Water's Edge

by Genevieve Fortin

  “People come during the week,” the woman answered, then paused. Emilie knew she’d come to the same realization. “But you work during the week, don’t you?” Emilie nodded. “Did you walk all the way here from Flint?”

  Emilie nodded again, and noted for the first time that her feet hurt. There was no point trying to hide now. She’d been exposed.

  “Oh, my poor child,” the woman said with genuine empathy. “My name is Helen Banville,” she started as she extended her hand to Emilie. “My husband, Doctor Maurice Banville, is from Canada, just like you.”

  Emilie shook Helen’s hand but didn’t reply, shocked that a doctor’s wife was taking the time to introduce herself to her.

  “You’re from Canada, aren’t you?” Helen insisted.

  “Yes,” Emilie finally answered. “Emilie Levesque. Nice to meet you.”

  “Nice to meet you too, Emilie. You know what? I’m sure my husband would be very happy to meet you too. Why don’t you join us for tea? Our house is just a couple blocks away and it would give your feet some much needed rest.”

  Emilie was surprised by Helen’s invitation and really wanted to accept but she knew her place and it was not in a doctor’s house. “That’s very kind of you, Mrs. Banville, but I can’t impose,” she protested.

  “You’re not imposing, dear, I’m inviting you. Please, follow me.” Before Emilie could say anything else, Helen took her hand and gently pulled her into motion until Emilie obediently followed her the two blocks that separated the town hall from the Banville’s residence.

  And what a residence it was. The pale yellow Victorian home immediately impressed Emilie with its turret and a large covered porch that occupied its entire facade. Emilie imagined her parents sitting in the wooden rocking chairs on the porch and she smiled thinking of how much they would enjoy it. With two stories plus a basement, Dr. Banville’s home was probably as big as one of the triple-deckers of Flint Village, except unlike the triple-deckers, which six families called home, this house was inhabited by one single family: the Banvilles.

  A lady wearing a white apron met them at the door and took a bag Helen had been carrying as well as her hat. She offered to take Emilie’s as well but Emilie preferred to keep her hat firmly in her hands, holding it against her stomach. Helen asked the lady, whose name was Rose—a lovely name for a domestic, Emilie thought—to bring their tea to the parlor, and Emilie followed Helen, continuing to marvel at the beauty of the house, especially the extensive woodwork of the dark staircase that curved up until it disappeared toward the second floor.

  A beautiful wool rug covered the center of the parlor with rich red and gold patterns of rose bouquets and decorative swirls. Emilie hesitated when Helen invited her to sit next to her on a sofa upholstered with a similar rose bouquet pattern but in softer pinks on a lighter cream fabric. The sofa was framed in dark wood with curved legs and carved details that Emilie studied with admiration. She’d almost forgotten about her host until Helen laughed and urged, “Please, join me Emilie. I don’t usually keep my guests standing up while I’m sitting down. You’re making me feel guilty.”

  Emilie smiled politely and finally sat next to Helen. “I’m sorry. It’s just that everything in your home is so beautiful.”

  “Thank you, Emilie. My husband and I chose everything we own with care.”

  “It shows.”

  Rose brought a tray holding a teapot and three cups and put it down on the round table in front of them. Emilie automatically started to move toward the table but stopped herself and watched in silence as Rose poured tea. She wondered how letting someone else serve her could seem so natural to Helen. It made her feel so uncomfortable.

  Just as Rose finished serving the tea, a handsome man walked in wearing a three-piece suit and an ascot tie. He had dark hair and a dark trimmed beard that reminded her of the rare pictures she’d seen of her father when he was much younger. The leather doctor bag the man handed to Rose before she left the room confirmed the man’s identity as Dr. Banville even before Helen stood up to introduce her husband to Emilie, who immediately got to her feet as well. “Maurice, there you are. I met this nice young lady outside of the city hall and I wanted you to meet her as well. Emilie Levesque, meet my husband, Dr. Maurice Banville.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Dr. Banville,” Emilie said timidly.

