The Meeting Place (26 page)

Henri shook the rain from his oilskin and draped it over the Belleveaux's front porch railing. Before he could knock upon the door, however, it was opened. “Louise, I thought you were at home!”

“Well, I am here,” she said with a smile that warmed his heart. Those smiles were scarce these days when her mother-heart yearned over their suffering child. “Hello, my love,” she said, putting her arms around him.

He accepted her kiss and embrace, there upon the porch where the night sheltered them from eyes within and without. “What is this, now?”

“Only that I love you very much, Henri dearest.” Her dark eyes shone as she looked up at him. “And that I am proud of you. So very proud.”

Though her eyes were rimmed with sleeplessness and worry, though their life seemed shaken by so many forces at once, still she could look at him with a love that melted his heart. “I do not deserve you,” he whispered into her hair. “Nor this welcome.”

“Oh, but you do.” She grasped his hand and pulled him inside. “Here he is,” she announced to the room.

Henri's entrance was halted a second time by the sight of the crowd in Jacques and Marie's front room. Almost every one of the clan's graybeards was present, they and many wives as well. For some reason his heart began to hammer in his chest. “A good evening to you all,” he finally managed.

“Come sit with us, Henri.” Jacques Belleveau's voice was as strong and firm as Henri had heard in months. “Will you take a hot cider?”

“I have never refused Mama Marie's good drink, and shall not now.” When his smile was not reflected in the faces of those present, he slipped into the chair and wished himself a smaller figure. What on earth had he done to have caused all the clan leaders to gather? And looking so somber.

When Jacques spoke, it was with a cadence as solemn as the gathering. “Henri Robichaud, it has been with great honor that we have welcomed you into our family.”

Henri accepted the pewter mug from Marie but found himself unable to drink. He sat grasping the mug, trying to formulate a response, possibly an apology, for whatever was to come.

As though she understood what her husband was thinking, Louise reached over and laid her hand on his shoulder. He glanced up and was rewarded with a comforting smile and a look of shining pride. He turned back to his father-in-law, more confused than ever.

“This old body of mine has chosen a bad time to fail me,” Jacques went on. “Now, when so much needs attention, I find it will not serve me as it should.”

“I told you not to talk like that,” his wife said crossly.

“It is something that needs saying and is nothing less than the truth,” Jacques replied in his grave manner. “For five months now I have been feeling the winds of a different winter blow through my soul. With God's help I will renew my strength yet again. But I have rested here on my bed, and I have seen the approach of what must someday come to all.”

Henri felt the hand that was holding his shoulder tremble, and the same chill coursed through his own body. He said, “May you know many more years of strength and good cheer, Papa Jacques.”

A murmur of agreement ran about the room. When all were silent again, Jacques continued. “So do I hope as well. But I have lain here and felt all my world shaken. And I have come to realize that my strength is not up to the task ahead.”

Henri's eyes opened wide with panic at what he sensed was coming. “Papa Jacques, please—”

“Let me have my say, Henri. I and the men gathered here have spoken long, and we are in agreement. It is unanimous. The clan needs a younger man at its head. One with the strength to meet whatever comes.”

Henri sat in a silence so great the fire's crackling sounded like musket shots in the room. He looked at his wife. How could he accept, when there was so much weakness in him? When thinking came so hard, when finding answers to life's questions seemed so elusive?

His gaze was drawn to where the vicar sat, there against the far corner, almost lost in shadows. The man's strong gaze held him fast, and Henri found himself recalling an earlier discussion. One where the vicar had told him to find strength and wisdom from Louise and from God. At the time, the words had seemed meaningless. Now it was as though the vicar had been preparing him for this moment all along.

Henri turned back to meet his father-in-law's gaze. As he did, a second thought struck him hard. Perhaps it was more true to say that
Another
had been preparing him.

“It is our clan's way to pass the position of elder to one man,” Jacques Belleveau intoned, the words clearly spoken from rote. “For there are times when decisions must be made swiftly, and a gathering cannot be called. The elder is
asked
to seek the wisdom of all, but ultimately the decision is his and his alone.”

Henri's heart was thudding so hard he was surprised no one else in the room seemed to notice.

Jacques went on. “Henri Robichaud, will you accept the clan's leadership?”

Henri felt his wife squeezing his shoulder tightly, communicating silently her belief in him. He took a breath, one that held time for him to feel his life shift to a new axis. Truly, it was Someone unseen who had been busy preparing
him
.

“I will,” he replied. “With God's help, I will.”

Chapter 21

Catherine had brought her baby to show around to her quilting friends. She waited until the end of the afternoon gathering to approach the vicar's wife. Norma Patrick met her with a smile and eyes only for the infant. “Oh, isn't she growing up big and beautiful, yes, such a sweet baby. Look at that smile!”

Catherine handed over the bundle without being asked. “She likes you, Mrs. Patrick. Anyone can see that.”

“Oh, she likes everybody, doesn't she? Yes, such a little angel.” She chuckled as the baby cooed back to her. “I declare I don't think I have ever seen a happier baby.”

Catherine felt herself warm with pleasure. “I was wondering if you might be willing to look after her for tomorrow afternoon.”

“Why, of course—”

“Going for another of your long mysterious walks, are you, Catherine Harrow?”

The two women turned as one, startled by the snappish tone. Catherine found herself facing Matty Dwyer, the wife of the village drover. While she was called to many sick beds, he carted wagons back and forth to Chelmsford market for the farmers, transported some of the fort's incoming supplies, and did a bit of gardening upon land which always looked to be lost to weeds. The woman's chin and nose both pointed like accusing fingers as she said, “Uncommon strange how you're always off wandering about, isn't it?”

