Promised to the Crown

by Aimie K. Runyan

  Rose entered the kitchen a half hour later as Nicole removed freshly baked buns from the oven to accompany the roasted chicken and carrots.

  “Smells wonderful,” Rose said, placing a basket of supplies on the worktable. It registered that Nicole’s Thursday marketing duties had fallen to Rose. There was nothing in Rose’s face that let Nicole think the added duty was irksome, so she let the matter pass.

  “Thank you,” Nicole said. “I think they’ve turned out well, thanks to an excellent tutor we all know.”

  “I had to tell you, there is a rumor going around town,” said Rose, sneaking a roll before Nicole’s swatting hand could make contact.

  “Of course there is,” Nicole said, carving the chickens to serve. “When is there not?”

  “But you are not always a subject of them, now, are you?”

  “Thank heaven, no I’m not. What have I done now?” Nicole did not bother to look up from her work, knowing full well Rose’s reply before she spoke it.

  “The rumor is that Alexandre Lefebvre came to visit you.”

  “And the settlement has us married by now, I expect.”

  “So it’s true, then? And yes, you’ve got it just about right.”

  Nicole’s laugh had only the slightest trace of resentment as it rang through the kitchen. There was precious little entertainment in the colony, and she could hardly begrudge them a juicy morsel of fresh gossip.

  “A ten-minute visit,” Nicole said, her shoulders still shaking. “If he’d been here a full hour, imagine what they’d say.”

  “Much the same, with more certainty,” Rose said. “But I do have a piece of advice for you. Alexandre Lefebvre is a well-respected man in this colony. Do not encourage his attentions unless you know you can return them.”

  Humor did not shine from Rose’s violet-blue eyes and Nicole knew she spoke the truth. There were few in the colony with the social standing to cross Alexandre Lefebvre without consequence. Nicole wasn’t one of them.

  I cannot marry Alexandre Lefebvre. The reality hit Nicole with the force of the Canadian winter wind as she awoke Thursday morning two weeks later. She would have to refuse him . . . and gently for the sake of her future in the settlement. He showed her civility, perhaps kindness during his visit, but there was nothing of Luc’s warmth in him. She spent her morning searching for words, but found none that didn’t seem ridiculous or cruel.

  Nicole begged Sister Mathilde for an errand to win her a week’s reprieve from Alexandre’s attentions. Two hours later, basket piled with bread, meat, and cheese for the following week, Nicole decided it was safe to return. Dread filled her stomach as she saw Alexandre approaching. Why can I not have a week in peace?

  “Madame Jarvais, allow me to see you home,” said Alexandre, taking her basket.

  “As you wish,” said Nicole, not making eye contact and walking as swiftly as she could with Hélène in her arms.

  “I hope you’re well,” Alexandre said, fumbling for a way to start the conversation. “I was disappointed not to see you at the convent.”

  Nicole offered a slight nod of the head and said nothing.

  “Have I said anything to offend you?” Alexandre asked, puzzled by her cold demeanor. Nicole shook her head. “I have long wanted to apologize for my behavior when we first met. It wasn’t gentlemanlike at all. I am sorry.”

  “It doesn’t matter, Monsieur Lefebvre,” said Nicole. “It was long ago.”

  “Yes it was,” said Alexandre. “Is everything else quite all right?”

  “Fine, monsieur,” said Nicole.

  “Oh, the blasted ‘fine’ of a female when she is anything but!” Alexandre’s temper at last simmered to the surface. “Speak, for the love of Christendom, rather than ignoring me as you are. Tell me what I’ve done so I can make it right.”

  “Apparently, the whole settlement thinks you’re courting me,” said Nicole, no small amount of venom in her voice.

  “They’re right,” said Alexandre. “So the very idea is repugnant to you?”

  Nicole stopped and looked at Alexandre. There was something akin to hurt in his expression. “No,” she said, her tone gentler. “But I can’t court anyone, Monsieur Lefebvre. I just lost my husband six months ago. I’m just getting used to the idea of being a new mother. I just can’t even conceive of anything more right now.”