  “All the pleasure’s mine, Emilie. And please, call me Maurice. Tu habites à Flint, j’imagine?”

  “Oui,” Emilie started before Helen interrupted.

  “Wait. English, please. I knew you’d be happy to have tea with a fellow Canadian, Maurice, but please don’t forget I don’t understand French.”

  “Of course, dear,” Maurice said. He rolled his eyes and looked at Emilie with a mocking smile that made her laugh and put her at ease. She had a strange, instantaneous feeling of kinship with Dr. Banville. Maurice. Something she hadn’t felt before. “Please sit down, ladies. Let’s enjoy this tea before it gets cold.” Maurice sat across from them in an armchair with the same wooden frame and light upholstery as the sofa on which she and Helen sat.

  They shared tea and Maurice asked Emilie all about Flint, the mill, her family and Rimouski. His interest seemed genuine. The more Emilie talked, the more comfortable she became and the more she liked the Banvilles. She’d liked Helen right away because she admired her elegance and appreciated her kindness and generosity. But Maurice struck a different chord in Emilie. There was a familiarity with Maurice that went beyond the fact that they were both Canadians and Maurice was a nice person. He had a curious, inquiring mind that bled through intense green eyes and that Emilie recognized all too well. “All right, young lady, we’ve been interrogating you for close to an hour now. Is there anything you’d like to know about us?”

  Emilie hesitated only briefly before she jumped at the chance to ask questions. There were a million things she wanted to know about the Banvilles. “Yes, of course. Where in Canada are you from? How long have you lived in Fall River? How did you two meet?”

  Maurice laughed a deep, contagious laughter that made Helen and Emilie chuckle in their turn. “Wait a minute, Emilie. One at a time. I’m from Montreal but I was sent to a Catholic boarding school in Boston when I was twelve. I went to medical school in Boston and when I graduated five years ago I started working here in Fall River. That’s when Helen and I met.”

  “He came to my parents’ house when my father fell ill,” Helen continued. “He accompanied us until Dad passed away and then he continued to visit. We talked and he made me laugh. He made me feel better. Less than a year later we were married.”

  Emilie watched as Helen spoke and she saw the same kind of love in her eyes as she’d seen a few times in her mother’s eyes when she spoke of her father, especially of their first years on the farm. It was a mix of admiration and tenderness she would always associate with true love. “Do you have children?” Emilie was compelled to ask.

  Helen’s eyes met Maurice’s and Emilie caught sadness in that brief moment before Maurice turned to her and answered. “No, we haven’t been blessed with a child yet, but we would love that very much.” He swallowed and forced a smile and Emilie knew she should not push further. “But tell me, Emilie, what possessed you to walk to the town hall all the way from Flint on a Sunday?”

  Emilie welcomed the change of subject. “I wanted to go to the library.”

  “Hmm. Were you looking for anything in particular?”

  “Not really. Just something I haven’t read before.”

  “Hmm,” he repeated with one of his mischievous smiles Emilie was already growing fond of. “I may be able to help with that. Will you follow me?” Emilie turned to Helen who simply smiled as if she knew what was about to happen. Emilie stood up and followed Maurice, who seemed even taller now that they were standing side by side. Maurice opened heavy wooden pocket doors that led to a smaller room that left Emilie breathless as soon as she entered. She could hear Maurice laugh quietly behind her as she took in
the tall bookcases that covered the walls of the small room Emilie could only describe as a private library. “Are these all…”

  “Mine. Yes. Why don’t you choose a few? Then come back for more when you’re done reading them.”

  Emilie turned to face Maurice, not certain she’d heard him correctly. Helen was standing beside him and he’d put his arm around her waist. They made a striking couple. “Are you saying I can borrow any of these books?”

  Maurice laughed again. “That’s what I’m saying. But there’s one condition.” Emilie held her breath. “Whenever you come back for more, you have to stay with us for tea so we can discuss what you’ve read. Do we have a deal?”

  “Yes,” Emilie answered enthusiastically. “Thank you so much.”

