Yellow lay down at their feet and whimpered.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Boston, May 1905
Emilie had read her father’s letter a dozen times, hoping she would read different words, the same way she’d often read the same book over and over again as a child, hoping it would end differently. But words, once they were written on paper, became truth. Joseph was dead. Reading the letter again wouldn’t change that horrible truth, yet she kept it folded inside her suitcase, just in case she needed to read it again. She hadn’t cried since Mrs. Flaherty had given her her father’s letter earlier in the week, but when she arrived at the train station that Sunday afternoon and saw Kate waving at her, she sat on a bench and started sobbing.
Kate and Emilie had planned a trip to New York. Emilie had finally accepted to go with Kate just to visit the city and see if perhaps living there with Kate might be a possibility after all. She’d asked for a week of vacation which Mr. Flaherty was happy to grant her and she’d quickly become genuinely excited about visiting New York. Even after she’d read her father’s letter she’d kept her focus on carefully packing her suitcase, the same suitcase she’d packed to move to Boston. Joseph hadn’t been a part of her life in years and by the time she’d received the news he’d been buried for a few weeks already, so why should she change her plans?
Now, sitting on a bench in the middle of the train station, she knew she couldn’t get on that train. She kept crying hysterically, her hands clenching the carefully packed suitcase on her lap.
Kate sat next to her on the bench and put a hand on her back to comfort her. Emilie couldn’t look at her, but she imagined Kate must have had an expression of panic on her face when she heard her tone of voice. “What’s wrong, my darling?”
“My brother died,” she said softly before she started crying more quietly, this time on Kate’s shoulder. She repeated the words to herself. Her brother was dead. She couldn’t use his name anymore. Joseph was a man, a man who’d moved to Rimouski with the woman she loved. She might have been able to live through a man named Joseph’s death as if nothing had happened, but the death of her brother was something else. The images rushing through her mind now were those of their childhood, their connection, the games they played together, the numerous times she had to jump to his defense, and the laughs they shared. Her brother was gone, and all she wanted to do was run back to her small room on Bromfield Street to mourn him.
“Oh my poor darling. I’m so sorry,” Kate offered. “Why don’t we go to our sleeping car so we can have more privacy?” She stood up and extended her hand to Emilie.
At the abrupt separation from Kate’s shoulder, Emilie regained her composure and remained seated. She wiped away tears with the back of her hand and looked up into Kate’s eyes. “I can’t go to New York with you, Kate. I’m sorry,” she said in a low, scratchy voice, afraid that if she attempted to speak louder tears would take over again.
Kate sat down next to her on the bench. “Of course. That was so insensitive of me. Please forgive me, my darling. We can postpone our trip.”
Emilie turned sideways so she could face Kate on the bench. “No, Kate. I can’t go to New York with you. Not now. Not ever.”
She knew her tone was cold, but Emilie couldn’t help the words that came out of her mouth. It was as if there was suddenly no room inside her for anything but her pain and the truth, as if she wanted to rid herself of all the complications of her life to go back to the simplicity of the childhood she’d shared with her brother.
Kate’s expression showed she was hurt but her words were calm and understanding. “I know you’re in pain, Emilie. Why don’t we just go back to my house and talk about New York later, when you feel better? Let me just be there for you right now.”
Emilie was glad they were in a public space. If Kate could have kissed her or touched her in a more intimate way Emilie might have warmed up to her comfort. Instead, she was able to maintain a glacial tone when she answered, “No. I want you to go, Kate. I don’t love you.” Nothing but the truth, perhaps, but even Emilie was shocked at her latest declaration.
Kate’s compassion took an angry turn. She was clearly both hurt and humiliated. “Stop, Emilie. You don’t mean what you’re saying. You’re hurting, I know, but stop before you say something you might regret.”
Emilie turned her attention to the train in front of them. She motioned with her chin and repeated without any emotion showing in her voice, “Go, Kate. I want you to go now.”
Kate stood up and faced Emilie. She held on to her pride with fire in her eyes, yet her voice caught when she pleaded, “Whatever you’re feeling, Emilie, it doesn’t give you the right to break my heart so shamelessly. You’ll regret this.”
This time Emilie managed to look into Kate’s eyes yet stay completely detached from her. “You’ll miss your train, my darling.”
Kate’s eyes filled with tears and she whispered through clenched teeth, “You ungrateful little bitch.” Then she turned around and walked toward the train, her shoulders slightly moving up and down, just enough for Emilie to know she was crying.
Emilie stood up and left the station before she could see Kate climb on the train. She walked toward the lodging house at a fast pace and with a desperate energy. She’d been incredibly cruel and Kate was right, she already regretted it. But something inside her had told her she had to let go of Kate today.
When she got to her room she lay down on her small bed and cried furiously, putting all of her strength into every tear and every scream she poured into her pillow.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Rimouski, August 1905
Angeline put the children to bed and sat at the kitchen table with an oil lamp, paper and a fountain pen. She was determined to write that letter tonight. She’d waited too long already.
