Beyond the Cliffs of Kerry

by Hughes, Amanda

  "Raoul, you have always been so kind to me. How can there be anything to forgive?”

  He searched her face then said, "I know that you have always loved another,” he said breathlessly. “And I deliberately kept you here because I was too selfish to live without you."

  "What nonsense you talk of, Raoul," she exclaimed starting to feel her body tense.

  "I saw you on All Hallows Eve, Darcy, that night by the bonfire, kissing the man from Massachusetts. It is he you love.” He paused to catch his breath. “I should have released you then, but I was too selfish, and I held you prisoner here. I knew that I was going to die soon, and I wanted your lovely face to be the last thing that I gazed upon before I went to God."

  Darcy pressed her eyes shut. So Raoul had suffered in silence all this time. Never a cross word, never an accusation. She looked down at him again. “There is nothing to forgive, Raoul. I should be asking you for forgiveness."

  Raoul smiled weakly, closed his eyes and drifted to sleep. Late that night, he had a fit of coughing which was too much for his weak body. Blood gushed from his nose and mouth, and with Darcy holding him in her arms, he died. Raoul LaRoche was granted his final wish. The last thing he saw before he departed was the face of his wife, Madame LaRoche.

  All by herself, Darcy cleaned and prepared the body for burial. At sunrise she sat in a chair, staring straight ahead. She dreaded going to the mission to inform Father Cesaire of Raoul's death. The cheerful spring day didn't lure her outside, and well into the afternoon Darcy continued to sit in the chair, not moving.

  She was so tired--tired of fighting to survive, tired of uncertainties and tired of loving someone that she could never have. Darcy examined all her options, but more and more the escape which Faith had chosen seemed the most appealing choice.

  She stood up and opened the door of the cabin gazing out at the cold rushing waters of the Chardiere River. The current was swift and likely to sweep her away quickly, and the icy waters would numb any pain that might occur once she submerged herself. Yes, this was the best avenue to oblivion.

  She took a step forward, and suddenly she heard a voice from the past whispering in her ear. At first Darcy couldn't identify it. Then the words became clearer, and she could hear Teila say, "How dare you speak indifferently of your life especially when we risk our lives for you! Father Etienne gave his life trying to save you and the others, and now you repay him with this blasphemy!"

  Darcy reached up and touched her cheek. She could almost feel the slap Teila had given her so long ago. She closed her eyes and said, "But I'm so tired, I'm so very tired."

  Again she heard Teila say angrily, "And now you repay him with this blasphemy!" Over and over she listened to the words. Finally, she walked over to the small cracked mirror on the wall, pinned her hair up and started for the mission to inform Father Cesaire of her husband's death.

  No matter how arduous the task, no matter how much suffering she had to endure, Darcy knew in her heart that she must continue living. Taking her life would never be an option again. Across the vast expanses, the spirit of Teila had pulled her from the pit of desperation once more, and Darcy found the strength to go on.

  Chapter 34

  The entire community attended the funeral of Raoul LaRoche. They were all polite to Darcy, but she knew that they would not welcome her permanently into their community. She had been endured for Raoul's sake only, and she knew now she would have to go.

  After the burial, Father Cesaire approached Darcy. She watched with apprehension, as his dark figure approached. He was a peculiar-looking man with his wild shock of jet-black hair falling down in tangles around his face. Darcy thought that he had a maniacal look to him. He approached with his thin lips pursed, then said, "You must realize, Madame that you are not welcome here, and I am in agreement with the community. I sent a courier this morning to inform your English Colonel Lawrence that you are once again available for ransom, if he is interested. I will allow you to await his reply in Monsieur LaRoche's cabin. If he does not respond, you will be sold in Quebec in the autumn."

  Darcy had the feeling that Cesaire was expecting her to be grateful, but she simply turned and walked away. The cabin was empty and quiet when she returned that afternoon, and Darcy realized how badly she missed Raoul. Over the months she had grown to love him in her own way. She picked up his pipe and held it in her hand, turning it over and over, and thinking of him. Darcy hoped sincerely that she had brought him a bit of happiness in his final days.

