The Beloved Land

by T. Davis Bunn

  The men rowed with the silence of hard-won experience. Gordon sat in the bow and Carter crouched alongside him, directing with one upraised hand. The tide was high enough for them to make it all the way to solid footing before grounding. Instantly the oars were stowed. The men disembarked, ushered Nicole up to higher ground, then together they heaved the longboat up and under a dense cluster of trees. All with as little noise as possible.

  Even so, before they had taken two dozen steps up the slope, a voice called out in French, “You’re surrounded!”

  Carter gripped the arm of the man nearest to him and hissed, “Don’t make a move.”

  “Steady,” Gordon agreed quietly. “I can see movement amidst the trees on either side.”

  Nicole looked at Gordon through the darkness, then said in French, “We come in peace!”

  “If that is so,” the unseen challenger asked, “why is it you come in secret and by night?”

  “Because … because these are perilous times.” Nicole kept her voice as steady as she could.

  There was the rustle of numerous feet approaching. “How is it that a ship flying the British flag carries American sympathizers and a woman who speaks our tongue?”

  “I am one of you,” Nicole replied.

  “One of us?” the man scoffed. “More likely you are a teller of tales.”

  “I speak the truth. My family lives in Georgetown.”

  “Georgetown is British. We are Acadian.”

  “As am I. Both British and Acadian.”

  A murmur of voices as they quietly conferred.

  Another set of footsteps approached from the opposite side. “Cast a light here.”

  The voice stirred something in Nicole. But before she could think of what it was, the leader answered, “There is danger in torchlight.”

  “There is danger in making errors. Make a light, I say.”

  Flint sparked and kindling was lit; then a torch flared and hissed. In the sudden illumination, Nicole could not see farther than the hand which held the sputtering flame. But the second voice now cried, “By heaven’s mercy! It is Nicole!”

  She knew him then. And though she could not see him, Nicole plunged through the darkness with arms outstretched. “It is Guy! Dear, dear Uncle Guy!”

  Nicole’s uncle Guy traveled with them, along with four other villagers chosen because they knew the region well enough to move without lights and because they had horses. The others were not friendly men, nor overly welcoming, even after her uncle had enfolded her and wept tears of genuine joy. They listened in silence as she explained their need to travel immediately to Georgetown. They did not object when Guy requested their help. But they only agreed when she added their willingness to pay, and pay well. Then came the swift discussion of men accustomed to acting together, deciding she and Gordon would travel on borrowed steeds, while the remaining sailors would be bedded down in the closest Acadian settlement.

  Their horses were dark roans and so well trained they neither stamped nor whinnied as the unfamiliar figures approached through the shadows. As Gordon helped her into the saddle, he gave her a meaningful look and pointed at the horses’ hooves. She studied them closely but did not understand. He patted her leg once, a silent warning, of what she did not know, and turned to where another man held a steed for him.

  She rode with Guy to one side and Gordon on the other. There was a great deal of her Acadian father, Henri Robichaud, in her uncle, a man of great strength. When the clouds parted and night’s silver lamp fell upon the way, she could see the gray in his hair and beard, reminding her with vivid clarity of how her French father was also aging, and how long it had been since they were last together. Guy’s expression was that of a man who had journeyed much and endured more, yet remained throughout a person of integrity and compassion. When the way straightened and the path ahead was a wash of white moonlight and calm, she reached across and took his hand for a moment.

  After some hours they halted to let the horses cool. Nicole did not realize how exhausted she was until she slid from the horse’s back. She allowed Gordon to lead her over to a log. When Guy joined them, the others moved off a few paces and stood quietly. In the glimmer of the moon, Nicole could see how their heads kept turning as they continually scouted the road ahead and behind.

  Finally Gordon’s earlier signals made sense to her. She looked at her horse’s hooves once more and could see they had been blackened with a mixture of coal dust and oil. Their dark coats and manes reflected no light whatsoever. It was the same with the reins and stirrups, for all the metal was coated with the thick dark grease and wrapped so they did not jingle. She recalled how softly the horses had trodden upon the road, and she realized they were not shod.