“It's not the least bit strange.” The pastor's wife came swiftly to her defense. “Anyone who is housebound with a new baby needs to get away occasionally. It's only healthy.”

Catherine smiled her gratitude to Norma Patrick, but nonetheless felt a sudden chill seep into the village's great room. There with the children and the laughter and the women and the talk, there among the friends she had known all her life, Catherine found herself caught by foreboding.

But her voice was steady as she said, “I love walking in the woods.”

“Aye, and I say that's uncommon strange, how you come back after hours alone, your dress wet and your boots muddy.”

“And I say you had best watch your tongue, Matty Dwyer.” Kindly Norma Patrick was seldom seen to exhibit anger, but there was a dangerous spark now in her eyes. “It isn't so long ago that you were warned about your peevish nature.”

The woman was all angles and sharp pointy edges, and she held her ground with, “There's not a thing wrong with asking a simple question. Especially in times like these, when the village needs to know we're safe and protected from the likes of Indians and Frenchies and turncoats.” The accusing gaze returned to Catherine. “I say it's right for the village to know where she goes and who she talks with. For all we know, she could be spending her days nattering away with them Frenchies over Minas way. Who knows what she might be saying to them? Wonder what them soldiers up in Halifax would say if they heard news such as that, how the wife of their adored young officer is off consorting with the enemy.”

Catherine felt as though a fist had clenched her middle and could only hope the alarm did not show on her face. Thankfully, Norma Patrick saved her from needing to answer. Gently the pastor's wife handed the wriggling bundle back to Catherine before drawing herself up to full height. “Now, you mind your speech, Matty, else you find yourself brought before the congregation and churched.”

Catherine hid her anxiety by leaning over the baby. She had never known anyone churched since her childhood, seldom even heard it discussed. It was one of the village's worst punishments, as banishment from the congregation also meant being shut out from the great room and every social connection within their little community.

The warning was enough to back Matty Dwyer up a step. “I still say it's uncommon strange,” she muttered, turning away.

“Be off with you, now,” Norma Patrick responded. “And watch where you wag that tongue of yours.”

The two women watched Matty leave the great room before Norma mused, “Now, I wonder what on earth has gotten into her?”

“She frightens me,” Catherine admitted. She didn't explain that the sarcastic jibe about Andrew was the most frightening of all.

“Nonsense, child.” The pastor's wife brought out the reassuring smile Catherine had known for so long. “There is nothing wrong with going for walks in the forest.” Yet there was a new keenness to her gaze as she hesitated, then asked, “That's all you are doing, isn't it?”

“I gather flowers, and berries when they are in season.” Catherine struggled to keep her voice light and steady. “And mushrooms after the rains. Andrew loves mushrooms.”

“And you are a fine wife. You say you'd like me to keep the little one for you tomorrow?”

“Just for a while, if it's no trouble.”

“How could such a little angel be any bother?” Norma's smile was full of warmth now. “Bring her by anytime after the midday meal.”

Catherine said her good-byes around the room, trying to show no haste as she took her leave. Only when she was far down the lane toward her home did she permit herself to draw a shaky breath, and stop to allow the strength to flood back into her weakened legs.
Churched
. Her darkest nightmares had come to life in there. Would they church
her
if they knew she was visiting with a Frenchwoman? Perhaps. No, not perhaps. Most certainly. Not to mention what would happen to Andrew's military career. Catherine pressed the cooing bundle closer and hurried toward her home. How would she ever survive the shame, the isolation of being cut off from the village and all the people she knew and needed? Maybe she should not go.

And yet, and yet. She turned down the side lane, which meandered around the great old chestnut, now turning bright green with the season's fresh bounty of new leaves, and reflected that there was no way she could deny Louise. Not in her hour of need.

When she passed through the door into her own home a shiver passed through her entire body.

She settled the baby into the cradle by the fire, then went about preparing their evening meal. Her actions came almost by rote, as her mind whirled with the events of the afternoon and the accusation.

Through the open window she heard a familiar tread, and hastily Catherine patted her hair into place and wiped her hands upon her apron as she went to greet her husband.

When Andrew entered his doorway, he looked as weary as Catherine had ever seen him. More than weary. He looked defeated. She rushed to him and cried, “What is it?”

Andrew shook his head. “Just a long day.”

She could look at him and see it was something else. But she held back from pressing for an answer. He needed comfort and rest. “Come sit by the fire.”

He dropped into the chair by the baby's bed, and watched his daughter play with a rattle as Catherine helped him with his boots. “Thank you, my dear. You don't know what it means to have this home to come to, especially on such a day as this.”

She let a hand trail lightly down the side of his face, wishing there was some way to erase all the questions and concerns she had of her own. “Are you ready to eat?”

“Food, yes. Then rest.” He fumbled with the buttons to his summer coat. “I feel as though I could sleep for a century and still not rise with an easy heart.”

She clasped her hands to herself. “Oh, Andrew, something dreadful has happened. I know it!”

For once her husband did not answer her directly. Instead, he turned his gaze toward the open window, staring out past the nearby shrubbery to where the hillside had been turned a burnished gold by the fading day. “Every day since my return from Annapolis Royal, I have felt as though I was waking from a dream—no, a nightmare.”

Silently she lowered herself into a chair from which she could watch her husband without distracting him. His face looked stricken, an expression she had never known before. When he went on, it was to the diminishing light beyond their little home. “There has been such peace here. We have not even had an attack upon our trails in over four years. I hear of the perils and difficulties faced by some of our other settlements, and it seems as though I am listening to news from a different world. One which belongs more to England than to our land. Here there is only peace. Here there is only …”

He turned to her then, eyes shadowed with sorrow. In a voice as solemn as the tolling of a funeral bell, he said, “We have attacked and taken Fort Beausejour.”