“We’ll go confess,” Godefroy replied dryly. “It amounts to the same thing.”
“Very well, that’s better than nothing. By the sounds of things, you are in need of it.”
Radisson was sorry that his master and his adoptive father were at loggerheads with each other. But he did not interfere. He preferred to watch the fair Anne. She was amused at how the pair brought out the worst in each other; this wasn’t the first time they had clashed over nothing. Leaning over a broad plank of wood that was attached to the wall by the fireplace, she was nimbly cutting vegetables. Iron pots and utensils hung beside her. That was the women’s corner. Women made all the difference to a home, bringing as much comfort, warmth, and light as the fire. Anne seemed so nice, and just as strong as her mother.
Ragueneau was already getting up to leave. He would come back to preach another time. Anne thanked him for his visit and assured him she would be a regular at mass that Advent.
“We girls will be ready,” her mother chipped in. “Don’t you worry.”
“Thank you. Christmas is such a beautiful festival, a time of hope, of life just beginning. And this year I have a surprise for you. It’s going to be the best Christmas you have ever had in Trois-Rivières. You have my word!”
Radisson was in no hurry to leave. He took his time saying goodbye to the fair Anne and his heart gave a leap when she returned his smile and looked him square in the eye. As he walked out the door, Godefroy threw him an inquiring glance.
“No news,” Radisson whispered to him on the way past.
“Make sure he gets some time off!” Godefroy shouted at Father Ragueneau as he walked away. “He’s not a servant, Radisson! He’d better not lose everything he learned with the Iroquois! Once there’s enough snow, I’ll bring him moose hunting with me!”
Chapter 7
Winter in the village
After checking that the church door was locked, as his master required of him, Radisson put each of the three wooden statues that had arrived from Québec two months earlier on their respective pedestals. Ragueneau had kept them in reserve to put a little extra sparkle into the Christmas ceremonies. Radisson then spread straw through the temporary stable at the front of the church. It would house a living nativity scene, just like they had in France.
The Jesuit would have liked to keep the whole thing a secret right to the end, but he wasn’t able to set everything up quickly enough. His parishioners had discovered the half-built stable and the empty pedestals a few days earlier. Now he was happy: the rumour had spread around the village that a special midnight mass was being planned and everyone was looking forward to taking part.
Ragueneau came by to see how the work was progressing.
“It’s missing a little sparkle, don’t you think? The birth of Christ should really shine forth for all to see! What do you say we put all the candles we can find in the chancel?”
“Good idea.”
“What could we put on the stable roof? The Bible tells us there were angels playing the trumpet.”
Radisson thought for a moment. He didn’t see how he was going to come up with angels or trumpets.
“We could add balsam boughs,” he suggested, “like we put in our shelters. People are used to that. It would make it homely.”
Ragueneau wasn’t taken by the idea.
“Hmmm. We don’t have much choice, so go ahead and add the balsam boughs. But hurry: I still have an important task for you, a secret for you to keep. See me in my office when you have finished.”
* * *
The church was full to bursting. The three statues, the decorated stable, and the fifty or so candles had the desired effect. The habitants were dazzled by the spectacle and prayed devoutly. Charles Aubuchon, Jeanne Godefroy, and Guillaume Côté sang a hymn. Françoise and Claude walked down the central aisle and took their place in the stable as Mary and Joseph. Who better to embody the hope of a better future? Françoise was moved. Her fiancé was honoured.
Radisson hid in the sacristy until the sermon, as Ragueneau had asked him to, eager to pull off something really special. He held the precious object he was to carry tight against him, surprised by how realistic it looked. He kept an eye on the priest through the doorway.
“What could be more extraordinary than the birth of a child?” Ragueneau asked, beginning his sermon. “A family needs a child to go and help with its share of the work. A child provides assurance that the family line will go on. A child provides security to its parents once their hard work is done.
