Nicole and Anne were now dancing around the room, waving apron and dishtowel with the hands that were not clinging to each other. And then Catherine’s tears started. This was the most amazing thing she had ever heard in her lifetime. She and Louise. Kin. No wonder they had taken to each other. No wonder the tie had remained through the years. Oh, dear God, this is too much,she whispered. This is too much joy to hold.
“Oh, I must tell Mama. I must,” Nicole shouted. “I can’t possibly wait until morning. Is there some way to get to Guy’s house?” She whirled toward Gordon. “Surely there is a cart somewhere that we can hire,” she implored. “Surely someone has something.”
He rose to his feet and smiled in understanding. “If you are sure—”
“Oh, I am. I am. I can’t wait to tell her. I can’t wait.”
Gordon nodded and went for his hat.
“I’ll come with you,” offered Andrew. “I know most of the villagers.” The two left the small cottage with the noise of merrymaking following them out the door.
Gordon and Andrew were soon back. Andrew had found a conveyance for hire, and the driver assured them that if they left right away, they would arrive before nightfall. They would need to spend the night. It was no problem for him, he maintained. He had kin in the village.
So another good-bye,thought Catherine as she watched Nicole hurriedly prepare for the trip. But her sadness was neither deep nor long-lived. They had the future before them. Nicole’s stay would be much longer this time. She had even spoken of staying until after the birth of her baby. Catherine’s only disappointment was that she would not be present when Louise was told the news.
They sent them on their way with a flurry of excitement, imagining the commotion that Nicole’s news would create. Then Anne turned back again to the few remaining dishes to be washed, and Catherine tried to gather her thoughts enough to think about preparing the evening meal.
“I think I need a little time to catch my breath,” Andrew said, turning to Thomas. “Would you give me your arm to my bed, son?”
Grandfather Price was still rereading the letter, as though his heart could not believe what his eyes were telling him. “Louise. My sister’s daughter,” Catherine heard him murmur. It still seemed impossible to believe.
“Halloo the house,” the driver called in French, and Nicole saw many faces appear at the window. It was the first hours of nightfall, and candles had already been lit. She could see the flickering light silhouetting the figures behind the panes. But the long twilight had lingered to light the rutted track they traveled.
Nicole would have dashed from the cart had not Gordon held her arm firmly. He helped her down safely, then she rushed to the cottage.
“Mama,” cried Nicole, almost before her mother opened the door.
Louise’s face turned ashen. “Andrew—?”
“We have just received the most astonishing news,” Nicole exclaimed, remembering to speak French. “You will not believe this. You’d best sit down.”
Louise brushed the words aside with a flurry of one hand. “Since Andrew must be all right, I expect any news you could bring will be no harder to take standing than what I have heard in the past.”
Nicole was vaguely aware of the little crowd that had gathered around them. Curiosity touched their faces. She put her hands on Louise’s shoulders and looked deeply into her eyes.
“You and Mama Catherine are cousins.”
Louise stared.
“It’s true. You and Mama Catherine are first cousins.”
Louise pursed her lips in stubborn unbelief. “You are saying she is French? Pawsh. I know her papa.”
“No. No, it’s you. You are related to her papa.”
Louise’s reaction was far from what Nicole had expected. Her face went white. Her jaw clamped firmly. When she did speak, her words were clipped. “Hush such foolish talk, girl. I’m French. I am not one of those British—”
“Mama!” Nicole could not believe her ears.
“I knew my mama and my papa,” Louise announced firmly. “They were both French. Neither of them were kin to John Price.”
Nicole felt her heart sinking with dread. She didn’t know what to say or do next. “I think we need to talk,” she managed quietly. “Would you join me in the garden? Papa? Gordon? Please.”
The four walked into the garden and the talk lasted for an hour. Inside the cottage, Guy and his family waited impatiently. What was the meaning of the strange tale that Nicole had brought to the household? When the quartet finally did come back in to the warmth, Louise looked reasonably calm and controlled.
“It is true,” she announced to her waiting family, but she sounded more resigned than excited by the fact. “I had an English grandfather on my mother’s side. She never talked about it. Perhaps she didn’t want me to know.”
To her surprise there was no shock evidenced at the news. No shunning like there may have been in days past. No one in the household seemed even slightly disturbed.
“English blood, huh? Perhaps you can get me a little better stall location at the market,” joked Guy.
“Can you teach me how to talk their words, Aunt Louise?” asked young Michel.
“He likes the English girls at the market. I think he wants to flirt with them,” his younger sister put in.
Louise shook her head. No. There was nothing about the English that she understood one bit better than she had an hour ago. They still puzzled her. Confused her. Made her angry. She still carried deep wounds that they had inflicted upon both her body and her soul. She needed time. Time to think. Time to pray.
But there is Catherine,she thought. She had always claimed Catherine. Had not really thought of her as being British. Catherine was in a class all by herself. It is an honor to be bound to Catherine by blood ties, she concluded, her arms clutching herself as she gazed out the window.
