“It was our honor, Madame la Seigneureuse, I assure you.” Rose relieved Nicole of her precious bundle to allow her some rest. The baby slept contentedly already, looking quite as exhausted as her mother from the ordeal.
“Rest,” Elisabeth ordered. “You’ve earned it.”
In their years in the colony, the three of them had borne six children, fostered three, and there would be more in the years to come. When they boarded the ship, they knew this was the plan, but to see it realized so completely warmed Rose’s heart. In her days with her father, she’d been taught to be respectful of the Crown. When she lived with her aunt and uncle, the monarchy was spoken of with absolute reverence . . . but after her tenure in the Salpêtrière the King had fallen in her estimation. Not for any particular action, but as a symbol of all that had kept her in prison those long years.
Privilege. Rank. Influence.
Things she never had, despite being born into that sphere. Despite being a gentleman’s daughter, she had always been one letter away from spending the rest of her days in a dank death trap.
As she looked at the dear baby in her arms, Rose knew this child would never have to fear the wrath of her father or brothers landing her in a cell. There was no purgatory masking as a charity hospital here. This New France offered the freedom dear Sister Charité had promised, and Rose knew the precious child in her arms would know all the wonders that freedom would bring.
And the freedom it had finally granted her.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
In 1663, Louis XIV and his ministers devised a plan to strengthen their claim on the Canadian colony and stave off British advances. The French decided to send marriageable women to the male-dominated population of New France, and thereby fortify the population and its ties to the new land. Other countries tried similar measures, but none on the scale and with the governmental and clerical support as the French.
Many settlers lived a nomadic existence, creating wealth through fur trapping and trading. The hope was that French women would marry the settlers and provide a “civilizing” influence, increasing the men’s interest in farming. The French counted on these men to defend their land if the British invaded, and thought they would do so more valiantly if their livelihood were tied to the land they fought for. The plan would also result in a generation of “little Canadians” who would grow up and take their parents’ places as permanent—and loyal—citizens of the French colony.
These brides became known as the filles du roi, “King’s Daughters,” because Louis XIV offered the women passage, a trousseau, and sometimes a dowry in compensation for leaving France. These women were poor, orphaned, or, sometimes, too expensive to marry off in their native land. They came from every corner of France (a few were not even French), but largely from Paris and the northwestern part of the country. Many of the Parisian recruits were one-time residents of the Salpêtrière, a mammoth charitable institution called a “hospital,” but which had little to do with healing. For many, it proved a death trap.
Because so many women came from this atrocious prison, the rumor began to circulate that the “King’s Daughters” were prostitutes, and that Louis attempted to solve two problems: ridding Paris of social pariahs and populating his colony in one efficient move. The Baron de la Hontan, a traveler and “historian” of his time, supported this rumor (along with other fantastic claims) and, as a result, this mistaken but widely held belief was popular for centuries. The realities were these:
• Seventeenth-century French prostitutes often suffered venereal diseases, which would have made them infertile—a poor choice for building a population of French Canadians. Later, King Louis did send women of questionable morals to his holdings in the Antilles, but his aims were different.
• Each woman was required to have an affidavit of good comportment signed by her priest in order to depart. Clergymen would not risk their own reputations by supporting a woman of poor moral quality.
• The clergy had a huge influence on the running of the colony. Women acting inappropriately would have been (and sometimes were) deported back to France. Unlike Britain, which expelled troublemakers to overseas holdings, France did not allow lawbreakers in its devoutly Catholic colony.
• Prostitutes were not widely arrested and placed in the Salpêtrière until the 1690s, almost twenty years after the last of the King’s Daughters departed for Canada. The women of questionable conduct were held in La Force, the hospital prison, and were not considered eligible for emigration.
• Very few children were born out of wedlock in New France; this would not have been the case if the women had proclivities toward prostitution.
With this information, we can deduce that if any of the King’s Daughters were prostitutes in France, they were few in number and probably reformed before leaving for Canada. Today, though exonerated by historians, the King’s Daughters remain little more than a footnote in history books. It is for this reason that this book exists.
My purpose is not to depict these women as angels. They were not. They were real women with struggles, aspirations, and fears, who had the remarkable opportunity to help found a nation. If they had a common virtue, it was bravery. They left a prosperous, flourishing France, sacrificing all they had, with little chance of return, in order to marry strangers and raise families on a foreign and often dangerous frontier.
The characters in this book are of my own invention. Through these fictitious women, I endeavor to relate the struggles and triumphs the King’s Daughters experienced as they voyaged to and settled in the New World. I share their stories so you, the reader, can better understand the sacrifices of the women who helped found French Canada and who share a genetic link with two-thirds of the people who live there today.
With my humble thanks,
Aimie K. Runyan
A READING GROUP GUIDE
PROMISED
TO THE
CROWN
Aimie K. Runyan
ABOUT THIS GUIDE
The suggested questions are included
to enhance your group’s reading
of Aimie K. Runyan’s
Promised to the Crown.