  The loneliness lessened as the days went on, and when the sun grew warmer, Darcy would sit by the river and watch the eagles circling in the sky.

  She wondered if Jean Michel was married yet, and she speculated that Elizabeth Campbell may be already carrying their first child.

  Weeks turned to months, and the possibility of Nathan sending someone grew more and more remote. She knew that any day the priest would send her to Quebec to be sold as a servant. For all of the uncertainties, Darcy made the most of every day. Since she was leaving before winter, there was no need to fuss over crops or the garden, and with Raoul being gone, there was no one for whom she had to cook or clean, so every day she took long leisurely walks, bathed or lay on the grass.

  One sultry evening as Darcy was preparing supper, large thunderheads gathered in the sky. The winds picked up and brought a hard, driving rain upon the settlement. She had just finished her meal, when there was a knock on the door, and her heart leaped into her throat. Darcy knew that the time had come for her to go to Quebec.

  She opened the door encountering a small Abenaki boy who told her in French that Father Cesaire would like to see her immediately. Taking a deep breath, Darcy squared her shoulders and started out the door. Suddenly, she remembered something and stopped. She re-entered the cabin and put the cross and charm necklace around her neck. As angry as she had been with God, he had granted her these few months of peace and the gift did not fall on an ungrateful heart.

  The pouring rain soaked Darcy to the bone as she followed the silent child through the woods to the mission. The wind ceased, and they walked in a downpour, punctuated only occasionally by claps of thunder. Her gown felt heavy and sodden, and her dark hair hung in wet strands about her face.

  As she started up the hill toward the mission church, she could see the outline of Father Cesaire, standing next to someone. She could tell they were watching her. The rain blurred her vision, and when she reached up to wipe the water from her eyes, she realized that the figure standing with the priest was Jean Michel.

  Suddenly, her heart jumped. Darcy tried to calm herself, remembering that by now he was probably a married man and maybe even a father. Nevertheless, she took long strides up the hill, stopping so close in front of Jean Michel that their garments touched. The rain rolled down their faces, as they looked into each others eyes.

  Father Cesaire watched them with disdain and demanded, "I will take the Colonel's donation to our mission now, Monsieur."

  Jean Michel dragged his eyes from Darcy, stepped back and reached inside his shirt, producing a small leather pouch. When Father Cesaire reached out for it, Jean Michel pulled it away. He warned, "Not so fast, I have instructions to interview the prisoner alone before I make the payment."

  The Jesuit's eyes narrowed, but he bowed politely and said, "As you wish, Monsieur." Father Cesaire retreated to the shelter of his church to await payment.

  Jean Michel looked down at Darcy and asked, "Are you well?"

  "They have not harmed me. Why was Nathan so slow in responding?"

  "He has been very busy with other matters, and only now had time to contact me regarding your ransom."

  Jean Michel looked furtively at the heavily wooded area surrounding them, and taking Darcy by the shoulders, he said with urgency, "You must listen to me carefully, Darcy. We are in grave danger. General Wolfe has taken Point Levi just north of here. He has given instructions to saturate this area with British regulars and Iroquois. They will not care
who we are. Once they have the taste of blood, all reason will be washed from their minds. You must be prepared to run for your life."

  Darcy heard what he said, but she did not feel afraid.

  "Next there is the business of your ransom. Colonel Lawrence has asked me to tell you that he cannot overturn the Crown's punishment, but as far as he is concerned from this day forward you are a free woman."

  Darcy stared at Jean Michel, her eyes wide with astonishment. Had she heard him correctly? Did he say that she was free? The words echoed in her ears, and she blinked as if waking up from a dream.

  Father Cesaire approached and Jean Michel handed him the pouch containing the emerald necklace. The priest bowed and with the shadow of a smile said, "Watch yourselves, my fine New Englanders. You are in French territory during wartime. Anything can happen.”