Chapter 47
Catherine had gone to bed, worn out from the busyness and excitement of the day. She still could scarcely believe that she was not living a dream. Both daughters home. And Louise. All at the same time. It was almost more than her tired body could sustain. And it was certainly draining for Andrew. He was exhausted by the events of the day. They had needed to carry his evening meal to his bed. Even then he had to be helped with the spoon, his hands were so shaky from fatigue. Catherine could not help but worry about him. Each day a bit more of his strength seemed to drain away.
But he was happy. So happy to see his girls. So happy to have the family home. Perhaps the cost his body was paying for the pleasure was worth it.
And Louise. By now Louise would know the secret that had remained hidden for so many years. To think of it. The two young women who had met by coincidence in the meadow all those many years ago were actually first cousins. It was something beyond fairy tales.
Catherine thought back over all the years she had yearned for a friend. A sister. A woman of her own kin. And all that time she had one. And she had not known. She would treasure every minute of their time together in a new way.
What if they had known at the beginning? What if her father had known at the time of the expulsion? Would Louise’s family have been spared? Poor Louise. She had suffered so much at the hands of the British.
Louise? Catherine felt her body stiffen. Would the news that Nicole carried be good news for her? Would Louise feel proud or angry to have English blood in her veins? How would she react? Perhaps she would distance herself. It was a fearful thought. She might have lost her rather than found her.
The troubling thoughts were enough to keep Catherine awake until well into the early morning. She tossed upon the bed until she feared she would disturb Andrew. She fought her pillow, fluffing it up and then punching it down to a small lump under her neck. Still she could not sleep. She began to pray. She didn’t even know what words to choose. What did she want from God? A miracle. Yes—another miracle. She did not want her two daughters separated by bitterness. She did not want Louise hurt mor
e than she already had been. She did not want to lose the woman she had just found. But at long last she ended up crying in submission, “Lord … Thy will be done.”
Catherine heard the jingle of harness before anyone else in the house—perhaps because she had been listening for it so intently. Then she heard the low rumble of the cart wheels as they churned slowly up the lane. They were coming. But who was coming? Was it Nicole and Gordon—or would Louise and Henri be with them? She would not even let herself cross to the window and look out.
It was Anne who made the announcement. “They are here!”
“Who?” asked Catherine dumbly.
“Nicole.”
“Is she alone?”
“No, of course not. I don’t think Gordon would let her out of his sight.” Anne laughed.
“It’s just the two of them?”
Anne looked out the window again. “Oh, Papa and Mama are there too. I thought Uncle Guy was bringing them when he came to market. They must have decided to all ride together. Don’t know how they all fit in that little bit of a cart. Looks like the menfolk …”
But Catherine was no longer listening. Louise was there. How would Louise respond? Dared she go out to meet her, or should she wait in the cottage? She started to ask Anne how Louise looked, then realized that Anne could not possibly understand the meaning of her question. She wiped the flour from her hands on her apron and moved toward the door.
She had taken only a few steps when she saw Louise rushing toward her, arms outstretched. With a glad cry Catherine hurried to meet her.
“Oh, Catherine,” Louise called and gathered her close. “We are kin. We are kin. Didn’t we know it all along?”
Catherine could only weep. Her prayer for a miracle had been answered.
When she could finally speak, she pushed slightly away and smiled through her tears. “I didn’t know what you might think,” she admitted. “I mean, English blood! It was hardly something you could feel proud to claim.”
“Let’s sit,” responded Louise and led the way to the rustic bench up against the house. As they seated themselves, Louise reached for Catherine’s hand. “I must be honest,” she began. “It was a bit of a blow at first. I had to think it through. Pray it through. But God taught me many things during my night of talking to Him. Any blood I share with you has to be a good thing. Think of it, Catherine. We are kin. Not just friends. Kin.
“And then I had another thought. One that caused me so much joy I nearly burst into song, waking the entire household. I had to fight to hold it back, I felt so full. To think that God had gone to such extreme lengths to place my ailing baby in the arms of kinfolkbrought tears to my eyes and a song to my heart. Think of it. Of all of the people in Acadia, He chose you. And the precious little girl I raised as my own. She was. She really was. She shares my blood as well as my heart. Now, who but God could have arranged such a miraculous thing as that?”
“Would you walk out to the point with me?”
Anne asked the question of Thomas. They had been to the point many times since their arrival in Georgetown, so the request was not an unusual one. But as Thomas looked at his wife’s face, he felt there was more to this little excursion than a mere walk. Anne seemed distracted. Deep in thought. He knew that the point was her thinking place. The spot she sought when she needed time to work through a dilemma or sort out an emotion. He nodded and reached for her light shawl, spreading it over her shoulders.
The day was a glorious one. Neither too warm, nor chilly. The wind blew just enough to stir the leaves of the trees. Nearby a bird sang to its mate high in the branches above. Thomas found it hard not to express his thoughts about the perfection of the morning, but he held his tongue. He would not speak until Anne was ready.