DISCUSSION QUESTIONS
1. Why do you think the author chose to write the story from three points of view rather than as a single narrative? Why do you believe she chose to create three fictional characters rather than selecting a historical figure to document?
2. France was in a period of relative prosperity during the era of the “King’s Daughters” program, yet there were scores of women who wanted to participate. What do you feel were their motivations and aspirations?
3. What were the main difficulties French women, particularly those who lived in cities, most acutely suffered upon arrival in New France?
4. Rose’s situation was terribly common; for slight offenses, women could be imprisoned by their families for the rest of their lives. We see that the “charity hospital” where Rose lives is an abysmal place, but when offered the chance to leave the Salpêtrière, Rose hesitates. In fact, many women who were offered their freedom chose to stay in the hospital. Why do you think a seventeenth-century woman would opt to remain imprisoned?
5. Elisabeth seems to have the easiest time adapting to life in New France. She claims she “had less to leave behind,” though the truth of that statement is questionable. What about her personality enables her to make the transition more easily than her peers and to embrace the tumultuous changes in her life?
6. Many of the women who agreed to become “King’s Daughters” spent a good amount of time in convents, boardinghouses, and with “sponsor families” before marriage. The Sisters made sure their domestic skills were up to standard and gave them plenty of advice on selecting their husbands. What do you imagine the key pieces of advice were and do you think Nicole followed them?
7. Rose decides fairly soon after her arrival that she wants to enter the convent. This decision could have been socially ruinous for her, despite th
e revered status of the Church in the colony, especially after she rejects a promising suitor. Why do you think her choice was frowned upon, and why was Sister Mathilde so hesitant to let Rose take orders?
8. Aside from the emotional heartache of her miscarriages, Elisabeth and Gilbert also face some social stigma for their childless state. This is especially true because of their openly affectionate nature toward each other. What do you believe are the reasons for this social pressure and what does it say about the expectations for marriage in seventeenth-century Quebec?
9. We see Nicole’s transition from the shy farm girl to the capable social maven during the course of the book. What enables this transformation and growth?
10. How does the fire symbolize Elisabeth’s relationship with her mother, and what else could it symbolize about her future?
11. What are the reasons for Manon’s departure, both stated and implied? Do you feel she was justified in her decision to leave?
12. In the end, Rose is able to overcome her trauma to enjoy her marriage, but she will always carry the scars. How do you think this will affect her relationship with Henri and her children moving forward?
13. The portrayal of the clergy throughout the book is varied. The nuns are depicted as industrious and motherly, while Father Cloutier, in particular, is shown as petty and scheming. What do you feel is the reason for this contrast?
14. Alexandre could have used his pull to influence the judicial system in the Beaumonts’ favor when the bailiff decides to enforce the King’s edict on the bakery. Why do you feel the women took this more subtle approach, and do you think the women’s back-channel approach ultimately was effective?
Please turn the page for an exciting sneak peek of
Aimie K. Runyan’s next historical novel
DUTY TO THE CROWN
coming in November 2016 from Kensington Publishing!
CHAPTER 1
Manon
May 1677, Outside the Quebec Settlement
Only for her little brother would she venture onto the white man’s land—especially this white man’s land. The air had not yet lost the cruel bite of winter, and Manon longed for the warmth of her longhouse. She had several miles left to trek and medicine to brew before she could rest. Young Tawendeh was ill with fever, along with half the village. Most were not grievously ill, but it was enough for concern. She had seen fever turn from mild to lethal in an hour, so she took no chances. Her remedies were the best chance for a quick recovery, though she feared few would accept her help until they were too far gone.
The path through the forest was far more arduous than if she skirted its perimeter, but the cover of the trees protected her from view. The scent of pine danced in her nose and perfumed her skin. Manon considered it the smell of her home and her people. She cursed the feeble light of the dusk hour when the towering evergreens blocked much of the weak spring sun. When true night fell, she would be able to track her path by the stars, but only if she could see them free from the overhanging limbs. She did not fear the night or the animals that lived by moonlight. A child of the forest, she knew the most dangerous creatures lived not in trees, but in the growing town to the southeast of her village.
“What have we here?”
Manon froze at the sound of the raspy male voice.
“A bit far from home, aren’t you?” he continued.
She turned, very slowly, not wanting to give the man any reason to strike. Alone, in the forest, he would face no consequences if he attacked her.
“Stupid thing,” he drawled. “You don’t understand a word I’m saying, do you?”
“I am just passing through, monsieur,” she spoke softly, but in perfect French. She did not allow the tremor in her heart to reach her voice. She would not let this dirty farmer know she feared him.
“This is my land.” The man, hunched and weary from a day’s labor, straightened to his full height. “You’re trespassing here.”
This is not your land, you foul creature. Nor any man’s. Manon kept the thought to herself; it would only spark his temper.
