Acadian Star (7 page)
“What are you talking about?” Meg shook her head in disbelief.
“Where is the shell I gave you?” Tante Perle asked.
Meg took the shell out of her pocket and thrust it towards her. Tante Perle took it carefully into her hands.
“Friendship is like an oyster shell. It takes two parts to make it whole. But once that bond is broken, a small fissure can turn into a permanent crack.” Tante Perle paused and held Meg's gaze. “Then, the magic is lost.”
“Are you for real?” Meg shook her head.
“Oh, this is real, I assure you.” She handed the shell back to Meg. “I needed to bring you here so you would understand what would happen if you fail. You must go back even further in time for your real work to begin.”
“I'm not going anywhere, especially not with you.” Meg stuffed the shell back in her pocket, barely able to contain her rage. “I can't believe you tricked me into feeling sorry for you. All this time, you were planning this, weren't you?”
“I had to do it. Everything depends on you, Marguerite.”
“Stop saying that. And whatever you did to get me hereâundo it.”
“Two more minutes on deck!” A soldier called.
“We don't have much time. This will explain everything.” Tante Perle tucked a rumpled piece of paper in Meg's apron pocket.
“What's this?” Meg asked.
Tante Perle clutched her hand as Meg reached for her pocket.
“Read it later, when you're alone.”
“No, you tell me now! How do I get back to Picasse Bay?” Meg whispered.
“Not until you do what I brought you here for. You can make a difference here. You're our last hope.”
“What exactly am I supposed to do, wrestle these guys to the ground? They have guns! I'm just a kid!” Meg whispered.
“You can't change history, Marguerite, but you can keep a friend from being snatched away from you.”
With that, Tante Perle brought her shawl back over her face, and with lightning speed, heaved herself over the ship's railing.
“No!!!” Meg grabbed at her as she fell. Tante Perle's frail form slipped through her hands. There was a sickening splash, then she was gone. All that remained was her knitted shawl, dangling over the water from Meg's finger.
The people in the rowboat gasped in horror.
“She'll drown!”
“Help her!”
A few people on deck prepared to jump in after Tante Perle. The soldier fixed his rifle upon them and stopped them in their tracks.
The girl who looked like Nève brought her hand to her mouth in dismay.
“Do something! Save her from drowning!” Meg yelled to the soldier steering the rowboat below.
Recognition flashed in the girl's face. She craned her neck back and forth as if searching for the source of Meg's voice.
“Marguerite?”
At the sound of the name, Meg's whole body seemed to prickle as if shrouded by a layer of electrical shocks. Her ears thumped with pulsing blood. For the first time in her life, the name seemed to awaken something deep within her.
“Is that you? Marguerite!”
Meg wanted to yellâno! She was Meg, not Marguerite.
Wasn't she?
But there was no time for that, Tante Perle was in trouble.
“Help her!” Meg yelled.
“That is just about enough of this foolishness.” A soldier grabbed Meg by the arm and hauled her away from the railing.
“Let them save her!” Meg cried.
“Do not be daft,” the soldier sneered. “Nothing can be done. She will never survive in these waters.”
“Then help the people on the rowboat, at least! My friend is on it. Let them board! Please!”
“Turn that boat around, I said!” the soldier called down over the railing. “We are not taking on any more passengers!”
With that, the other soldiers sprang into action and herded the Acadians towards the hatch. “Time is up! Down below, everyone.”
Meg stood, wooden. She willed her legs to go, but they stayed planted. What would happen to Tante Perle? Had she drowned? Was she dead? And what about the girl in the rowboat?
“Go!” The soldier jabbed the butt of his rifle into Meg's back. She stumbled forward into the group. They steadied her and kept her from falling. Numb with grief and confusion, she moved as one with them back to the hatch.
In moments, Meg found herself grasping at the ladder's splintered rungs as she headed down, down into the dark, dank belly of the ship.
M
EG CLUTCHED
T
ANTE
P
ERLE'S SHAWL
to her chest. She sat wedged between her fellow Acadian captives in the darkness of the lower deck.
Her link to getting back to Picasse Bay had just jumped into the ocean. The rowboat holding the only other familiar face Meg knew had been turned away to find passage on another ship.
Was this her new reality? This warped dream? There was no way this could be real. Somehow she had to get back to her time, to her home in Picasse Bay. But how?
A putrid mixture of odours attacked the back of her throat. Her ears ached with the muted din and strangled whispers of the strangers around her. Meg had never felt so alone among so many.
She pulled Tante Perle's shawl over her head to block out the stench and the whimpers that hung in the air. The rough knitted wool provided a moment of haven. All she wanted to do was escape.
