by Maia Caron
She should be grateful to the priest. Hadn’t he sewn up her cut on New Year’s? Her hand went self-consciously to her mouth, where, with a fingertip, she traced the scar on her upper lip. Spinoza’s words seemed hollow coming from Moulin. Her eyes kept going back to Gabriel. He is the one we should follow. Him.
She thought back to New Year’s. After Gabriel had rescued her from Norbert, he had stayed long enough to make sure she was all right, then had returned to a meeting with Riel and his men. Emmanuelle Champagne had taken her home to the children the next morning. Madeleine had noticed them arrive, and come up, stunned to find her nursing a black eye and cut lip. Josette, amazed that Gabriel had not told her he had saved their neighbour from rape or murder, muttered something about Norbert punishing her for losing the race. Since then, she had obsessed over why Gabriel had not taken her to his wife, especially when she was a master with the beading needle and would have left less of a scar than Moulin. She had decided that it had to do with Gabriel cursing when he discovered Madeleine watching them with their heads together earlier that day during the dog race. Gabriel was not a man to be controlled, and he resented being held accountable to his wife.
While she had been brooding, the priest had stepped closer to her. “Riel said he would accept an indemnity from Ottawa,” he said. “You were not there when Father André extended it to him. Riel’s interest would surprise you.”
“But he did not take it.” Josette kept her features composed. “If you cared for the Métis, you too would help us.” She walked away purposefully. Why did she bother protecting Riel when he did not protect her? She thought of what he had said at the church meeting. I am as David, who fled from King Saul into the wilderness. My kingdom, established in the North-West. It was confirmation of his aim to create a separate state of Métis and Indians, but not quite an admission that he planned a new church at its head.
Several Métis men from Duck Lake walked past, rifles slung across their chests, and she could hear Father Fourmond say, “Come to the church and pray,” but they ignored him. Father Moulin tried to corner another man from St. Laurent. “Do not join with these rebels,” he said. “Be patient. History tells the story of peoples who suffered great hardship at the hands of those who governed. In time, the force of public opinion will inspire them to act.”
Riel had heard this and pushed through the crowd to face Moulin. “History is full of oppressed peoples,” he said, “who were annihilated by tyrant kings.”
People gathered, curious, and Josette could see that Moulin had baited Riel with intent. “Trust in your government leaders,” the priest said in a loud voice. “Trust in God, that He will provide a peaceful solution. He would be most displeased if his children rebelled. As much as the Church would—” he paused for dramatic effect “—by refusing sacraments to any who take up arms.”
“Look at this Protestant,” Riel said, his colour high. “You dare to refuse the sacraments to those who would take up arms in defence of their most sacred rights.”
There was a murmur from the crowd. Three scouts had been spotted riding at speed across the plain towards them.
Moulin paused, obviously noticing them too, although he kept his attention on Riel. “The Bible says that God will strike sinners with madness as a curse.”
A muscle in Riel’s jaw twitched, but his face remained composed. “Surely oppression maketh a wise man mad,” he said, “and a gift destroyeth the heart.” From his pocket, he withdrew the letter from Bishop Bourget. At the sight of it, Moulin turned away, his arms crossed. “I am to fulfill my mission before God,” Riel said. “I, to whom a bishop has written in official letters.”
Moulin’s lips worked in a struggle to control his anger. “The letter is old—you have misread it.”
The three riders came thundering in, Michel Dumas at their head. He had spied Riel in the crowd before his horse slid to a stop in the snow. “I just saw Lawrence Clarke at the crossing,” Dumas told him. “He claims five hundred police ride from Qu’Appelle to arrest you and Gabriel.”
Gabriel and a number of other men ran for their horses. Riel turned to Emmanuel Champagne. “Get Father Moulin and Fourmond to the rectory and confine them there.” Then to Damase Carrière. “Ride to St. Laurent for Father Vegreville and the nuns—bring them here.”
“Riel is losing his mind,” yelled Moulin as he was being led away. “He is insane!”