  She whispered to Guy, “These are smugglers?”

  When Guy did not respond, Nicole translated for Gordon, who said, “We must have arrived when they were expecting a boat of their own. There is no other reason for them to have such a force out at night.”

  “Our friends no doubt spied your great vessel plying its way up the bay.” Guy’s grin so resembled her father’s, she had to blink to clear her eyes. “They probably took you for a warship on patrol.”

  “Youare a smuggler too?”

  Guy was long in answering, and when he did he refused to meet her eye. “The roads are not safe these days. Either the British ride in force, or they do not ride at all. Same with these waters. The garrisons are depleted. Everyone is off to the south fighting the war.” He then looked at her. “Brigands strike at will. Little gets through. Taxes have become absurd. We Acadian settlements have taken to ‘trading.’ ” He shrugged meaningfully. “We survive. It is the way.”

  At a quiet hiss from the other smugglers, Guy turned and said, “We ride.”

  The closer they came to Georgetown, the faster they pushed their horses. It was only when the first faint hues appeared in the east that Nicole realized they were racing the dawn.

  At her unspoken question, Guy explained over his shoulder, “We are breaking the provincial curfew. Soldiers would recognize these steeds for what they are. But for your sake, we must hold to the open road.”

  With the light came a morning mist, rising from the ground like lazy tendrils. Nicole realized she was growing damp when she saw the sheen of dew upon Gordon’s coat. She drew her mantle closer about her and pulled the hood over her head. As they arrived at the village outskirts, the mist was draping the horses so completely the outriders became indistinct, then invisible. Houses she recognized, or wished she did, appeared with the suddenness of silent wraiths. They passed the fence lining Andrew’s churchyard, but she could not make out the church itself.

  She and Guy moved to the front of the group and led them through the market square and down the now-familiar lane. In spite of her exhaustion, her heart surged with joy.

  The house was still shuttered for the night when they halted. Nicole slipped down from the horse unaided. Her fingers trembled as she opened the little gate and moved up the walk toward the front door. Gordon and Guy followed close behind.

  But before she could knock, the door flew open and she found herself looking into Andrew’s face.

  Her eyes filled and overflowed as she moved into his embrace. Andrew looked so drawn, so gray. So small. “Hello, Father,” she whispered on his shoulder.

  “I heard God say my name,” Andrew said. “Even before I opened my eyes and rose from bed, I knew there was joy coming to knock upon my door.”

  She heard him raise his voice and call out to Catherine. She heard her mother’s voice rise in surprise and delight. She felt a second set of arms around her, her mother’s voice in her ear. She heard their greetings to Gordon. She heard their thanks to Guy. But she could not open her eyes. Or perhaps she did, yet could not really see.

  Chapter 16

  Nicole sat by the fire and sipped a cup of her mother’s special brew—not a black Ceylon tea, for her mother had said the last thing Nicole needed was something to keep her
awake. She could feel the warmth of the hot drink seep into her bones, matching the warmth from the crackling logs. Every time her parents passed, they would lay their hands upon her shoulder.

  Her uncle Guy took his own mug standing in the doorway with the other Frenchmen. They accepted thick slabs of freshbaked bread with butter and honey, and murmured respectful thanks. In all their faces, Nicole could see the esteem in which they held both Andrew and Catherine. In between times they would glance back through the doorway, the worry etched in their faces as they watched the sun begin to shine through the mist. They could not be held much longer.

  Nicole listened as Gordon addressed Guy, Catherine now serving as interpreter.

  “As we told you, we have sworn our allegiance to the American cause.”

  “Your vessel flies the British flag,” Guy noted.

  “The vessel is British; we are not. Not any longer. Further explanations must wait. What you need to know now is that we are on a mission. The Americans have asked us to travel to Louisiana.”