The oyster shell in Meg's apron pocket jabbed at her hip. She pulled it out and held it in her hand. Would Tante Perle somehow make it back to Picasse Bay alive? Would Meg? Would she ever see her mother and father again? Or Nève, for that matter?
Meg didn't care what it took. She had to figure out a way out of there.
The air in the hold of the ship was thick and close. Meg tried hard to breathe to clear her mind. She closed her eyes to will her thoughts and felt the smooth, inner surface of the oyster shell as she searched for an answer. What was she supposed to do now? How much more time did she have to spend in this nightmare?
A familiar wooziness made her head sway. Red, white, and blue pinpoints of light danced behind her eyelids. Just like when she had hit her head in the cellar. What was happening? Was she�
The dizziness kept her from completing her train of thought.
“Mar-gue-rite!” a voice called out.
Meg froze. She dropped the shell into her lap and braced her hands against the floor, expecting to feel the rough wooden floorboards of the ship. Instead, her palms touched straw.
Her hands flew up in shock.
What was happening?
She yanked the shawl from her head and tossed it to the side. A curl sprang from her hairline as the fabric pulled tendrils from her braid. She blew it back from her face and looked around, letting her eyes adjust to the light.
Light. Sunlight. From a window. But it had been nighttime just moments before!
Meg slipped the shell back into her pocket and scrambled to her feet, careful not to bump her head on the low ceiling. To her surprise, she drew herself to full height. Her feet stood planted firmly on the straw-covered floor below. The pitch and heave of the ocean was gone. The dozens of people she had shared the space with just moments before had vanished.
The odour and noises from below deck were replaced with equally unpleasant ones. Manure? Wet animals? Had they boarded livestock while she was on the upper deck?
“Honestly, Marguerite, you're not very good at this game. I can hear you from down here! Surely you must have known we would search for you in the barn,” the voice sang out from below.
A barn? Was she up in some type of loft? What had happened to the ship?
A flicker of grey zipped by her with a squeak. A mouse!
Meg jumped back in surprise. The floor disappeared from under her feet and she plummeted downward through the loft's opening. Meg tightened her body, ready for the impact. Instead, a mound of prickly hay enveloped her as she landed.
She drew the straw away from her eyes and saw the familiar girl from the rowboat standing in the doorway, holding a little boy's hand. The little boy wriggled out of the girl's grip and ran after a scruffy cat pouncing across the barn.
“What's the matter? First day on your new feet?” The girl's eyes twinkled as she smiled. She tucked a strand of golden hair behind her ear.
“Nève?” Meg asked. The resemblance was uncanny.
The girl put a hand to her hip and stared past Meg.
“You know I hate when you do that. Yesterday it was Ginette, today it's Nève. Really, Marguerite, your head is in the clouds these days. Why can't you just call me by my real name? Ge-ne-viève,” she stressed each syllable.
“Geneviève?” The name sounded odd on Meg's lips. Geneviève. Meg sat up and blew a piece of straw from the corner of her mouth.
“I swear, Marguerite, you've been acting so peculiar these past couple of days,” Geneviève said.
“Oh, sorry, it's just that⦔ What could she say? Meg tried to clear her head. For some reason, Geneviève knew her as Marguerite. If she had any hope of getting back to Picasse Bay, she was going to have to play the part.
“Marguerite! Geneviève! Joseph!
Dans la maison!
” a shrill voice called in the distance.
Geneviève's back straightened.
“Your maman wants us in the house. Maybe she has news.” She turned to go. “Joseph! Get Mache-couine and come!”
The boy tucked the cat under his arm and took her hand. They disappeared out the door.
Meg assessed her situation. Still alive. Still breathing. Patting her arms and body, she made sure everything was still in place.
A hard lump from her apron met her hand. Meg pulled the oyster shell from her apron. A piece of paper came with it, crinkling between her fingers.
Tante Perle's note!
M
EG'S HANDS FUMBLED TO UNFOLD THE PAPER
. Could this contain the answers she was looking for? Would the note tell her what she needed to do to get back to Picasse Bay? She dropped the shell in her lap and read Tante Perle's words.
Ma belle Marguerite,
The first Marguerite could not keep Geneviève from being
separated and put on a different ship during the Acadian
Deportation. This has left a curse on the Gallant family ever since.
Marguerites throughout the generations have been sent back
in time to fix this mistake and failed. My failure cost me my
dear Ginette. Yours may cost you Nève.
You are our last hope. The magic is in danger of being lost. If
you fail, the Gallant legacy of broken friendships will remain
with our family forever.
Tante Perle
P.S. Think on your feet and you will find the answer.
Meg stared at the paper. A rush of thoughts scrambled in her mind. The first Marguerite? She scanned the message again.
