Buried Secrets at Louisbourg

by Jo Ann Yhard

  Jeeter wrapped his arm around his shoulder and edged him inside. “Don’t worry, Freddo, this one’s on me.”

  Fred pulled away. “I’m not hungry.”

  “Freddy, is that you?”

  Fred froze. He stared into the dark gloom of the restaurant’s interior. A thin figure approached him. She walked slowly, her shoulders slightly bent. Her eyes were rimmed with dark circles—brown eyes that used to twinkle but were now flat and dull.

  “Mom?”

  Chapter 14

  “What are you doing here, Mom?” Fred said. “You should be home.”

  “I’m fine,” she replied, grinning weakly. “Marjorie called me. One of the waitresses quit and she knew we needed—”

  “Does Dad know about this?” Fred could feel heat burning in his ears. This was his dad’s fault.

  His mother shook her head. “I only found out last night. You two were already here.” She placed a hand on his arm.

  He tried not to wince. Her fingers were ice cold, even through the fabric of his shirt. “Quit.”

  “Sweetheart, I can’t do that.”

  “He should be the one getting a job, not you!”

  “That’s enough,” his mother replied. Her lips pressed into a thin line. “Now come in and have something to eat.”

  “Mom—”

  “Sit,” she ordered.

  He sat—at an unoccupied table against the back right wall. Even though seeing his mom had thrown him for a loop, thoughts of the giant were not far away. Choosing the seat against the wall, he faced outward. Never leave your back exposed to your enemies. He knew that from the movies. Good advice.

  His mother turned to Mai and Grace, her voice soft and sweet. “What a delight seeing you two. It’s been a while.”

  Mai looked like she was trying to swallow something that wouldn’t go down. Her eyes were extra bright as her gaze slipped to Fred’s. It was no longer filled with disappointment. Pity had taken its place. He liked that even less.

  “Nice to see you too, Mrs. D.” Grace’s voice sounded scratchy as she slumped onto the bench seat beside Fred.

  “I don’t believe I know you,” his mother said to Jeeter. “Are you one of Freddy’s school friends?”

  “Uh, yeah, I guess,” Jeeter said, scooting to the far end of the table.

  Fred watched his mother as she chatted to his friends, recommending food choices. She was so…delicate. A strong wind would whip her around like a leaf. It was as if she was being erased, a little at a time. No wonder Mai and Grace were reacting this way—they hadn’t seen her all summer. She’d lost so much weight. She was—

  “Freddy, did you hear me?”

  He snapped back to the present. “What?”

  “What did you want to eat?” His mother was looking at him expectantly.

  “I, uh…” he said, scrambling. What’s she doing? She knows I don’t have any money!

  “It’s okay,” she added, as if reading his mind. “I’ll take care of it. What do you want?”

  “You pick,” he said. She finished their order, which didn’t take long. A menu from the 1700s wasn’t full of choices. She took another order in French from a family of tourists at the next table, and then disappeared into the kitchen, and Mai excused herself to go to the washroom. Fred’s mind wandered, churning with confetti pieces of worried thoughts.

  Their order took awhile. The restaurant was busy. Finally, his mother returned with a large wooden tray laden down with food and drinks. Halfway to the table, the tray wobbled slightly. She was going to drop it! Fred leapt up and grabbed it before it slid from his mother’s trembling hands.

  “That’ll teach me to carry a lazy man’s load,” she joked. It might have been funny if her voice hadn’t been trembling, too.

  Mai rushed in and plopped into her seat just as they began passing out the food. “Sorry, there was a line-up,” she said, blushing.

  Fred held the tray while his mom passed out glasses, a large pewter pitcher of water, and the dishes of food—bread and cheese to Mai, stew to Jeeter and Grace, leaving one dish and mug remaining.

  “An apple tart?” Fred gaped.

  His mom grinned, the hint of a twinkle returning to her eyes. “Why not dessert first? In fact, that’s my new motto—always eat dessert first! Your meat pie will be ready in a minute. And here’s a hot chocolate. I know it’s warm out, so excuse the hot. I figured the chocolate part would make up for that.”