  Jean Michel watched him, as he disappeared into his church, then he turned to Darcy and said, "From this moment forward, you are free to do as you choose, Darcy. Where will you go?"

  She didn't answer right away. Her thoughts raced as well as her heart. For the first time in years she was free. Even in Ireland she had not been free, so for the first time ever, she was free.

  Jean Michel searched her eyes and asked, "Will you come back to Massachusetts to live?"

  "Oh, no," said Darcy shaking her head. "There is nothing there for me. I shall return to the coast of Kerry. This land has never been my home."

  Jean Michel stared at her a moment then stepped back and mumbled, “I understand.”

  Darcy was confused and searched his face. "But you are married--" Before she could finish her sentence, there was the report of a firearm and Jean Michel gasped clutching his side. He looked down at his waist, and when he removed his hand a bright spot of blood began to soak his shirt.

  Jean Michel said breathlessly, "Run!"

  Before Darcy could move, an Abenaki warrior began running towards them with his tomahawk raised. Jean Michel pulled the rifle from his shoulder, and with all his might slammed the butt of the gun into the stomach of the Indian, who doubled up.

  Darcy bolted for the woods assuming that Jean Michel was behind her, but when she looked back, he had fallen to his knees. "No!" she screamed, dashing back to him.

  Another Abenaki bolted from the woods toward them. Her heart pounding, Darcy raised Jean Michel's rifle, set her sights on the Indian and pulled the trigger. There was a loud blast, and when the smoke cleared, he had fallen. But the warrior struggled to his feet and began running again. He raised his tomahawk ready to smash Darcy’s skull when suddenly he dropped his weapon and staggered forward, slamming into her. Almost knocked from her feet Darcy realized, with horror that an arrow was protruding from his neck. Clinging to her, he slid down her body.

  All at once, there was the cracking of muskets and war cries as Iroquois and English descended on the French and Abenaki village. Darcy bent down and put Jean Michel's arm around her neck. He roared, "Damn it! I told you to run!"

  Ignoring him, Darcy straightened up bearing his weight on her shoulders. Jean Michel showered her with oaths in French, as she pulled him to the cover of the trees. When they reached the brush, she fell to the ground exhausted.

  Panting, Darcy pulled Jean Michel's blood-soaked shirt up to examine his injury. A letter tumbled to the ground, and Darcy picked it up stuffing it in her bodice. The arrow had gone into his side and exited the back cleanly, but the blood was running out of him in a steady stream. She could tell that he was growing weak quickly.

  "Please, listen to me, Darcy." he said with great effort. "Governor Shirley has offered a bounty of twenty pounds for scalps. Get to safety at Point Levi."

  Ignoring him Darcy gave the hem of her dress a yank tearing the material into long strips. She wound them tightly around his torso then tied them off. Jean Michel grabbed her wrist and said, "Are you listening to me!"

  Darcy's snapped, "All my life some man has been telling me where I can and can not go. I am a free woman now, Jean Michel Lupe', and I'm staying here with you!"

  Jean Michel dropped back and closed his eyes. A few moments ago he would have given anything to hear those words, but now all wanted was for her to get away.

  It was twilight, and blasts of light from gunfire lit the mission and the village around it. Most of the Abenaki warriors were conducting raids in the south, so the community was left defenseless against the Iroquois and English.

  An Iroquois warrior and an aged Abenaki struggled close to where Darcy and Jean Michel were hiding in the brush. The younger Iroquois slammed his tomahawk into the old man’s skull then threw him face down onto the ground. After straddling him, he ran the blade of his hunting knife around the scalp. He placed his foot on the Abenaki's shoulder and yanked the scalp from back to front.

  Darcy watched, paralyzed with fear as another scene unfolded before her eyes, this time involving a British regular. He was struggling roughly with a young Indian woman, and after knocking her unconscious with the butt of his gun, he scalped her as well.