The months after Joseph’s death had been a whirlwind of emotion. Marie-Ange was too young to realize exactly what was going on but the boys missed their papa every day, especially Victor. He had tantrums over everything and anything, and Angeline knew all of his rage boiled down to anger over losing his father. Paul-Emile had always been close to Angeline but he’d clung to her even tighter, as if he’d been afraid of losing her too. He was starting school in September and Angeline thought the forced daily hours of separation would be very beneficial to him. And to her.
She’d remained strong for her children, crying only at night when the children were sleeping and she retreated to the bedroom she’d shared with Joseph. She missed his companionship, his sweet, loving presence. She missed making him laugh and his scent of sawdust. She missed him all the time, but mostly at night, when she was alone in bed. She’d lost the head of their family and it was as if he’d taken her sense of direction with him, her ability to make adult decisions.
Her parents had been there for her and the children. They’d really stepped up, especially financially. Angeline was grateful for their help but sometimes felt crowded by their presence. Some days she even felt like she was her own children’s older sister instead of their mother, as if she’d become one of the Fourniers’ many children again. She hated that feeling yet wasn’t ready or able to take control of her own house again. She didn’t know how. She needed her parents.
Angeline put her hand to her stomach and felt the baby kick. She smiled for a brief moment before she was taken by the same sadness she felt every time she remembered Joseph didn’t know about her pregnancy when he died. She wasn’t sure herself at that time, but even if she’d been certain she was pregnant she would have waited to tell him. She’d had three miscarriages since the birth of Marie-Ange and she would have wanted to spare him from more disappointment.
She was glad this baby had found a way to grab on to her belly and keep growing. She often caught herself foolishly thinking his or her birth would in some way bring Joseph back. She’d never shared that thought with anyone, of course. In fact, no one else knew about her condition.
She knew she couldn’t
keep her secret much longer. She was five months pregnant and she was starting to show. The little weight she’d put on since the birth of Paul-Emile wouldn’t help her hide this new baby much longer. She would have to tell her parents and the children before they found out on their own. She’d waited that long because she knew her pregnancy would make her even more of an invalid to her parents’ eyes and would increase their protective presence. It made her feel powerless, almost invisible, and lonely.
Exactly the same way she’d felt as a child before she met Joseph and Emilie. She’d lost Joseph, but she couldn’t get Emilie out of her mind. Each day that passed convinced her more and more that she needed her best friend, that only Emilie could help her through the loss of Joseph and help her feel like a capable adult woman again. She’d decided she would write Emilie a couple of weeks ago but hadn’t found the courage.
She didn’t know what to tell Emilie. They hadn’t parted on good terms, after all. Angeline refused to mull over the last time they’d seen each other, but she didn’t know how to avoid it. She didn’t know how to ask for help without apologizing for pushing Emilie away and she didn’t want to apologize for rejecting a part of Emilie she still felt was bad. Even if she did apologize, she didn’t know how Emilie would react.
Emilie might still be angry with her for all she knew. There had to be a reason why she’d written to Joseph without including a note for Angeline. She probably hated her, or worse, didn’t even think about her anymore.
There was another reason why Angeline didn’t want to think of that last time she’d seen her friend. She didn’t want to revisit her own feelings, because they were just as wrong as Emilie’s. It would be wiser to leave Emilie alone. Angeline knew it but she just wanted her friend back. She needed her.
Every letter she’d composed in her mind over the last two weeks had been dismissed. She’d thought that sitting with a pen and a piece of paper would help her find the right words to tell Emilie how much she needed her, but as she again sat in front of a blank page she realized it had been nothing more than wishful thinking. She sighed with frustration. The lamp had already burned most of its oil. She was running out of time, and she wouldn’t wait one more day. She just needed to go straight to the point and hope for the best.
She brought her pen to the middle of the page and waited for a few seconds until her hand stopped shaking. She wrote three lines and quickly folded the page and put it in an envelope before she could change her mind. She wrote Emilie’s address on the envelope. She’d known it by heart since they’d received the letter addressed to Joseph. She would take it to the post office tomorrow. She left the envelope on the table and went to her bedroom, trying to imagine Emilie’s reaction when she read:
My dearest Emilie,
Please come.
Angeline
UNDERTOW
1905-1906
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Rimouski, September 1905
Emilie had been admiring the fall colors of the Appalachian Mountains from the window until the train approached Rimouski and slowed down. Then she became so anxious she could hardly breathe. Looking at the beautiful countryside from a distance, its peaks and valleys in red, yellow and orange hues, had awakened a romantic nostalgia in her that she’d found appealing, almost reassuring. But the thought of physically being back in Rimouski, of stepping on the same ground and breathing the same air as Angeline, was too tangible and sent her into panic. When the train came to a complete halt, she took off the simple sailor hat she’d been wearing and ran her fingers through her short locks.