  “You’re welcome, Emilie. We enjoyed your visit and if we can help feed a young hungry mind like yours, I believe it’s our duty to do so. You’re a special young woman, Emilie Levesque. Don’t forget it.”

  Emilie smiled with gratitude and started studying the leather-bound books on the shelves. Overwhelmed, she decided to focus on one particular shelf, knowing she could come back later. Emilie didn’t think Maurice and Helen realized the magnitude of the gift they were offering her. It was by far the best day of her life and as she browsed the titles in front of her she couldn’t wait to share all of it with Angeline. She first chose Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice and Mark Twain’s Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. Then she smiled when she found a French section and picked Victor Hugo’s Les Misérables and Honoré de Balzac’s Les Chouans. Helen gave her an old brown leather mailbag to carry the books.

  Maurice took her home on his horse-drawn buggy. He understood when Emilie asked him to drop her off just before they got to Flint, and was even amused by the necessary secrecy of their encounter.

  Emilie left the leather mailbag concealed under old wood planks behind the triple-decker until the rest of her family was in bed. When she was certain everyone, especially Joseph, was asleep, she went to retrieve the bag and carefully laid the four books and the empty bag under her mattress. She would have to tell Joseph about her meeting with the Banvilles if she wanted to read the precious books in bed in the faint light of the moon, but it would have to wait until tomorrow. That night, despite a lumpy and somewhat hard mattress, she slept like a log.

  Chapter Eight

  September 1893

  As she walked with Joseph and Angeline to the mill the next morning, Emilie told them about her hike to the city hall, her encounter with the Banvilles, and the books hiding under her mattress. They’d made a habit of strolling together to the mill a few minutes before the rest of their families in the morning and back home a few minutes after their families every night. It was a much shorter stretch than when they walked to and from school together but it still gave them some time to talk, time they had so little of now.

  Angeline already knew about the walk to the town hall but everyone else, including Joseph, had thought she’d spent the day with Angeline. When he found out the truth, he was furious. “Are you crazy, walking alone all the way to Main Street? All kinds of things could have happened to you, Emilie! If you’d told me about it I could have gone with you. It would have been safer.”

  “If I’d told you Maman and Papa would have found out, Joseph. You know you never get away with anything.”

  Joseph grunted and turned his attention to Angeline, “And you, you should have known better too. You should have told me.” He kicked a small rock with all the energy of his frustration and Emilie was relieved it didn’t hit the small group walking in front of them.

  “Joseph,” Angeline started calmly, “you know as well as I do that when your sister has something in mind, there’s no stopping her. And she’s right. If we’d told you someone else would have found out. You’re cursed that way.” She smiled impishly at Joseph and he started laughing.

  Emilie was both fascinated and annoyed with the effect Angeline had on Joseph, with her pretty curved up nose, big blue eyes and long curly light brown hair. Emilie could say something that got Joseph angry but when Angeline repeated the exact same thing two minutes later he thought it was the funniest thing he’d ever heard. Of course, she didn’t say it the same way. Angeline had a talent for finding humor in any situation and to deliver the most horrible truth with remarkable charm. Emilie admired Angeline’s technique, but lately it also aggravated her. She loved having all of Angeline’s humor and charm addressed to her, but didn’t like it as much when it made Joseph or other boys laugh the way Joseph was laughing now. That happened more and more and Emilie hated it. She didn’t tell Angeline, of course. She knew she couldn’t be so selfish. She was Angeline’s best friend and Angeline was hers, but sooner or later a boy would steal much more of her best friend’s attention and she tried to prepare for that moment. Her heart clenched at the thought.

  “Besides, you should be happy for your sister,” Angeline continued as she grabbed Emilie’s arm and walked closer to her, bringing peace back to Emilie’s mind and heart. “All Emilie wanted was a library so she could read all the books she wants and she found one. I, for one, can’t wait for her to share these new stories with me.” Angeline smiled at Emilie and Emilie could only smile back. Her friend really understood her need to learn. Better than her own brother.

  “All right,” Joseph finally conceded, “but next time you visit the doctor and his wife, I’ll walk you there. I won’t stay and wait for you since the doctor is kind enough to bring you back, but I’ll walk you there.”