Gone were the lines of worry on Riel’s face. Hundreds of people had assembled by now, and he straightened his coat, his eyes roving over them like a statesman about to deliver an acceptance speech. “It has commenced—the movement for the rights of our country.”
Someone said, “Our priests will not give us the sacraments if we follow you.”
Riel smiled broadly in the sudden quiet and held out his arms. “We will become our own priests—form our own church and rituals.” He lifted his head and closed his eyes. “Rome est tombée.”
There was an agonizing silence. Rome is fallen. Riel had just denied their Catholic religion and was on his way to creating his own government, with his church at its head. Josette held her breath, expecting open rebellion against this shocking pronouncement, but although Maxime Lépine and a few of the more pious men seemed taken aback, the others cheered. They had no idea that Riel had harboured this truth all along, only that he had written a petition that was ignored and his hand was forced.
Gabriel had come up on his horse, leading Riel’s mare by the reins. His eyes were alive with anticipation. Did he think they could win a war against the Queen’s government? Or was he eager to finally be in control of a situation as Riel’s war chief?
After the men rode away, Honoré was left standing with the women, who seemed hesitant to question the great Riel, yet scandalized that their priests were now prisoners and had denied their men sacraments for taking up arms. Did it mean the wives, as well?
Honoré regarded Josette with a baffled expression. “In one day, the great Louis Riel became my godfather, granted me a new name, and welcomed me into the Roman Catholic Church. And not three hours later, he has denounced that church and formed his own.”
Josette touched her lip once more, staring after the men, who were now halfway down the plain, their horses’ hooves sending up a cloud of snow in their wake. Her eyes rested on the back of a man in a buffalo coat, one hand on the reins, the other on his rifle. Hands she could still feel on her body as he lifted her out of Norbert’s sleigh.
pauvres misérables
Two hours later, Gabriel pushed Antoine Marion and Daniel Boyer into a corner of the room, then tightened the rope around Charles Nolin’s fat wrists.
“Traitor,” Gabriel said near his ear.
Riel reclined in a chair at the head of Xavier Letendre’s long kitchen table, a new Stetson hat on his head. He’d just formed a provisional government and elected a council made up of his closest friends and supporters, who crowded the room, loaded guns in their hands. The white owner of Walter & Baker’s store and his clerk were locked upstairs under guard. Gabriel had sent men to cut the telegraph lines between Battleford and Clark’s Crossing, and the Métis had broken into stores in both the east village and those across the river for supplies and ammunition. Antoine and Boyer had been caught deserting. Letendre had already disappeared like a thief in the night. His house and store were commandeered as their headquarters. It was discovered that Nolin had been busy during the novena, urging a group of men from Duck Lake to join him in overthrowing Riel.
“I hereby name the council Exovedate, for we are chosen from the flock,” Riel was saying to the men. “All that is needed to govern our people, a nation of individuals, are a trustworthy few who use good sense and no other authority than that which exists by itself in the condition of our nature.”
“Taking prisoners, eh, that’s fine,” said Moise Ouellette, who had just been voted to the council. “But, Louis, you must release the priests.”
Riel glanced at him. “They have wilfully pl
ayed into the hands of the government.”
Maxime Lépine, who had also been voted to the council, was unnaturally agitated. “To say Rome has fallen …” He trailed off and could not meet Riel’s eyes.
“It was necessary to formally separate from Rome,” Riel said. “The Métis Nation wishes to leave behind the division between Catholics and Protestants.”
Honoré Jaxon, who had been named secretary of the new council, stood near the kitchen door, looking stunned at the turn of events. When Gabriel had overheard Riel declare himself saviour to Josette last summer, he had felt this way too—a new church at the head of a separate state had been a crazy idea in Riel’s mind. Gabriel had hoped that Macdonald would honour the petition, but on that day, he had reluctantly accepted Riel’s religious vision along with his political one and committed to war. Riel had done all that he could to get Ottawa to listen: English half-breeds’ and settlers’ support, the threat of the Indians joining. Still Macdonald had ignored their demands.