She settled herself on the familiar log, and her gaze swept out over the scene before them. He watched her slim shoulders rise and fall. Then she settled back, eyes upon a small fishing boat gently rocking on the waters beyond. A strange calm seemed to relax her face.
“I always used to come here,” she began without looking at him. He nodded.
“There was so much to think about. To try to sort out.”
He reached for her hand and held it, his thumb rubbing gently back and forth against the smoothness of the skin.
“Was I English? Was I French? Just who was I, anyway?”
Still he remained silent.
She turned to him then. “You know—I’ve never told anyone this—but there was a time in my early life when I childishly imagined that it might be discovered there had been a mistake. That I was not the child who they said I was. That the switch had been made back—or not at all—and that I was really the daughter of Andrew and Catherine. My parents. I wanted to be their daughter. I didn’t want parents I didn’t even know. I even felt …” She hesitated, then blurted out as though saying it would rid her mind of the pollution, the anger. “I even felt anger toward Louise for bearing me. A sickly French child. I wanted—I longed to be English like the parents I loved. All of my evil thoughts made me feel … spiteful, sinful. And guilty. I felt so guilty I feared God might strike me down.
“Then I turned absolutely opposite in my thinking. I wanted to be French. I was angry with my mother Catherine for what she had done. If I couldn’t be French and with my own family, then she should have let me die, not taken me away from my family to that English doctor. I longed to know my birth mother. My real mother. I ached to be a part of my French culture. My heritage. I couldn’t understand why God had let it happen. I felt angry with Him too. It frightened me at times … the intensity of my feelings … the swings back and forth from one side to the other. I could never sort out who I was. What I was. It took me many years of struggling until I was honestly able to accept what had happened to me. It was not the fault of my parents Louise and Henri, nor the fault of my parents Catherine and Andrew. Nor was it because God was trying to punish me. It was just a fact of life.”
Thomas held her hand and watched her face as she obviously struggled to find words for her emotions.
“Life can hand out some extremely painful things,” she finally said, looking out over the water below them. “Once I realized that, I knew I had to stop blaming all those involved and let God direct my life. ‘Submit,’ I kept telling myself. ‘Submit to God. One day He will make it plain. Make it right.’ And I was finally able to accept things as they were. To find an inner peace. But I still felt … unsettled … whenever the thoughts came. Like a little piece of me was missing.”
She turned to look at Thomas. He nodded silently, fearing that the struggle was still going on, wondering how he could help her.
But there was no anguish in Anne’s eyes. There was calm. The hand he was holding was not trembling but returning his warm grasp. She smiled, ever so slightly, and her voice held a triumphant note.
“And now this! I still can scarcely believe it. I am both. French and English. I am connected to both families. Imagine! Just imagine. I finally feel that I have found myself. God has settled the issue for me through this discovery of my parentage. Imagine it!”
Thomas could feel the tears hot behind his eyelids. Why was he weeping? Seldom did he respond with tears. This was a joyous occasion. An answer to many years of prayer on the part of his beloved wife. Perhaps there really was no other way to express his deep emotion than through tears.
He slipped his arm around her and drew her close. He felt Anne’s own tears as she pressed her cheek to his. His arm tightened and they sat in silence, drinking in the wonder and closeness of the moment together.
At length Anne drew back and settled against him. He had never seen her so at peace.
“You love it here, don’t you?” He wouldn’t have needed to make it a question. He knew the answer.
She sighed and looked out over the waters. “I think it is the most beautiful place in the world.”
“Yet it brought so much pain,” he reminded her.
“It was not the land that betraye
d us,” Anne said thoughtfully. “It was greed and lust for power … and fear. I think fear most of all. England and France had been at war for such a long time. I think they had forgotten how to live at peace. They raised their children to think of the other nation as the enemy. When the British came here, to a land settled by French, who outnumbered them by far, they sought to make British subjects of them. When that failed, they became fearful. Afraid that France would strike first and the Acadians would join them. They knew they could never win if it came to that. So they did what they thought they had to do. They drove them out. Like animals …”
Thomas waited a moment, then said, “Fear makes people do dreadful things—unreasonable things. It becomes a vicious frenzy of who will strike first to save themselves from the other. And neither side stops to reason that the other might not be considering striking at all. The enemy of our souls takes full advantage of mankind’s fears. It is one of his most powerful weapons of deceit and destruction. For fear invariably turns to hate. And the hidden message is, ‘Lash out. Destroy. Subdue.’ Hate is a dreadful thing. God help us to never let hatred become a cancer to our soul.”
Thomas paused again, then added with a smile, “My apologies for the lecture, my dear.”
They both laughed, then she said softly, “Every day I thank God that He did not allow me to be engulfed in bitterness and hatred. For giving me the grace—His grace—to forgive what was done to both of my families. Bitterness and hatred are too heavy a load for even the strongest to carry. No matter what the sin against us, we only compound the pain if we cannot forgive.”
She hesitated, her eyes returning to the vast land and seascape that stretched out for miles. A gull cried and was answered by another that confidently rode the gentle waves beneath the cliffside.
The Beloved Land Page 25