“I mean no harm, monsieur.” The courtesy tasted bitter on her tongue, but she sensed his considerable self-importance. “I am going home. This is merely the shortest route without cutting through your fields.”
“I don’t care for trespassers,” the man insisted. “What’s in your bag?”
“Nothing of interest, monsieur.” Manon spoke the truth. White men had little use for plants they could not eat.
“Let me see in your bag, you little savage.” The large man’s stench nearly overpowered her as he stepped close and grabbed her wrist, snatching the deerskin pouch with his free hand. “Nothing but weeds. Are you trying to cast some kind of spell, witch?”
“No, monsieur.” She fought harder to swallow back her fear. A whisper of the word witchcraft could see her dangling from the gallows. “I am merely gathering herbs to heal fever.”
The man spat without releasing her wrist. “You were stealing those weeds off my land. I could see you hanged.”
He wasn’t lying. She paused for a brief moment to consider whether she could inflict enough damage on the brute of a man to enable her escape when he took a step closer.
“Don’t be upset,” he said, caressing her cheek with a dirty finger and moving closer still. Close enough that she could smell his rancid, whiskey-laced breath. “You’re too pretty for the hangman’s rope. We might be able to work something out.”
Anger flashed in her eyes. This grimy man spoke as if she were the dirt beneath his feet, and he was going to force her to tell her full identity. Something she’d sworn never to do.
“I don’t think so.” Manon broke his grasp on her wrist and stepped backward. “This land is not yours. It belongs to Seigneur Lefebvre.” She spat his name like a curse. The lord of these lands had once been her protector, but she hated using his name to earn her freedom all the same.
Before she could react, one of the farmer’s massive hands slammed into her cheek, and stars dotted her vision.
“How dare you,” Manon growled. “I know the seigneur. I was known as Manon Lefebvre to your people. The seigneur would not appreciate your behavior toward me. But please, continue, if you wish to lose every inch of your lands.”
Manon saw a shimmer of fear in the farmer’s eyes.
“Likely tale, you brown trollop,” he said, voice wavering. “How do I know you aren’t lying?”
“Madame Lefebvre’s parents live less than a mile from here,” Manon said. “They will vouch for me and my right to be here. I’m sure they’ll welcome the intrusion over a bag of weeds that means nothing to any of you.”
“You’re lying,” the man pressed. “Trying to trick me.”
Her hunter’s instincts forced her heart to slow and her breathing to steady. If he fought, she would defend herself, but killing—or even injuring—a white man would cost her her life.
He had to go with her to the Deschamps’ house.
“Monsieur, I speak the truth,” she said, returning to a respectful tone. “The Deschamps can assure you that the seigneur has no objection to my presence here.”
The man hesitated at her mention of the seigneur and his parents-in-law. Anyone might know the landholder’s name, but his wife’s family was not of the first circles.
“Fine, then. Lead the way, if you know it so well.”
She started west, toward the cultivated fields. Her moccasins made a slap-slap-slapping noise on the hardened earth. She moved quickly, but not fast enough to give the farmer cause to think she would run. He trudged along a few paces behind her, breathing labored from the exertion.
Hurry up, you great moose! I need to get home.
Less than ten minutes later, Manon knocked on the door of the small but inviting farmhouse. Though visitors here were scarce, the flickering of the fire and the smell of good food radiated the kind spirit of its mistress.
An old woman answered the door. She no longer stood as straight as s
he once had, but moved with efficiency. No spark of recognition lit the woman’s eyes as she looked with a furrowed brow at the unknown girl.
“Manon!” The cry came from behind the woman. It was the first time anyone had called her by her French name in ages, and it fell hard on her ears.
Familiar chestnut hair and soft eyes came into view. It had been five years since Manon last saw Nicole Lefebvre, the woman she once considered her mother. The years had been kind to Nicole, leaving only a few lines of experience around her eyes and a bit more fullness to her hips. Nicole dressed in fine fabrics, perfectly cut and tailored, as one would expect from a woman of status, even in her small community.
“Hello,” was all she could utter as Nicole took her in her arms. She felt a few decorous tears fall from Nicole’s cheek onto her own as they embraced.
“Look at how you’ve grown, my sweet girl! You’re practically a woman,” Nicole said, then, seeing the red handprint on her cheek, she cradled Manon’s face in her hands to inspect the injury. “What’s happened to your cheek?”
“A misunderstanding,” she answered. The red print would soon be a bruise, but would fade in time. Nothing to worry over, especially with Tawendeh’s condition apt to deteriorate the longer she was away. Manon did not say that the Huron people had long considered her a woman. She had learned years before that the French had the luxury of long childhoods.
“Welcome, Manon,” said a commanding voice from the dining area.
Alexandre Lefebvre, her one-time foster father, entered the living area and bowed, very slightly, in her direction. Manon offered him a barely perceptible nod, like a queen acknowledging a stable boy. The farmer shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his considerable size causing the floorboards to creak, calling attention back to himself.
Promised to the Crown Page 34