  Alexandre let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding, and his expression softened as well. “I know how hard it is,” he said with a caress of her arm so fleeting she thought she might have imagined it. “Forgive me. I was thinking only of myself.”

  “It’s fine,” said Nicole. “You couldn’t possibly know. I’m sorry I was rude.”

  Alexandre shook his head, dismissing her apology.

  “Please let me come see you, still,” said Alexandre. “Even if you’re not ready. I would still appreciate your friendship.”

  “You said you didn’t mean to court me or anyone. That afternoon at the convent over a year ago.” Nicole spoke the words like an accusation.

  “You have a good memory, madame.” Alexandre kept his eyes forward as he spoke.

  “So you changed your mind?” Nicole probed.

  “Not exactly,” said Alexandre. “I saw you on the shore the day you arrived. I wanted to know you better then. My rudeness simply got in the way.”

  “Come visit if you like,” said Nicole, adjusting the baby on her hip and taking back her basket as they had reached the convent doors. “But as my friend, please.”

  “As a friend,” agreed Alexandre. “I know there have been plenty of times in my past I have been in need of one myself.” He nodded a curt farewell and exited back to the dusty street.

  CHAPTER 17

  Rose

  July 1669

  “And what was the moral of that story?” Rose asked her pupils.

  They sat in the fields not far from the convent, enjoying lessons in the summer sun. The children loved stories, and Rose spent hours digging for compelling material that featured strong moral lessons.

  “Don’t give your house to your son until you’re dead, otherwise his wife might throw you out!” Sarah exclaimed.

  The class erupted in giggles.

  “That’s not entirely wrong, Sarah. But what else can we learn?” Rose asked. “Yes, Manon?”

  “To be kind to our elders and set a good example for our children to do the same.” Manon spoke with confidence but not smugness. Still, Rose noticed the other Huron girls no longer treated Manon as one of their own.

  “Very good!” Rose said, beaming at the child she considered a treasured niece. “That’s all for today; you may go!”

  Most of the girls bounded out of sight almost before the words were out of her mouth.

  Manon stayed behind with Rose, returning to the convent rather than the tribe.

  “You handle them well,” a quiet voice said as Rose gathered her books and straightened her skirt. She looked up to see Henri Lefebvre not three feet from where she stood.

  “Henri . . . Monsieur Lefebvre,” Rose stammered. “What are you . . . I thought you were in the Antilles. . . .”

  Henri laughed his throaty guffaw at Rose’s sputtered greeting. “Indeed I was, but life on Martinique was not for me. I decided to return to France. My uncle persuaded me to pay him a visit before I return.”

  “Manon, why don’t you head back? I’ll be right behind you,” Rose said as the young girl trotted off. “And how long will you be staying?”

  “At least a month. The voyage here took almost two. I need time to get over the first trek before I start on another,” Henri said.

  “I don’t blame you,” Rose said, still shocked to see the man she thought was gone forever. Since he had left for Martinique all number of scenarios played out in her head. Henri hurt on some far-flung tropical plantation with no one to care for him. Henri back in France and playfully courting some brainless socialite. Henri moving on with his life and forgetting about her altogether. But here he
stood, seemingly well, and with no bride in tow. Surely he wouldn’t come to see me just to flaunt a marriage in my face? Why should I care if he did? I ought to wish him well if he did.

  “So you’re still serious about entering the Church?” Henri asked. “It seems your pupils adore you.”

  “And I them.” Rose smiled at Manon’s black braids bobbing away as she jogged along. “They’re sweet girls. And yes, I hope to take the vows in a few more months.”

  “Did you miss me at all?” Henri asked.

  “Of course,” Rose said. She did her best to block out the dark weeks after his departure when she spent her days in silent study and prayer and her nights weeping for him. “I enjoyed our visits.”

  “May I call on you, while I am here?” Henri asked. “Like old times.”

  “That wouldn’t be appropriate, monsieur,” Rose said. “As a postulant, it wouldn’t be right for me to have gentlemen visitors.”

  “I see. What if I were to accompany my uncle when he comes to visit your friend, Madame Jarvais? Would you sit with us?” Henri seemed eager, but not pleading.

