“Will one of the servants be driving the carriage?” Emmanuelle asked Nicole, who had come to ensure the girls were up and preparing for the day. Emmanuelle wasn’t overly fond of horses since an unfortunate accident when she first came to the colony resulted in a seriously injured leg and the loss of a much-needed horse.
“Pascal Giroux will drive us in the wagon he uses for deliveries. It can maneuver better on the narrow roads than anything we have. Since we’re taking supplies, we’ll need some room.” The Giroux girl, Gabrielle, was the same age as Emmanuelle, and was included in many of their outings. She was the ward of one of Nicole’s dearest friends, Elisabeth Beaumont, who along with her husband ran one of the most successful bakeries in the entire colony. Gabrielle and Emmanuelle were great friends, but Claudine had little interest in her aside from her considerable skills with needle and silk.
“We’ll be down for breakfast shortly.” Emmanuelle smiled at Nicole, who backed out of the room with a nod. Always sister’s pet.
“Why in Christendom do we have to go out all that way to haul blankets and broth to people we don’t even know? Didn’t we send enough along last night? Can’t Nicole send someone if she must send more?” Claudine asked to no one in particular.
“Because Manon meant a great deal to Nicole, and she wants to help if she can.”
Claudine rolled her eyes and bit her tongue. Emmanuelle always had a response for everything, and it was usually what Nicole and Alexandre wanted to hear. Worse, Emmanuelle offered her explanations as though she were explaining a sum to a befuddled child. Maddening.
Breakfast was a harried affair, Alexandre eating leisurely while Nicole chided the girls to eat quickly so they could get underway. There was an unspoken censure in Alexandre’s eyes, but he rarely contradicted his wife. She was so often the model of propriety and restraint that he must have felt obliged to overlook her few eccentricities. In particular, her affection for the Huron girl that Claudine sensed he never fully understood.
As they left the settlement, the houses and stone buildings gave way to trees and the wide, well-maintained roads gave way to narrow, rocky paths. Emmanuelle and Gabrielle chatted as they often did, but Nicole kept her eyes fixed to the path as though she and not Pascal were driving the wagon. Claudine looked at the endless evergreens and wondered why she had ever thought this would be some magical fairy kingdom where she would never be in want of diversion and handsome suitors. In her years in the settlement, she had yet to reconcile the shattered dreams of her twelve-year-old self, though she was now a woman approaching eighteen.
Claudine, having devoured the few letters Nicole had sent home, leaped at the chance to come to the New World, where her sister had married so far above her circle. When Alexandre’s agent came to offer them passage to this New France, Claudine nearly screamed at her father’s hesitance to leave their barren land. It hadn’t taken much persuasion in the end. The voyage provided futures for the girls and their younger brother, Georges. What was more, their elder brothers would absorb the barren land into their own farms, giving them both sizable holdings. The land could rest fallow and it would bear crops again. It would still belong to a Deschamps, and that was as much as their father could have hoped for.
She’d pictured a shining metropolis, and was crestfallen when she learned she’d be living on a farm much like the one where she was born. The house was infinitely better. The land was fertile. But it was still a farm, and one that seemed to be a thousand miles from anywhere interesting. The fledgling town, while nothing to the lively bustle of Rouen, was immeasurably preferable to living out on her parents’ homestead. She loved her sister for taking them in and vowed she’d make a good match since she had the gift of connections to some of the best society New France had to offer. If she had any luck, she’d find a man of good sense who wanted to return to France—maybe even the bustle of Paris—and would take her away from the monotony of country life forever. Somewhere there had to be a young man with dark hair and flashing eyes who would whisk her away to a life—if not of luxury and leisure—at least of adventure and varied society. She clutched her wool cloak tight about her shoulders against the damp spring air. He has to exist somewhere.
In the meantime, Claudine lost herself in poetry. Permanently placed next to her bed was a love-worn copy of ballads by the trouvères —the courtly poets of medieval times—that a bookseller had given her when he realized her arresting brown eyes could actually read. It was ragged then, and wouldn’t have fetched more than a few sous from the small population interested in his wares. Claudine had read it to the point where the corners were indelibly smudged with her fingerprints. While Emmanuelle read widely, Claudine found solace in the one tome. The depictions of gallant knights and maidens took her away from the tedium of farm life and chores even after hundreds of readings.
The Huron village came into view; rows of longhouses dotted the small clearing. A few men stood at the edge of a large fire, scowling like bears awakened midwinter at the small envoy of French who had just descended upon them.
Nicole stepped down from the wagon first. Claudine waited, her breath caught in her throat, as her sister approached the men. Nicole shook visibly, but stood as proud as the Queen herself.
Please, God, don’t let them be as unfriendly as they look.
