather saplings to weave baskets. This skill was new to Darcy, and she knew that her work paled in comparison to the beautifully crafted baskets of the Abenaki women, but she made the attempt out of necessity and after a while came to enjoy the weaving.
Raoul continued to suffer from his cough, and then one day he took a turn for the worse. He could no longer get out of bed, and he laid wheezing and gasping for air. He coughed up large quantities of blood, and Darcy was scared. He no longer asked for his pipe, and his diet consisted only of liquids.
She worried constantly about him and never strayed far from his bedside. Her days were filled with loads of bedding and soiled clothing from Raoul, and her hands grew red and chapped from continual wash.
Friends of Raoul came by to visit, and Darcy knew that they were really there to say good-bye. They never stayed long, and although they were cordial to her, they never extended themselves with words of comfort or any small talk. She knew that they hated her because she had come from the English Colonies.
Raoul asked Darcy to read to him from the Bible every evening. If he hadn't asked, she would never have opened
the book again. She had turned her back on God. She believed the Creator had abandoned her, and she decided to meet Him in kind.
One afternoon, when she was working in the garden, she saw the dark figure of Father Cesaire sweep into the cabin. She knew that he was there to give Raoul his Last Rites. The priest did not come looking for Darcy, and that was fine with her.
One warm spring evening before the mosquitoes hatched, Darcy threw open the windows of the cabin to allow Raoul some fresh air. A breeze on his face seemed to help him breathe easier. She sat on the corner of his bed and began to comb his hair away from his face. He opened his eyes and said to her weakly, "You have been very good to me, Darcy. You are too young and full of life to be buried here in this settlement, taking care of a dying man."
"I have done nothing out of the ordinary," she said gently.
"I must ask your forgiveness for something, my dear wife."
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