“But when this child is our living God made man, when it’s Jesus Christ our Lord come to save us and atone for our sins, then our joy has no end! Little baby Jesus, so fragile today, so dependent on his parents—represented here by our dear Claude and Françoise, who are getting married in a few days’ time—this baby Jesus is the greatest gift that God could give us.
“The Lord, who inspires us all, will be our reward at the hour of our death, when he welcomes those among us who have earned it into the kingdom of heaven. Let us rejoice, my brothers! For at this very moment, Jesus is among us.”
That was the signal! Radisson rushed out to Ragueneau and handed him a precious object wrapped in a blanket for the priest to reveal to the congregation: an incredibly lifelike little baby Jesus made of wax. The priest held it out and looked down at it. The congregation gasped as one in surprise and admiration. Slowly, the Jesuit walked around the church, showing off the newborn. Radisson followed his every step, holding candles to light the baby.
“Come admire the Saviour born to us,” Ragueneau repeated. “Let us rejoice.”
The women blessed themselves. Some were crying. The doll was like a real little baby: clean, smiling, free of pain. The men were also moved. Ragueneau walked through the congregation so that everyone could see for themselves.
“Admire him,” he kept repeating. “Adore the God made man to save you.”
He at last set the baby down in the cradle in the stable, beside Françoise and Claude, who were feeling overwhelmed in their role as the holy parents. Françoise was crying. Claude didn’t know what to do to console her. As the priest performed the rite of transubstantiation, the congregation gathered their thoughts. Rarely had the ritual seemed so real to Ragueneau. When the time came for communion, he really felt as though he were giving the body and blood of Christ to each person. His soul soared still further when Charles Aubuchon sang a French hymn in his fine deep voice:
Dans cette étable
Que Jésus est charmant
Qu’il est aimable
Dans son abaissement…
In this stable
How delightful Jesus is
How lovely
In his humbling…
The congregation sang along with the chorus enthusiastically. What a beautiful mass! It was one he would remember for a long time. Opposite the altar, Ragueneau put away the hosts, thanking God for having inspired the ceremony. He could feel divine mercy coming down on his suffering and the suffering of the community. It heartened him. Radisson was moved, too.
Ending the mass, Father Ragueneau asked everyone to pray for his friend Le Moyne and all the other Frenchmen celebrating Christmas at the same moment with the Iroquois. In his heart of hearts, he implored the heavens for a lasting peace and hoped he would be able to join them.
* * *
The people of Trois-Rivières celebrated New Year’s Day exuberantly, following years of dire poverty. They drank to the New Year with hope in their hearts. God willing, a new dawn had come at last! Many were even prepared to put their discontent with the Jesuits behind them after the wonderful Christmas that Ragueneau had given them. They wanted to believe the mission would be a success, that things were looking up for the colony. Alcohol flowed like water.
The celebrations were little more than a dress rehearsal for all those getting ready to mark the wedding of Claude and Françoise. Despite the inevitable petty jealousies, people were happy to see them together. It was c
ommonly thought that Saint Claude, the lucky man, was fully deserving of his Françoise.
* * *
On the morning of the wedding, the betrothed was no longer sure of her decision.
“It’s too late to change your mind now,” Marguerite told her as she helped her get ready. “Claude will make a good husband. Don’t worry. I know him. You couldn’t have found a better man.”
Françoise couldn’t help but worry her life might suddenly take a turn for the worse.
“Dry those tears! It’s not worth crying over. You need to take a man in hand. As soon as he’s good to you and he’s as happy as can be, you can be happy. They don’t call him Saint Claude for nothing! He’s a good man. He has a good head on his shoulders and he hardly ever drinks. That’s important: the less he bends his elbow, the happier you’ll be.”
“Maybe I should’ve gone with Aubuchon. He would have stayed home with me the whole time. Claude’s going to be out in the bush. I’ll worry about him.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, sister of mine. It’s not going to take long for you to realize just how much of a nuisance a man can be. When he leaves, you’ll have peace and quiet. You’ll be in charge. No one bothering you or telling you what to do. And when he comes back, you’ll be glad to see him. It’s for the best.”