  “Thanks, Mom.” He grabbed the large spoon and dug in. The mouthful of sweet apples and thick syrup melted in his mouth. “Mmm,” he groaned, washing it down with a swig of chocolatey heaven and wiping his chin on the large, white cloth napkin.

  “Um, Mrs. D?” Mai said. “How am I supposed to cut my cheese with this?” She held up her large metal spoon.

  “Sorry, dear,” his mom said, “that’s part of the authentic 1700s experience. You’ll figure it out, I’m sure.”

  His mom started clearing the table across from them. Sunlight streamed through the white-paned window. She leaned over and unlatched it, pulling both halves open. A breeze blew through, rustling the strings of her bonnet. She lifted her face to the sunlight and smiled, closing her eyes.

  Fred swallowed the sudden lump in his throat. Framed in flickers of sunlight and shadow, his mom looked just like before—before his world had flipped on its head. Before the normal parts of summer—beaches, camping, and picnics—had been replaced with doctors, hospital visits, and tests.

  “This is not very practical,” Mai grumbled. Digging with the dull end of the spoon, she was breaking off uneven pieces of cheese from the bigger cubes.

  “Suck it up, Mai,” Grace said. “It’s not going to taste any different if it’s not in perfectly even slices.”

  “Maybe not to you,” Mai said.

  Fred also inhaled the tart and spicy meat pie that followed. With a full stomach, his brain was back in overdrive. He had to get back to the tent and his legs twitched, anxious to get going. But as usual, Mai was the last to finish, dainty as she nibbled the small bits of cheese.

  He stared around the silent table. Everyone was deliberately not looking at him. Grace was examining the small metal jug she’d picked up off the table like it was the most interesting fossil she’d ever uncovered. Jeeter was staring at the plastered log wall and Mai was playing with the cutlery and twirling her hair. He let out a deep breath, the sweet apples turning sour in his stomach.

  “The cancer’s back,” he said.

  Mai lifted her stricken eyes to meet his. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  He couldn’t explain why he hadn’t called. How could he talk about the jumbled emotions and thoughts mashed together in his head when he didn’t understand them himself?

  “She got really sick at the beginning of the summer—pneumonia. She wasn’t getting better, so they did some tests.”

  The darkness of the restaurant’s interior and Fred’s own thoughts began closing in on him. Feeling the sudden need for fresh air, he jumped up and strode out into the sunlight.

  And ran smack into the giant.

  Chapter 15

  It was like slamming into a fridge.

  “Whoa, there.” The giant grabbed his arm. “What’s your hurry?”

  Fred was stunned. The giant’s steely eyes had all the warmth of a dead fish. I’m not being paranoid! Fred thought. Something is definitely up with this guy.

  “Shark’s son, right?”

  “Shark?”

  “Sorry, I mean Pete.”

  Fred didn’t respond, wiggling out of the giant’s grip.

  “Excuse me,” his mom said, wrapping her arm around Fred and at the same time drawing him away, closer to her side. “You know my son?”

  The giant turned his attention to Fred’s mom. A huge grin spread across his face. “No, ma’am. I’m
a friend of his dad’s. Name’s Lester.” He held out a meaty paw. “Pleased to meet you.”

  Her tiny delicate hand disappeared in his. “How do you know my husband?”

  “We…worked together.”

  His mother continued to stare up at the man’s face. Clearly, she was waiting for more. So was Fred. Who is this guy, really? The man glanced around, avoiding his mother’s eyes. He didn’t seem anxious to elaborate.

  His mother’s body tensed and Fred’s friends gathered around him—a united front ready for whatever the giant had to throw their way. Images of old battles probably fought on this very spot hundreds of years ago popped into his head. Maybe those ghosts were on his side, too—ancient buccaneers with weapons drawn.

  The giant shuffled his feet, obviously uncomfortable under Fred’s mother’s gaze. “Nice to meet you,” he muttered, turning abruptly and walking off. His long legs took him around the next corner in only a few strides.