Before she’d left Boston she’d cut her black hair just below her ears, adopting a hairstyle similar to Kate’s. She hadn’t done it to copy Kate or as an homage to her—although she did owe a lot to Kate and still felt terrible about the way she’d treated her at the train station. The haircut was more like a physical guarantee, a way to hold on to the woman she’d become in Boston. Even though she’d decided to temporarily come back to Rimouski, she would never go back to her old self, and cutting her hair was the best way she knew to make that statement. Every time she ran her fingers through it, she’d be reminded of who she truly was. It worked, to some extent, and with a deep breath Emilie found the courage to stand up and walk out of the train with her suitcase and her old leather mailbag. She started walking at a leisurely pace, gathering her thoughts as she took in familiar sights and scents mixed with completely new scenery.
In his only letter to Emilie, Joseph had mentioned that the place had changed and the population had grown in Rimouski since their departure in 1888, and Emilie was now realizing just how right he was. New streets, new buildings and new people made her feel like a complete stranger in the village where she’d grown up. She couldn’t even call it a village anymore. Not a city yet, but perhaps a town. It was different and big enough that Emilie had to ask for directions to Tessier Road, yet small enough that the man who gave her directions looked at her suspiciously, as if he knew everyone who would usually venture in that direction.
As she walked away from the buzzing center of the growing town it didn’t take Emilie long to recognize the Rimouski she’d known. After she’d met Kate, Emilie had found enough courage to explore more of Boston, often walking for hours without ever leaving the sidewalks of the city. But it took her just a few minutes in Rimouski to find herself on narrow dirt roads with nothing but small homes, farmland and forest.
Emilie was glad of her black leather high-top shoes. She knew they’d be comfortable and would be practical for walking in the dirt and mud. She’d left the boots Kate had given her behind, knowing their tan cloth tops wouldn’t survive a simple walk in Rimouski. She’d also left behind the two fancier dresses she sometimes wore at Kate’s soirées, knowing she wouldn’t have the occasion to wear them in Rimouski. She’d only packed her most practical outfits, like the dark gray skirt that slightly flared around her feet, the white tucked shirtwaist, and dark gray double-breasted jacket she wore today.
Her fancy clothes would wait for her in Boston. She’d asked Mrs. Flaherty to hold on to them until her return. She’d emptied her room so the Flahertys could find another lodger while she was gone but they’d promised she would have a room to stay when she got back. Emilie didn’t think she could have left Boston without the reassurance that she could come back when she was ready.
Emilie walked more slowly as she drew closer to her destination. Walking in dirt was not easy but she knew that was not the reason for dragging her feet. A part of her was looking forward to seeing Angeline again and meeting her nephews and her niece, but a bigger part of her was terrified. She hadn’t seen Angeline in seven years, and she didn’t know how their reunion would unfold.
When she received Angeline’s brief letter she’d known right away she couldn’t deny Angeline’s request. Angeline needed her as a friend, as a sister-in-law, as family. Emilie’s decision to come to Rimouski was not entirely selfless though. She needed to be here as much as Angeline needed her here.
Since Joseph’s death, she’d thought about going to Rimouski every day. She needed to feel close to Joseph and she knew the only place where she could find that closeness was Rimouski where they’d grown up together, where his own family was now growing up. She’d thought about jumping on a train to Canada many times but didn’t dare, not certain she’d be welcome. Angeline’s invitation was the permission she needed. She hadn’t replied to Angeline’s letter, hadn’t told her she was coming. That way, she could have changed her mind at any time. But she hadn’t. And she hoped Angeline hadn’t either.
Emilie stopped and put her suitcase down. She’d come to the top of a hill and stood approximately three hundred feet from two houses built close together in front of a small barn. She knew instinctively that she was looking at her brother’s house, smaller than the Fournier home next to it.
She smiled at the sight of the simple home in the late afternoon light, so similar to the one where she and Joseph had grown up except for t
he addition of a dormer. She remembered how much their mother had wished for a dormer and she was certain Joseph had built this one as much for her as for Angeline. She also knew Joseph and her mother both watched over that little house every day and so, standing on top of the hill three hundred feet from it, she felt their presence more than she had in a long time.
Emilie saw two young boys run in front of the house. She knew the boy with dark hair was Paul-Emile and was surprised to see he was only slightly taller than the blond boy who had to be his younger brother, Victor. They were both running with a dog that was almost as tall as they were, with blond fur so thick around the neck that he reminded Emilie of a lion. Soon the boys ran to the side of the house where Emilie couldn’t see them but the lion-dog remained immobile, his nose pointing in her direction.
Emilie didn’t move, not sure he’d spotted her until he started running toward her at such a high speed that Emilie was tempted to turn around and start running from him. She quickly decided she couldn’t outrun him even if she tried and stayed in place where the dog quickly joined her. She realized by his wagging tail that her fear had been unjustified and when he sat in front of her she bent down to pet his head. “That’s at least one of you who’s happy to see me, isn’t it, big fellow?”
She smiled at the dog. She saw complete trust and recognition in his black eyes, as if he’d known her his whole life. When she stopped petting him he reached for her hand again, pushing his head to her palm, and she laughed quietly. “You and I are going to be good friends, I think.” She caressed his head one more time. His friendly presence reassured her and gave her the courage to continue to walk all the way to the house.
When she straightened up, the dog moved to her side, ready to follow her. Only then did she look toward the house—and gasped when she discovered Angeline standing on the porch, looking at her with one hand on her heart.
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