“You didn’t love Véron? You didn’t want him to stay home with you?”
“I loved everything about him. He worked hard, he was helpful, good to me. It hurt a lot when he died. But I was still happy for him to go away now and then—and happier still when he came back! A husband who’s not always hanging about the house is just perfect. And it helps in bed too, believe me.”
Françoise looked away. Talking about sex made her uncomfortable. She wasn’t in as much of a rush as other women she knew to sleep with a man. She had spent so long in the church, with her mother, with the nuns…
“That’s why you chose another coureur des bois?”
“There’s not a man as brave as Médard Chouart,” replied Marguerite, standing up. “And that’s the way I like it. I don’t want to lose my second husband. We get attached to them, you know! Médard might be reckless sometimes, but I know he’s going to come back.”
Françoise felt her strength return.
* * *
Radisson couldn’t bring himself to be happy. He had even been irritated by Ragueneau, who wouldn’t stop going on about how glad he was to be celebrating Claude and Françoise’s marriage, sharing in the hope it brought to the community, with everyone looking forward to the patter of tiny feet. Radisson should have refused to be a witness. That way he wouldn’t have had a front-row seat to something he couldn’t have for himself.
As soon as the ceremony was over, he went outside into the freezing air. He vowed to at least celebrate as much as he liked, no matter what Ragueneau might think. There was only so much he could take of being a good boy.
The happy couple had the honour of being received by Pierre Godefroy as they went into Claude Volant’s home, where the wedding banquet was to be held. The chests and table had been put away, but there were so many guests they had to be pushed right to the back of the house. The only two chairs were for the newlyweds. They sat by the fireplace in the small area where Marguerite and Jeanne Godefroy were preparing the first wedding meal, perspiring heavily under their bonnets, heavy dresses, and long aprons.
Since Françoise had no dowry and Claude was his favourite officer of the militia, Pierre Godefroy had a gift for them: a fox fur blanket—said to be the warmest there was—for their bed. Guests had also brought along crockery and made food for the banquet.
Portions of pork stew began to be handed around the lively crowd. Plenty of bread followed, freshly baked that morning, white and tender. Everyone tore off a hunk before passing the loaf on to the next person. Guests raised cups and pitchers of eau-de-vie above their heads to wish happiness and many children to the married couple. Radisson had rarely seen so much elation concentrated in such a small space. People were still careful not to drink too much, though, since Ragueneau was expected from one minute to the next.
When the Jesuit arrived, Claude Volant gave him his chair. He was served a portion of stew and several guests came over to greet him. He had trouble eating there were so many polite remarks to be exchanged. Ragueneau then gave the couple some good Christian advice and again wished them much happiness and many children, sincerely because he was very fond of both.
Since he felt a little like a father to Françoise, next he unwrapped the gift he had brought in lieu of a dowry: a wooden crucifix to hang above the front door, prunes from France straight out of his personal stash, and three écus.
“Your father would have given much more, of that I am quite certain, but I cannot take his place and these three écus, which I have blessed, are like the Holy Trinity. They will bring you both luck and protect you.”
Ragueneau did not linger long, because it was not done for a priest to attend a wedding banquet. There would be excesses that he preferred to have no knowledge of, a diabolical, contagious madness he could already feel in the air, which, fortunately, would last no more than a few days. Opposing it would be futile, even dangerous to his authority. And he knew it. On his way out, he gave Françoise a kiss as the men protested, at last given an opportunity to poke fun at him for his relationship with his attractive housekeeper without committing the sin of spreading malicious gossip. He slipped out after embracing Claude.