  When these words were translated, the Frenchmen gathered closer, astonishment in their faces. “You travel to the second Acadia?”

  “If we can. But first we must gather supplies. And in secret.”

  “The supplies are not a problem if you can pay.”

  “We can.”

  Guy cast a glance at his mates. “Almost every family in our village has relatives they have not heard from in years. Letters have been sent but never answered.”

  “We will be happy to serve as your envoy.”

  As Catherine translated, the mood lightened. Guy turned back and now spoke to Gordon with genuine concern. “The secrecy is another thing entirely.”

  Andrew broke in at this point. “The village is full of ears and eyes. Your presence is bound to come to the attention of the officials in Halifax.”

  “How long do we have?”

  “A few days.”

  “Longer,” Catherine pleaded.

  “They cannot risk it,” Andrew gently replied.

  “That is not enough time.”

  “No. It is not. But it is all we have.”

  Nicole gathered her strength to stand. Here, in the first moments of greeting, their imminent departure was already being discussed. She could bear no more in her weariness. “Forgive me, I must rest,” she said.

  “One moment, dear Nicole.” Gordon walked over to her, then guided her to where Andrew stood beside Catherine. He said, “We have a request to make of you.”

  Nicole could see that they were anticipating his next words. Catherine reached out to hold Nicole’s hand as Gordon said to her father, “Sir, I am asking for your daughter’s hand in marriage. I understand the suddenness, but the uncertainty of the times seems to require it.” Then Andrew also was reaching for Gordon’s hand as he finished, “We are asking that you grant us the honor of performing our wedding ceremony before we must depart.”

  No verbal assent to the request was required. Catherine and Nicole were embracing and weeping, and Gordon and Andrew shook hands in both solemn and hopeful agreement.

  Chapter 17

  Nicole awoke to birdsong and laughter. She lay and studied the room about her. Light pierced the narrow slits in the rear shutters, which was strange, for the house faced east. Which meant the time must be noon or later. Had she slept through the entire morning?

  She willed herself to rise, but the muscles of her body would not respond. She lay upon her grandfather Price’s bed. He had insisted, and she had been too tired to protest for long. Her pillow must have come from her parents’ bed, for she could smell Catherine’s fragrance.

  The door opened, and Nicole knew it was her mother from the way the light silhouetted her frame. “Good morning, Mother,” she managed around a yawn.

  Catherine stepped inside. “How are you feeling, Nicole?”

  “So much better I can hardly believe it.”

  “I’m glad.” Catherine eased herself down on the side of Grandfather Price’s bed. “You were in great need of rest.”

  “Gordon is awake?” Nicole asked. Her fiance éhad bunked down with his men at a neighbor’s house. At Catherine’s nod, Nicole stretched luxuriously. “I suppose I should rise, then.”

  “Gordon has gone to the ship and back,” Catherine told her.

  “How is that possible?”

  “Well, first, he needed to fetch your case and his dress uniform.” She laughed openly now. “Secondly, because it has just turned four.”

  At Nicole’s gasp, Catherine repeated, “Four o’clock—in the afternoon.”

  “You have let me sleep all day?” Nicole struggled to a sitting position.

  “I have indeed.” Catherine rose and handed Nicole the dress she had worn from the ship.

  The fabric was stiff with days of salt and wear. Nicole could smell the horse, the saddle leather, the black grease from the previous night’s ride. The hem was dark and rigid with mud from disembarking from the longboat and where they halted in the night. She stared at the dress and wondered if all that had happened had just been the night before. “Mama, you shouldn’t have let me lie abed all day,” she said, taking the frock with a small grimace.

  “I would let you sleep all the coming night as well,” Catherine replied. “Except for the fact that you must now hurry— wait, though, I will bring you a clean dress of mine for you to wear until …” But she was out the door before finishing her sentence.

  Catherine was soon back with a faded but clean cotton dress to slip over Nicole’s head. Her mother’s hands deftly buttoned it up the back, and they moved to the door.