  “Don’t be silly, Joseph. It’s far.”

  “I said I’ll walk you, Emilie,” Joseph added with a sternness that surprised Emilie. She witnessed a smile and a nod of approval from Angeline to Joseph, who squared his shoulders, accepting her silent endorsement with pride as they entered the mill.

  Angeline had tried to find a minute to talk to Emilie alone all day. Of course there was never a minute to talk at the mill. Maybe if Emilie hadn’t worked at the other end of the spinning room she would have found a way. But even then, with the ruckus of the machines, it would have been impossible to talk. Yet she needed to talk to Emilie alone, without Joseph around.

  What she’d told Joseph that morning was true: she was happy Emilie had found a way to read all the books she wanted. She knew how important that was to Emilie. The whole truth, however, was that she feared Emilie would spend all of her Sundays with the Banvilles and the little time they had together would be reduced to nothing. She’d missed Emilie that Sunday. She’d spent the day with her family listening to them talk about important adult stuff while she disappeared in the decor just like she used to before she’d met Emilie. She lived for her Sundays with Emilie and she couldn’t bear the thought of losing them. So after work she met Emilie and Joseph outside of the mill as usual and gently asked Joseph, “Would you mind walking ahead of us tonight, Joseph? There are some things I need to discuss with your sister in private.” When Joseph hesitated with a puzzled look, she simply added, “Girl things.”

  “Oh, I see. Of course. I’ll go ahead, but I won’t be far. Just call if you need me.”

  She smiled at him and he blushed as he often did when he responded to her smiles nowadays, which she found strange but endearing. She’d smiled at Joseph a thousand times over the years, but the blushing had only begun recently.

  Joseph was not the only one. Many boys blushed when she smiled at them and Angeline found it quite amusing. She was in no hurry to find a prétendant, as her mother called the suitors that courted her older sisters. All she wanted was more time with her best friend, to talk about the books she was reading, to see the world through her eyes, a world that went beyond Flint, the mill, suitors, marriage and children. When she was with Emilie everything seemed possible and she needed to keep believing in that world a little longer. More than anything, she simply needed to be with Emilie.

  Angeline grabbed Emilie’s arm as she liked to do when they walked together, and giggled when she saw the fami
liar crease between her friend’s eyebrows. “Don’t worry, it’s nothing horrible. It’s not really a girl thing, but more an us thing.”

  “What do you mean, Angeline?” The furrow on Emilie’s forehead deepened.

  “I mean I’m very happy you met the Banvilles, but I’m also afraid that we won’t see each other on Sundays anymore. Yesterday was such a bore, Emilie. I don’t think I could stand it if you told me you’ll be going to the Banvilles every Sunday.”

  Emilie sighed with what appeared to be relief and smiled as she rested her fingers on the hand Angeline had placed on her forearm. Emilie’s hands were always so warm, the contact soothed Angeline instantly, even before Emilie started to speak. “Oh Angeline, I couldn’t stand it either. I do want to visit the Banvilles often but I promise you I will find time for you, for us. Our time together is precious to me too. Please tell me you know that.”

  “I do,” Angeline answered. A small part of her was still scared she might lose her friend but she was mostly reassured when they arrived at the triple-deckers and went their separate ways to have dinner with their families and get some rest.

  When Angeline went to bed that night she couldn’t go to sleep right away. She thought of the way Emilie’s face lit up when she spoke of the Banvilles and she wondered, not for the first time, what she had to offer Emilie in their friendship. She took and learned so much from Emilie and she feared she didn’t have much to give in return. Not since she’d stopped going to school and joined Emilie at the mill. Then she thought of Emilie’s laughter and she smiled. She could always make Emilie laugh. She turned onto her side and stared at the window, then closed her eyes and drifted to sleep thinking of Emilie’s warm hand on hers.

  Chapter Nine

  February 1895

  “I don’t understand why you don’t ask Marcella to the dance, Joseph. Everyone is expecting you to. Especially Marcella.”