  He’s being a friend.

  Rose chastised herself. He’s forgotten marriage, but wants to see you before he goes back to France.

  “Perhaps,” Rose said. “It depends on where I am needed.”

  “Rose . . .” Henri began. “I . . .”

  “I’m sorry, monsieur. I have to accompany Manon before she gets too far ahead. I’ll see you another time.”

  Rose started after Manon, who was now quite far ahead.

  Henri, to Rose’s relief, did not follow.

  Back at the convent, Manon greeted Nicole with a kiss and ran off to the kitchen to persuade kindhearted Sister Anne that she was in great need of a small bite before supper.

  Rose greeted her friend with barely contained fury.

  “How dare you!” she hissed.

  “How dare I what?” Nicole asked, baffled.

  “You know what I’m talking about.” Rose stormed up to their bedroom and slammed the door. Nicole followed, passing Hélène to one of the other girls before chasing Rose up the stairs.

  “If you’re determined to be mad at me, at least explain what I’ve done to make you angry,” Nicole told her.

  “Your precious Monsieur Lefebvre. He ‘persuaded’ his nephew to come for a visit.” Rose paced, hands raking her black curls. “I’m sure you had nothing to do with that. You and your ‘friend.’ ”

  “Indeed, I didn’t,” Nicole said, astonished. “Weeks ago—months—Monsieur Lefebvre mentioned Henri had written. I asked if he was planning a visit, and Alexandre said no. I said it was a shame, but left it at that.”

  “And your dear Monsieur Lefebvre decided to persuade his nephew to visit anyway?” Rose asked, a mocking expression on her face. “Likely.”

  “Rose, stop,” Nicole said. “What is wrong with you? I never met Henri. Why would I want to persuade him to visit? You told me you were friends, and I believed you. If Monsieur Lefebvre interpreted my words differently, I am sorry.”

  “Why else would Henri have come?” Rose buried her face in her hands. “Everything was fine. I’ve built a life. I don’t need him.”

  “Why are you so upset? What aren’t you telling me?” Nicole reached for Rose’s hand, but Rose swatted her away.

  “I should never have come here,” Rose said. “I was better off in that death trap in Paris.”

  “Don’t say that, Rose. Forget he’s here, if his presence upsets you so much. Go about your days.” Nicole’s voice took on the tenor of a parent irritated with a petulant child.

  “Right. Just . . . in the future, don’t meddle in my business, please,” Rose said, covering her eyes with her hands in exasperation.

  “Fine,” Nicole said, her voice dismissive. “It wasn’t my intent.”

  Rose thundered down the stairs. At a loss for what to do, she went to the convent kitchen. She found the old scrub bucket and brush and started to scrub the kitchen floor.

  “Sister Thérèse scrubbed that floor this morning, child,” Sister Mathilde said, entering the doorway.

  “It looks like it needs it again, Sister.” Rose did not move her eyes from the floor beneath her.

  “I think it’s fine,” Sister Mathilde said. “Stand up, girl.”

  Rose obeyed at once, though she resented the Sister’s caustic tone.

  “I hear Henri Lefebvre is back in the settlement for a time,” Sister Mathilde said. “Am I right?”

  “Yes, Sister,” answered Rose.

  “You know that, as a postulant, you are not to be in the company of men without a chaperone. I understand he walked with you this afternoon?” Sister Mathilde asked.

  “I am aware of the regulations, Sister. I told him it was unseemly and that I could not see him.” Rose controlled her tone as best she could.

  “Very well,” Sister Mathilde said. “Is this why you are upset, my child?”

  “No. His return is disruptive, that’s all.” Rose dropped the brush in the wash bucket in defeat. She would find no solace in scrubbing.

  “May I remind you, my dear, that these walls are not a refuge for the brokenhearted,” Sister Mathilde said.

  “You doubt my devotion?” Rose asked, standing to her full height and looking Sister Mathilde in the eye. “I work with the children hours on end. . . .”