Claudine had never seen such a living arrangement in her life. The building was high, even by French standards, and seemed to go on for a solid mile. There were pelts from deer, beaver, bear, and other animals covering nearly every surface of the immense building. It seemed Manon had managed to convince the council to separate the ill into a longhouse by themselves. The sick slept on beds built onto the wall like shelves—not unlike the bunks on the ship they had sailed on from France. The only noises in the longhouse were the wheezing and chattering teeth of the fever-riddled and the crackling of the fire in the pit where Claudine, Nicole, and the others watched Manon tending the contents of her thick cauldron. Nicole stood next to Manon, while the others gathered a step behind her, anxiously awaiting a command from one of them.
“You shouldn’t be here.” Manon barely looked away from the vapors slithering up from her pot as she stirred.
And a welcome to you, too. I guess you’re too good for a wagon-load full of supplies and five pair of helping hands. I won’t be the one holding up the departure if Nicole bids us to leave.
“You need help, Manon,” Nicole said, stepping forward. “Please tell us how we can be useful.”
“By going home. I promise.” Manon’s eyes were framed by sagging dark circles of exhaustion.
“You heard her, Nicole. She doesn’t need our help. I’m sure she’s quite capable of managing things on her own.” Claudine stepped forward and put her hand on Nicole’s arm to lead her back to the safety of the wagon, but her sister would not move.
“Give us something to do,” Nicole implored. Claudine crossed her arms over her chest and restrained a sigh. Nicole’s coolness in public, her composure, was always something Claudine admired; yet in the presence of this common girl, all of that restraint was gone. Nicole was once again the awkward farm girl from Rouen.
“I need more fresh water and yarrow flowers,” Manon said at length, as though speaking a dire confession.
“I’ll fetch the water,” Pascal said at once from the dark corner of the longhouse where he had been lingering in silence, exiting before anyone could call him back. He’s a smart young man, probably trying to keep away from the fever. It’ll be a miracle if we don’t all catch our deaths.
“What does yarrow look like?” Emmanuelle asked. Manon produced a stem with clusters of dainty white flowers like a riot of miniature daisies.
“As much as you can find. It’s the only thing that seems to be helping.”
“Let’s go,” Gabrielle chimed in, gesturing to the door with the basket she held firmly in her right hand. “I think I saw a patch not more than a mile from here along the road when we came in.” Claudine followed Emmanuell
e and Gabrielle, both of whom walked briskly to the main road that connected the Huron village to the French settlement. Anything to be out of there and away from those people. Who knows when they’ll decide they’ve had enough of us and choose to send us on our way by force? Or worse. I doubt her concoction even works. It’ll probably do no more than give them a bitter taste in their mouths and a sour stomach.
As Gabrielle promised, the abundant yarrow patch was a ten-minute walk from Manon’s longhouse. The gentle spring rains and nurturing sun had yielded wildflower patches thicker than Claudine had ever seen.
“Let’s use knives and cut the stems higher up, rather than pulling,” Emmanuelle suggested.
“That will take longer and I don’t want to have to come back for more.” Claudine knelt and began yanking the stems from the ground, roots and all, ignoring Gabrielle’s glare.
“The plants won’t grow back if you aren’t gentle with them,” Gabrielle warned.
“I’m not wasting more time gathering weeds than I absolutely have to.” Claudine gripped another yarrow stem and yanked it from the earth.
“Claudine, the Huron depend on these herbs for their medicine. Treat them carefully.” Emmanuelle sounded so very much like Nicole that Claudine raised her head to see if their older sister had followed the three of them to the clearing. Claudine gritted her teeth at the rebuke. Don’t forget I’m the older sister. Learn your place. But her censure went unvoiced. The world seemed to side with Emmanuelle and there was no winning.
“Fine. You two can sit here rolling in the weeds. I’m going back.”
Claudine thought about walking back to the settlement on her own. Perhaps she could entertain Alexandre with tales of how his wife was carrying on with a pack of savages with no regard for his respectability and position, but town was miles away on a path she didn’t know.
She sat down on a boulder just out of view of Emmanuelle and Gabrielle and let the tears flow down her cheeks. Nicole had told her countless times that she was supposed to be a pillar of the community and the first to volunteer her services to those in need. It was supposed to feel noble and self-sacrificing, not tiresome and aggravating. This isn’t how things were meant to be. I am going to disappoint them both and they’ll send me back to the farm for the rest of my days.
It was another quarter of an hour before Emmanuelle and Gabrielle met Claudine at the boulder where she had been sitting, having gathered enough of the yarrow to satisfy the demand, or so they hoped. To Claudine the overflowing basket looked like a pile of weeds big enough to treat several fever-ridden villages, but she didn’t presume to know what went into the brewing of a tisane to cure fever.
Knowing long walks in cold weather irritated Emmanuelle’s lungs and worsened her limp, Claudine took the overfilled basket and strode ahead. She was almost a hundred yards ahead of her sister and Gabrielle when the longhouse came into view. Thank the Lord we didn’t get lost. I’ll learn to knit blankets for the poor after this so perhaps I might at least be able to be of service to the less fortunate from the comfort of the settee.
Manon sat beside an older woman who lay very ill with the fever. Manon held her hand and muttered words in her native tongue. The woman was petite to begin with, but the glow from sweat and the quaking of her shivering body made her look like a child. A weak child.