  The air felt lighter. The sun brighter. Fred let out the breath he’d been holding. Another close call. Fred had the creeping suspicion that their next giant encounter would not be so easy.

  “That was odd,” his mother said, shaking her head. “Anyway, I have to get back to work. You kids have a great day.” Her eyes found Fred’s. “And try to stay out of trouble?”

  “Don’t worry, Mrs. D., we’ll make sure he behaves,” Grace said.

  “Mmm-hmmm, I’m sure.” His mother disappeared inside, swallowed by the shadows.

  Fred moved sideways from the door to allow a group of tourists with sunburns and sweaty faces to enter the restaurant. One of them had a square black camera bag looped over his shoulder. It reminded Fred of his own black box. His steps quickened as he headed down the quay and in the direction of their tents.

  The quay was clogged with people—weekend re-enactors, tourists, and fortress soldiers in army dress, all gathered in front of the Frédéric Gate. A man stood in the middle dressed in cut-off pants, a white shirt like Fred’s, and a blue wool vest. His head hung low and he was flanked by two soldiers. His wrists were encased in handcuffs.

  “Voleur?” Grace asked. “What does that mean—that wooden sign around his neck?”

  “Thief,” Fred said. The only break in the crowd was around the soldiers and the prisoner. He’d have to cut right in front of them. Anyone could be watching from the crowd. He’d have to wait it out.

  “What are they going to do with him?” Mai asked. Her arm pressed against Fred’s as they were squeezed by the crowd.

  “I don’t know.” Fred saw himself in the prisoner’s place, in handcuffs, being dragged off to face a criminal’s fate. Even though he’d claimed the box was his, belonged to his family, part of him knew the difference. His dad chasing treasure on the open ocean was one thing, where finders were keepers. But here in a government-owned fortress? Well, that was something else.

  “Hey, you guys,” Jeeter said. “If you’re staying here, I’m going to check out some of the other buildings. Meet you back at the tent in a few, okay?” He didn’t offer for anyone to come with him and disappeared into the crowd.

  Fred glanced over at Le Billard, the tavern. The padlocked red door with the tiny opening at the bottom. He recalled peering inside it the day before. What would it be like to be locked away in that dark hole that stank of rotting cabbages? He shuddered.

  Another fortress employee stepped in front of the prisoner, facing the crowd, and unrolled a scroll. He was dressed differently—buckled shoes, a long coat, and a black, three-sided hat perched on a ponytailed wig. He scowled at the prisoner and began reading in a loud booming voice, first in French, then English.

  “This man is a thief,” he said. “Stealing bread from the King’s bakery—a serious crime. The sentence from the court is branding and banishment from the town.”

  The prisoner looked suitably ashamed. The crowd cheered.

  “Please, have mercy,” the prisoner begged. “I was trying to feed my family.”

  “Is there anyone among you who seeks clemency for this criminal?”

  A young girl close to the front raised her hand. “Let him go,” she pleaded.

  “Oh, good grief,” Grace said. “It’s not like they’re going to really whip the guy—he works here.”

  “Don’t be such a downer,” Mai said. “Go with it. It’s all part of the fun. Everyone knows nothing’s really going to happen.” She leaned closer to Fred and whispered in his ear, “Right?”

  Distracted by the feel of her sweet breath on his neck, Fred didn’t answer right away.

  “Right?” she repeated.

  “Huh? Oh yeah, it’s all part of the act.” As long as psycho soldier Gerard’s not in charge. As if on cue, a tourist moved and there was Gerard. Their eyes met. Fred knew he was thinking the same thing. Did Gerard still have the thumbscrews found in the dig the day before?

  “Very well,” the officer droned. “Mercy for the prisoner.” He turned to the prisoner and unlocked the cuffs. “Take heed, monsieur,” he said. “Next time you will not be so fortunate.”

  The crowd clapped and started to disperse. The contingent of soldiers lined up and began marching back up toward the King’s Bastion, their steps timed with the beat of the drummer. The man who’d read from the scroll was talking to a family of tourists next to Fred and Mai.