  “I do not doubt your dedication or your eagerness to work, my daughter,” interrupted Sister Mathilde. “Only your motivation. Search your heart.”

  “And how are you getting along with your young pupils, Mademoiselle Barré?” Alexandre asked. “Henri says the group seemed quite captivated on Tuesday.”

  “Very well, monsieur,” Rose said.

  Why could I not come up with an excuse to be elsewhere? “They are dear girls. Most of them eager to learn as well.”

  “Wonderful,” Alexandre said. “I cannot think of any more effective way of establishing good relations with the indigenous people than through their youth.”

  “Indeed, monsieur,” Rose said, not eager to drag on the conversation. She directed her attention to the mending in her lap.

  “Henri, have you plans after you return to France?” Nicole asked.

  “Not as such,” Henri said. “Father will have plenty for me to do near home. I think he’s none too upset that I didn’t care for Martinique. He gifted me his holdings there, but I plan to manage them from France as best I can. It’s a gorgeous plantation, really. Fields of sugar cane that go on forever, the sea as blue as sapphires off in the distance. But while you have your incessant snows here, the sun never ceases to shine there. It grows so monotonous, it could never feel like home.”

  “I imagine you’re a great help to your father,” Nicole said, ill at ease with the tension.

  Without a word, Rose gathered up her sewing and went to her bedroom. It was no use. She could not sit in the same room as Henri Lefebvre and listen to his idle chatter about running his family’s affairs.

  He’s a good man, but he’s not for me, Rose told herself. My life is here; my work is here. I’ve made a life for myself and it doesn’t include him.

  Rose decided to vent her frustrations out in the summer sun. The fresh air was refreshing and the muscles in her legs delighted in the exercise.

  Too long indoors, Rose thought. No wonder I feel so stodgy.

  She allowed herself to ramble for the better part of an hour before returning to the convent. Rose seldom ventured this far anymore, and had not asked for permission to leave, but she would accept a lecture from one of the Sisters in exchange for an afternoon out-of-doors. She wandered past the burgeoning shops and new homes. Past the church. Past the stables. Like everything else in the settlement she gravitated toward the river. The banks of the river where she could sit, undisturbed, and listen as the sounds of the coursing water drowned out her unsettled thoughts.

  She sat down on the edge of the river on a clean spot of grass and looked out at the rushing water, tryi
ng to cleanse her mind of doubts. Her brow dripped with beads of sweat in the summer sun, but she didn’t bother to wipe them away.

  “If you wanted to hide from me, your old favorite haunt was probably not a good choice,” Henri said, approaching from behind and taking a seat beside her.

  Rose debated returning to the convent, as the Sisters would have her do, but did not want to be chased away from her moments of freedom.

  “This isn’t right, Henri,” Rose said, still gazing out at the water. “We aren’t supposed to be alone together.”

  “Yes, you’re supposed to be locked in a darkened room, praying or poring over some Latin text, but here you sit,” he countered.

  “True,” she admitted, picking at a blade of grass.

  “Why does seeing me upset you so?” Henri asked, his gaze defiant, daring her to look away.

  “I don’t know,” she answered, smoothing her skirt and preparing to stand. Sister Mathilde will have your head for this. She forgave you walking with him once. She won’t be so lenient a second time.

  “I think you do,” he said. Something in his tone prevented her from standing. “You didn’t want me to go in the first place, so you went into hiding. Now that I’m back, you have to face your feelings for me and it terrifies you.”

  Rose did not break her eye contact. She would not divulge her doubts to him, but could not find her voice to contradict him.

  “I’m right, aren’t I?” he asked.

  Rose pulled her knees to her chest and rested her chin on them for a few moments.

  “Yes,” she said. “I missed you. I went to your uncle’s after you left, hoping you were still there. . . .”

  A tear rolled down Rose’s cheek.

  Henri brushed it away with his thumb.

  “He told me you went to see him,” he said. “In his letter. That’s why I’m here. Nicole noticed how you had been and mentioned it to Uncle. He suggested I make the detour here in the chance that you might still care. It wasn’t Nicole’s fault. It was my meddling uncle and my optimistic heart.”