  Jean Michel grabbed Darcy‘s arm and whispered, "We've got to get away from here Darcy!" Slinging his arm over her neck, she whispered, "There is a cave near here on the river where we can hide, but first I must stop at the cabin."

  They drove deep into the forest, stumbling blindly over brush and undergrowth in a frenzied hurry to safety. Several times the burden was too much for Darcy, and she lost her footing sending them both to the ground. Try as he might, each time they fell, Jean Michel could not suppress crying out in pain, and Darcy would crumble into a thousand apologies, cursing herself for her clumsiness.

  Darcy was relieved when the cabin was finally in sight, and they approached it from the back cautiously. She guided him to Raoul's bed, but when he protested, she put him on a chair by the table instead.

  Quickly Darcy lit a candle, covered the window and grabbed some fresh bandages and several blankets. Rolling them all into a bundle, she proceeded to tie it onto her back. Next she picked up Raoul's musket, loaded it and strapped on his shot pouch.

  "Is there brandy?" asked Jean Michel. He lay slumped onto the table, dark rings under his eyes. His lips were white and his complexion grey. Darcy pulled down a bottle from the mantle, sat down and quickly poured them a drink.

  Jean Michel looked at Darcy and said, "You're trembling,"

  "No, I'm not," she argued. Darcy could not admit fear tonight. What she had witnessed at the mission struck terror into her heart, and if she were to admit her true feelings she may not find the courage to continue.

  Jean Michel looked around the home of Monsieur and Madame LaRoche. He could picture Darcy making supper by the hearth or spinning at the wheel, but when his eyes rested on the bed, he felt the jealousy burn.

  "Did you ever think of me when you made love to your husband?”

  Darcy stopped with her drink in mid-air, and then slowly put it down. She paused and said, "I gave my body to him Jean Michel, but never my heart. You are the only man I have ever made love to."

  They listened to the rain on the roof, and Darcy stood up, looking out the window. "When I needed to remember how good life can be, that is when I brought your memory up from my heart.”

  Suddenly, violent screams came from the settlement, and Darcy jumped back from the window crying, "They're here! We must hurry!"

  Jean Michel blew out the candle, and after slinging the musket over her shoulder, Darcy slid herself gently under his arm again. They stole quietly into the night, struggling together once more through the black wilderness. With the added burden of a musket, Darcy's shoulders were breaking, but she was determined to get them to safety.

  They followed the Chardiere River north, searching for a cave. Darcy was petrified they might meet someone on the well-traveled path to Quebec, so she urged the weakening Jean Michel to move even faster. He gave every ounce of strength he had left to double the pace. He could see that the blood had drenched his shirt and was starting to soak Darcy's gown too.

&n
bsp; They found a cave, but it required that they climb up several large boulders to gain entrance, and Darcy feared that Jean Michel could not traverse the slippery rocks. They stood panting below the cave. Darcy shouted over the roar of the river, "Can you get up there?"

  Weakly he nodded his head, and Darcy scrambled upon the first rock. She dropped her pack and her musket and sat down. With her legs apart and her hands outstretched, she grabbed Jean Michel by the wrists and pulled him with all her might. He managed to get a foothold and pushed himself up, falling heavily on top of her. They laid there sapped of strength, trying to catch their breath. They repeated this step one more time until they were inside the shelter of the cave.

  Ignoring her fear of caves, Darcy went about the work of making a bed for Jean Michel. She lit a candle, put blankets down and pulled out a dry shirt that had belonged to Raoul. After easing him onto the bed, Darcy tore the filthy, mud-soaked shirt off of him. After cleaning and dressing his wound, she paused for moment to look at him. His dark hair was untied, and it fell loosely about the pillow. She remembered that the only time he wore it down was during sleep or their most private moments together. It was very painful to remember that these moments were now reserved for Elizabeth, and without thinking Darcy reached out and ran her fingers across his chest.