  John Price rose from his seat by the fire and came over to beam at his granddaughter and proclaim, “Our princess has arisen!”

  “Please, I’m so sorry.” She was acutely aware of the late hour, of her unbrushed hair, of the short time they would have …

  “Coming through, please. Make way!” Carter and two other sailors pushed into the room, bearing one of her trunks. “Where will you be having these now, ma’am?”

  “Put them in the back room here,” Catherine replied, pointing the way.

  Her parents’ bedroom door opened, and her father appeared. Only he was not dressed in his normal dark homespun but in his formal clergy attire. The long black robe carried crimson and gold stitching that she knew instantly was Catherine’s skilled handiwork.

  Andrew moved across to her and drew her into a warm embrace. “God’s greetings, my Nicole. Did you rest well?”

  “Yes, I … yes.” She stepped back and looked at his robe. “Forgive me, Father. Is it the Sabbath today?”

  Andrew’s smile was full of love and blessing. “No, daughter. It is your wedding day.”

  “Oh, Mother,” Nicole breathed the words as she stood in the back bedroom gazing at her trunk. Then once again their arms were around each other as she and Catherine wept and laughed together.

  “My wedding day,” Nicole said, looking into Catherine’s face. “I cannot say I imagined it quite like this—a moment snatched out of a time of turmoil.”

  “Ah yes,” answered Catherine, “I think I understand what you are feeling right now—joyful and a bit sad at the same time. But you must remember that the wedding ceremony itself is only the beginning of a lifetime of love and care for each other. And Gordon is the husband and the son-in-law we have prayed for. We have known him for only this short time, but your father and I believe you have chosen well.”

  “I too believe I have chosen well,” Nicole said with a smile as they embraced again.

  “But we must make preparations,” Catherine said briskly, and the two women turned their attention to the trunk. After prying it open, Catherine departed to return with a tin tub. She filled it with pails of warm water from the kitchen, then helped Nicole into it. Catherine left the bedroom again and brought back a mug of tea and a piece of bread with butter and honey. Nicole was sure she wouldn’t be able to eat anything, but she sipped the steaming cup and soon realized
she was indeed hungry.

  Nicole rose from the bath and saw her creamy white silk gown laid out upon the bed, and the shoes set alongside, and she was sure that this wedding, even in these circumstances, was right.

  Catherine laced up the stays to Nicole’s corset, talking all the while as she placed one hand upon the small of Nicole’s back and gripped the two laces tightly in her other. The motion pulled Nicole’s thoughts up sharp, and she realized Catherine had been telling how John Price’s quest for his lost sibling had offered the old man not only new energy, but a new and deeper relationship with Catherine. And what had surprised her equally, she explained as she tied a double bow, was how the quest had proven such an interest to her as well. Together they had pored over John Price’s father’s diary. Catherine urged Nicole to ask the old man about it, to let him share this new excitement over the drama of forgotten days.

  Then her mother lifted the wedding dress over Nicole’s head. “Oh, my dear, you are a lovely bride,” Catherine whispered as she buttoned the row of tiny pearl buttons in the back. Then Nicole carefully sat down while her mother arranged her hair and fastened it up with combs.

  A knock upon the door, and a familiar voice called, “May I enter?”

  Catherine rushed to the door, calling, “No, I’m sorry, Gordon, but you may not see the bride before the wedding.”

  “Then I shall speak my words from here, madame. Nicole, my dearest, can you hear me?”

  She moved closer to the door to say, “I can. Though I can scarcely believe what is happening.”

  “I as well. But all is moving in its proper course, as far as I can tell. Will you trust me with this judgment?”

  “I trust you with everything,” she replied simply. “I trust you with my life.”

  There was a moment’s pause, then Gordon said, “Nicole, I have something for you.”

  “What is it?”

  “I had hoped for a more intimate moment, but this will have to do.” He cleared his throat. “The evening that I met John Jackson, do you recall how I described it?”