Over the past few months, Gabriel had ridden through the territory with Isidore to gain support from the Métis, and had shared Riel’s vision for a new church with his brother, who had objected, said the resistance was for their rights not religion. Gabriel knew that his old buffalo capitaines would follow him anywhere, but the English half-breeds and white settlers had already shown their true colours. Only time would tell if the devout Métis would accept a reformed church. He would have to twist the arms of peaceful farmers reluctant to go against the five hundred police that Macdonald had sent to put them down. Gabriel was not an orator like Riel, but the government had thrown down the gauntlet and it was now a fight.
“Macdonald did not honour the petition,” he reminded them. “What do you think we must do?” The room went silent and he raised his voice. “Run away like these fine men before you?”
“We will not abide deserters,” said Riel looking around at them. “And if you are caught going up to see the priests, you will be considered a traitor.”
Gabriel nodded to Isidore and together they pushed forward Nolin, Marion, and Boyer.
Riel said, “Our first order of business as a provisional government will be to address the treason of these pauvres misérables.”
“Where is Letendre?” Gabriel asked them.
Nolin ignored Gabriel and looked at Riel, his expression insolent. “Doing business in Fort-à-la-Corne. He knows better than to follow a lost cause.”
Gabriel snorted. “He leaves his family here and hides up there like a coward.”
Riel slammed his fist on the table. “Charles Nolin, sign an oath of allegiance or you are hereby sentenced to death for whispering evil into men’s ears, even here, this day of St. Joseph.”
“I am trying to save the Métis,” replied Nolin. “What do you think Macdonald will do when he hears you have cut telegraph lines, made a provisional government, and talk of raising arms?”
“As he did in Red River. Do not underestimate my thinking. Sir John is trapped like a rat in a hole. He must now negotiate with me.”
Nolin looked ready to spit. “A few police have set you off. Do you not think Macdonald has ready means to send more? His railroad is almost finished.”
Gabriel hit him on the shoulder. “If they come we will kill them.”
“There are more who do not support your call to arms,” said Nolin, refusing to back down.
“We will find them and deal with them the same way,” Riel said. “You each have ten minutes to decide if you will join us, or we will have to do something.”
Isidore nudged Marion. “I have seen you kill four buffalo in as many minutes. You are the best of us—why won’t you fight?”
Marion glowered at him. “I would rather face one thousand buffalo than one man on the plains. You and Gabriel have killed men in the Indian wars. We have not. Do you think it is easy asking us?”
Isidore grabbed him by the coat. “We will ask you.” When Marion did not reply, Isidore threw him off. “Le Pissou.”
Gabriel watched Marion with growing unease. “They forced you from Red River,” he said to him. “They forced you out. Do you think there is good land to plow in the great mountains? Will you move to the far reaches of this country and fall into the ocean at the other end?” Marion remained stubbornly silent, and Gabriel went on. “If a stranger comes to your house, demands you leave, will you quietly pack up your belongings, your children, your wife, and do so?”
Marion stared at a fixed spot on the floor. “Non.”
“That is what you are doing here,” he said, his voice quieter now. “If a man will not stand by to watch a stranger take his house and family, he cannot stand and watch as police come up the river.” He gestured to Nolin. “Macdonald wants your land. If we do not face him, he will destroy our families, our blood. Will we let him do that? Will we?”
The men answered with cheers. Marion, Boyer, and even Nolin nodded reluctantly.
“Good, good.” Gabriel took a deep breath and lifted his gun. “Then we prepare ourselves as we did for the buffalo hunts.”
the catholic apostolic and
living church of the new world
A second-floor bedroom in Baptiste Boyer’s house in Batoche village had been transformed into Riel’s new chapel. Josette stood in the doorway regarding the strange scene before her. The bed had been moved out and Marguerite and a few of the St. Laurent women had created an altar on a low chest of drawers, propping up a picture of Saint Bernadette kneeling at the appearance of the Virgin Mary at Lourdes as its centrepiece. Someone had donated her own brooch to affix the letter that Riel had received from Bishop Bourget. Josette stared at it with single-minded purpose, for she had come here for one reason: to finally read the official words that had driven Riel to fulfill a mission from God.