As soon as the priest had left the house, the guests whooped with joy. The party was well and truly underway. Claude Volant passed around more pitchers of eau-de-vie in all directions. He took Françoise by the waist and twirled her around, bumping into those around them. In the twinkling of an eye, thirty people were up dancing, the floor sagging dangerously beneath their feet. God only knew how so many guests managed to wriggle around in such a small space with no one being crushed. The others beat time, shouting out and clapping their hands. Claude’s cousin Mathurin Volant, singing at the top of his lungs beside the front door, could barely be heard. He intended to stick close to the door all night to make sure no jealous men tried to spoil the party or, worse, put a jinx on the married couple.
People sang back and forth. Dancers came and went on the dance floor. Radisson let himself get caught up in the jubilation and swayed to the music. He spotted Françoise among the dancers and thought he had never seen her looking so happy. Marguerite and Jeanne Godefroy cooked on with another housewife who had just arrived. The women had stirred up the fire, which was now roaring with light and warmth. It was like being in an overheated house in the middle of summer. Mathurin opened the door to let some of the heat out. A handful of men went outside to drink. Mathurin kept an eye on the comings and goings without touching a drop of alcohol. Radisson meanwhile gave in to a few fiery sips of eau-de-vie.
As soon as Marguerite stepped away from the hearth to get some fresh air, three men swarmed around her.
“You’re a fool to wait for Médard,” one of them said. “He’s not coming back! I’d make a much better husband.”
“Leave me alone!” she retorted.
“All you have to do is say yes,” another added. “I’ll give you everything I own. Say yes, Marguerite. You’re never going to see Médard again.”
“Clear out!”
The third brazenly pinched her butt.
“Keep your paws off!” she cried, shoving him back.
Already drunk, the man grabbed Marguerite by the shoulder to keep his balance.
“Been a while since you’ve had a man between your thighs, I’d say. Go on, you know you want it.”
“Don’t you touch me, you drunk!” she said again, shoving him harder this time. “Not if you were the last man in Hell…”
The man fell over, dropping his cup. Marguerite grabbed the poker and brandished it at all three of them.
“The next man to say Médard isn’t coming back and I’ll make mincemeat out of him!”
Radisson had seen the altercation and edged his way across the room.
“Everything all right, Sis?”
“Don’t worry, Pierre. I know how to stick up for myself. But if you like, you can throw that one outside. I’m sick of the sight of him!”
Big Latouche tried to sneak away, but he had trouble picking himself up. Radisson grabbed him by the collar and dragged him to the door. The other two admirers slipped off without having to be asked twice. Radisson let off some steam on the drunk, who was trying to wriggle free. He gave him a shake.
“Open the door so he can get some air,” he said to Mathurin.
Then he threw him as hard as he could out into the snow.
“Don’t let me catch you sniffing around my sister again. Otherwise you’ll have me to deal with!”
He turned to Mathurin:
“Don’t let him back in. The party’s over for him.”
“You can count on it. You won’t see him inside again.”
Back in the house, Radisson noticed Anne Godefroy had joined the three women to serve the next meal. How had she gotten in? He hadn’t seen her come in. But she looked amazing! That much was clear. She attracted him, like magnetic north pulls the needle on a compass. He wanted to go up and speak to her, but he wasn’t too sure how to go about it.
Why not help the women hand out the food? He picked up bowls and plates and piled them by the hearth. Once they were full, he passed them around, going back and forth to the fireplace. Each time he got close to Anne, his desire for her increased. He almost dropped a pile of plates when she grabbed him by the shoulder and shouted “Watch out!” to make sure a clumsy oaf didn’t bump into him. His chest was on fire. She was so strong, responsible, industrious, full of life, cheerful, good-looking, kind… A couple of times, he saw young Côté, her betrothed, who had no more to offer the fair Anne than he had. Far from it. If he hadn’t undertaken to serve the Jesuits, he might have stood a chance. He was going to try his luck anyway. He took a big gulp of eau-de-vie, which left him dizzy.
The Adventures of Radisson. Back to the New World Page 13