  “Would he really have been granted a pardon back then?” a tourist asked.

  The officer shook his head. “Mais, non. Definitely not. He would have been branded on his face or shoulder with a ‘V’ from a hot poker as a voleur, a thief. Then he would have been banished from the town forever.”

  “Were there worse punishments?” asked the tourist.

  The officer nodded. “Oh yes, indeed. On one documented occasion, a man and woman who conspired to commit murder were sentenced to the wheel.”

  “The wheel?”

  Fred leaned closer.

  “Yes, the criminals were each strapped to a large wheel, with arms and legs stretched, and then tortured. The executioner beat them to death, breaking every bone in their bodies.”

  The tourists gasped. So did Mai. Fred had heard enough. At least if he was caught, no physical punishment would be involved. He wiggled and jostled through the milling crowd, his eyes focused on their tents. The sun shone brightly. The threatening clouds had vanished. Something moved behind the canvas. He quickened to a jog, imagining the giant ransacking the place.

  “Hey, wait up,” Mai protested. “What’s the rush?”

  “There’s someone in my tent!”

  Chapter 16

  He rounded the curve of the seawall. The shadow moved again. Someone was definitely inside his tent.

  “I see it!” Mai rasped. “You don’t think that Lester guy would trespass in broad daylight, do you?”

  Fred definitely did. He reached out to pull open the entrance flap, just as the intruder pushed it open from the inside.

  “About time you kids showed up,” his father said, stepping out into the sunlight. He grinned at them, his dark hair shiny and wet. “Where have you been? Having fun?”

  “Fun?” Anger coursed through Fred like surging lava. Rather than the stalking giant, it was his mother that flashed in his mind. “Did you know Mom’s working here?”

  His father’s eyebrows shot up, shock clearly showing on his face. “What? She’s supposed to be resting.”

  “Yeah, well, Aunt Marjorie got her on at the restaurant. Mom says we need the money.” Accusation dripped from each word.

  A frown replaced the shocked expression. “I told her not to worry—I’m taking care of things.”

  Yeah, sure you are. Just like you took care of everything else. “How?”

  “It’s…complicated,” his father said.

  “Complicated? Complicated like how you got our groceries at the food bank?” Fred was shaking.


  “Son, I told you, it’s a temporary situation. I’ve got it under control.”

  “No you don’t! You were supposed to sell your dive gear—but I saw it in the tent.”

  His father gripped Fred’s shoulders and stared intently into his eyes. “I know you’re angry. But I’ll have good news very soon. You have to trust me. Can you do that?”

  Trust. Fred wished he could. But years of failed promises had built a towering wall that was impossible to climb, and trust lay somewhere on the other side. “I can’t—”

  “Try. Just try for me, okay?” His father gave his shoulders a squeeze.

  Fred shrugged out of his father’s grasp. He couldn’t say yes.

  His father sighed and turned away. “Sit tight, I’m going to talk with your mother.”

  He was gone before Fred could ask him about Lester and what he was doing here. Although he was pretty sure the answer would be more of the same—that his dad couldn’t explain and for Fred to trust him.

  Fred ducked into his tent and away from the stares of his friends. He felt wetness on his face and wiped his eyes with his sleeve, surveying the crowded tent. Everything seemed to be undisturbed. Pulling aside his sleeping bag, he lifted the flat rock recessed in the ground. He reached down into the hole he’d dug beneath it.

  His hiding place was empty.

  The box was gone!

  No. No. No! “It has to be here!” He burrowed under his clothes strewn over the tent floor, his father’s sleeping bag, the duffle bags, the food, until it was all piled in a jumbled heap.

  Nothing.

  His legs flopped like unsnapped rubber bands and he collapsed back on the pile. What am I going to do now?

  “Are you okay?” Mai peeked in through the tent flap. “It sounded like a stampede of wild animals in here.” Her wide eyes took in the mountain pile in the middle of the floor and Fred collapsed on top.

  He didn’t answer. His heart was racing and tripping over itself.