Several young women were clustered around the altar in their long gingham dresses, holding hands and singing devotional hymns. The girls swayed, their eyes closed in rapture, unaware that they had an audience. When they launched into another hymn, Josette finally sent them away, and they filed past her whispering, “She is beautiful, the Magdalene … Oui, like her pictures in the Bible.”
She wanted to laugh, but thought it would be unseemly in this recently blessed space, the beating heart of Riel’s church. Three months had passed since he had read her poem at the New Year’s dance. Her lip had healed, but not her pride. Riel had betrayed her secret life, and now she was determined to gain insight into his own. The council had been holed up for days. Josette suspected that Riel had allowed the prized letter out of his possession to prove to the Métis that a man of the Church, a bishop no less, had proclaimed him a prophet. And to show that he had good cause to imprison their priests and reform their beloved Catholic faith.
At the novena, Moulin had accused Riel of misreading the bishop’s words and she meant to see if it was true. The chapel was finally empty and silent when she stepped close to the altar and reached for the letter. She had just touched it with the tips of her fingers when she heard a noise in the hall. Pulling her hand back, she turned to find Honoré Jaxon. He took a few tentative steps into the room. He was hatless, his face drawn, dark hair hanging in ratted pieces over his haunted eyes. The ceinture fléchée at his waist held up a pair of pants so wrinkled, she was sure he had slept in them.
“I thought the council was meeting,” she said, unable to keep the spite out of her voice. Despite Riel’s betrayal, despite the fact that he’d accused her of being a spy, she was outraged not to be nominated to his twenty-man council. Gabriel was there by right, as his adjutant general, and many others who deserved the honour, but Riel had made Charles Nolin the commissioner, a man who had been caught working against him in Batoche.
Honoré’s eyes shifted to the altar and closed briefly, as if he could not bear the sight. “We should be praying in the church of St. Antoine de Padoue.” He stared dumbly at the image of the Virgin. “What does he call this place?”
“The Catholic Apostolic and L
iving Church of the New World.”
He shook his head. “Riel is a warrior saint, like the old prophets—David himself—but I pray to God for forgiveness in abandoning his new church.”
Forgiveness. Norbert had returned the night before, walking in the door after darkness had fallen, expecting his dinner, as if the last time she had seen him was at church and not in the winter woods with rape and murder in his heart. There was still an angry scar—Gabriel’s mark—upon his cheek, but he wore it as if it had been somehow earned. When he had eaten, and sent the children to bed, she feared the worst, but instead, he stared into his tea and asked her to forgive him. Said he had been drunk at New Year’s, on the brink of a headache. She had granted it to him, for what choice did she have, forced to live with the devil?
Honoré shuffled closer to the altar. She had grown close to him during his conversion, enjoyed their talk of books and commiseration over Riel’s unreasonable demands. He looked so miserable, she put a hand on his shoulder, but he jumped at her touch.
“I just walked out of a council meeting,” he said, rubbing a hand over his face. “Riel shouted for me to come back. I … don’t know if I can.”
“Why?” She did not like to hear this. Abandoning Riel’s church was one thing, but his council? Honoré would be considered a traitor.
“He had me write a letter to Superintendent Crozier,” said Honoré, “demanding he surrender Fort Carlton or he will commence without delay a war of extermination upon those who are hostile to our rights.”
When Josette expressed her astonishment at Riel’s use of the word “extermination,” Honoré told her that he had left when the council passed a motion to rename the days of the week. “Riel wants to make Saturday the Sabbath. Nothing is to remain from the pagan Romans,” he said, his mouth twitching on the word “pagan.”
Late winter sun shone through the window and caught at the brooch holding Riel’s letter, sending a rainbow prism against the far wall. Josette felt as if she were unmoored, refracted and dispersed as the light. “If I were on the council, I would vote against this madness. Did Gabriel vote yes?”