“I have your flowers for you,” Claudine announced, trying to call Manon’s attention back to her. Manon simply held up one hand to command silence. Claudine wanted to fling the weeds at Manon’s head in exasperation, but stood frozen to the floor. Nicole stood a few yards away, as transfixed by the scene as she was. Though Nicole was always the center of activity . . . always the one to organize everything . . . she stood immobile and useless. At seeing her sister in such a state, Claudine felt an ache in her stomach as though she were witnessing something unnatural—something wrong—like the dust flying off her father’s barren field when she was a girl.
The fragile woman took a rasping breath, exhaled, and did not take another. Grim faced, Manon closed the woman’s eyes. She stood, took the basket from Claudine, and returned to her cauldron over the fire where she added new flowers to the mixture.
Emmanuelle and Gabrielle now stood next to Claudine, and their eyes followed Manon as well. Claudine found the nerve to look at Nicole and raise a questioning brow. Nicole looked up from the deceased woman and crossed to her and the other girls.
“That woman was Manon’s adoptive mother,” Nicole whispered in explanation. Claudine looked at Manon, kneeling transfixed in front of the simmering cauldron. Poor girl. No one deserves to lose a mother so young. There were no words or gestures that Claudine could conjure up that didn’t sound ridiculous, so she stood in place and waited for someone to offer up an order. It was perhaps the first time in her life she would have been glad of a useful occupation, and consequently, the first time one wasn’t eagerly waiting on the tip of her mother’s or sister’s tongue.
After a few agonizing minutes of standing idle, a few men, mostly older, entered the longhouse. The man at the front was tall and imposing with a face that bore more lines of experience and labor than Claudine had ever seen in her life. He was only a fraction as intimidating as the man to his right. Years younger, several inches taller, and clearly furious, he was not a man Claudine would ever dare to speak to, let alone provoke.
Claudine clutched her skirt to hide the trembling of her hands. Her breath stopped short in her chest, the lack of air causing the fire to take on an eerie halo. We’re all going to die here.
Manon stood and approached the men, no fear discernable in her face. The oldest man spoke a few words in his language, and Manon nodded. The conversation continued a few moments longer, until a young boy, perhaps seven years old, ran to where she stood and flung his arms around Manon’s waist. She spoke several words in return. Though Claudine could parse none of the words, she recognized authority and confidence when she heard it. Were it not for the crackling fear in the air, Claudine was certain she’d feel a prickling of envy at Manon’s bravado.
The men exited the longhouse, the younger man lingering a few moments. He said a few words to Manon, kind ones, if Claudine interpreted correctly. She returned a terse, quiet reply and turned her back to him. The fierce-looking man’s face seemed to soften for a brief moment, but almost as quickly, he resumed his mask of hostility and followed in the footsteps of the tribe’s elders.
Manon knelt before the boy, who now wept openly in her arms. Her brother, Claudine presumed. He buried his face in Manon’s shoulder and sobbed for his mother. Claudine swallowed back some tears, not entirely sure why they were there. This was not her grief.
“Darling, what can we do?” Nicole said at length.
“Help me gather our things and take me into town so I can find work, please.” Manon’s confidence was gone, her words a mere whisper.
“Why?” Claudine blurted out.
“That man was the Chief of this clan. He has ordered me to leave. He believes the fever to be my fault.”
“How positively idiotic . . .” Claudine rolled her eyes in the direction of the door.
“Be that as it may, he is the Chief and I am no longer welcome here. I was only allowed to stay under his sister’s protection as it was, and now that she is gone, I must leave.”
“His own sister is dead and his first act is to banish the child she chose to raise as her own?” Nicole’s jaw set, her teeth visibly clenched. This look never boded well for the person who caused it. This time, Claudine feared her sister’s wrath might bring down the fury of the entire Iroquois nation on the five of them. Calm yourself, sister.
“So it would seem. Would you help me?” Manon’s look was at once proud and pleading. What options did she have but to ask for help? A life foraging in the woods would be no life at all.
“Manon, you needn’t even ask. You will stay with us as long as you wish. We’ll leave at once.”
“Tawendeh must come as well. I promised Mother Onata
h . . .”
“My dearest girl, I could not ask you to abandon your brother. I daresay there is always room for one more in the Lefebvre nursery.”
“Thank you,” Manon whispered.
“Let’s be on our way,” Nicole urged.
Claudine nodded, her agreement as fervent as it had ever been. She, Emmanuelle, and Gabrielle gathered up Manon’s and Tawendeh’s sparse belongings. In all her life, Claudine was never so thrilled to find herself in the back of a rattling wagon on a bumpy road. She hoped for Nicole’s sake her brother-in-law would be as happy with the new additions to his family.
To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
KENSINGTON BOOKS are published by
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Copyright © 2016 by Aimie K. Runyan
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ISBN: 978-1-4967-0112-1
First Kensington Electronic Edition: May 2016
ISBN-13: 978-1-4967-0112-1
ISBN-10: 1-4967-0112-7
Promised to the Crown Page 36
