Acadian Star (9 page)
But how could she help Geneviève, Meg wondered, when all she wanted to do was help herself?
T
HE DAY GREW HEAVY WITH DREAD
as Madame Galland packed the family's belongings in the wooden trunk. She busied herself with cleaning their clothing and preparing the food they could transport.
Meg contemplated what to do next as she watched Madame Galland weigh each decision. The woman's face furrowed in deep thought as she considered what should go and what should stay. Each article she chose to leave behind she held for a moment and then set aside. Each precious item she couldn't bear to part with was wrapped thoughtfully in linens and placed in the wooden trunk.
Geneviève rocked Daniel's cradle at the far side of the room. Meg kept Joseph busy making tiny dolls out of straw and string. Mache-couine, the cat, lay sprawled across the little boy's lap. The calm before the storm, Meg thought. Tomorrow, this family's life would change forever.
“This one is you, Margit.” Joseph held out one of the straw dolls for Meg to see. His eyelashes were impossibly long, his voice so heartbreakingly sweet.
“Which one is you?” Meg asked.
“This is me, and the big one is Papa,” he pronounced. “I'll give it to him when I see him on the ship.”
Meg felt a ripple of sorrow course through her. She knew it was very possible that Joseph would never see his father again. But looking into those doe-like eyes, Meg couldn't bear the thought.
Stop! she told herself.
She couldn't allow herself to keep getting sucked into this family's plight. Even if it was true that she had been transported into the past, this was not her world. Joseph was not her brother. And most of all, no matter what Tante Perle said, Geneviève and this family were
not
her responsibility.
Meg stood and began to pace the room.
“Marguerite,” Madame Galland held up a china platter, “this belongs to Madame Douaron. She brought it here when we mourned Geneviève's mother. Please take it back to her.”
Meg couldn't contain her agitation as she took the platter in her hands. “What does it matter? Everyone is being shipped off tomorrow. She probably won't be able to take it with her, anyway.”
Madame Galland shook out a piece of cloth with a sharp snap. “It does matter. Everything matters. And it is not for us to decide what Madame Douaron takes and what she leaves behind.” She folded the cloth with precise, thoughtful movements. Her voice softened. “
Vas-y
. Straight there and back, you understand? And take Geneviève with you.”
Fine, Meg thought. She took Geneviève by the arm and exited the house to the yard. This was exactly the opportunity she needed.
She couldn't bear another minute in that timeâthat place. It was all just a facade, anyway. If she could just get time alone to think, to really concentrate, Meg was convinced that she could will herself out of this crazy dream. When she did, she was sure that all thoughts and images of the Acadian Deportation would fall away. Then she would be back in Picasse Bay, with her family, with Nève, where she belonged.
Mache-couine slipped through the door as Meg shut it and sat on the front step to lick his paw.
“Here, take this.” Meg pressed the platter to Geneviève's chest and brought the girl's arm up to hold it.
“Very well, but can we go somewhere else before we return this?”
“Don't worry, I'm not taking you to Madame Douaron's,” Meg said.
“Oh, good. I don't want to go there either.” Geneviève shifted the platter and offered her other arm for Meg to guide her.
Meg's face twisted in confusion. She took Geneviève's arm and directed her back to the front door. “No, you just stay here. Wait a few minutes, then go back into the house. I need to go.”
“Are you thinking of going to the church, too?” Geneviève asked. “Thank goodness! I thought I would have to convince you to go find our papas. I have been trying to think of how to get away all day, but of course your maman would think it unsafe.”
Meg stared at Geneviève. “The church?”
“Oh, I know the soldier said the men have already been boarded, but we at least have to go to the church to see if they are still there.”
“No!” Meg dropped Geneviève's arm and stepped down the front stairs.
Mache-couine rose at the commotion, rounded his back in a stretch, then streaked up the hill.
“I'm not taking you to the church. I'm not taking you anywhere. Just do as I say and go back inside.”
Geneviève held a hand in mid-air as if searching for Meg. “But I need you, Marguerite. You are the only one who can help me. You know your maman would not allow it.”
Meg tried to ignore Geneviève's pleas. She watched the blur of the cat as it headed for the barn. That's where she'd go, she thought to herself, to the place where this part of the journey began.
“I can't help you, Geneviève.” Meg took one last look at Geneviève's bewildered expression. Her mind turned to Nève and her life back in Picasse Bay. “I'm sorry,” she whispered, then turned and ran up the hill to the barn.
“Marguerite!” Geneviève called, but Meg willed her legs forward. She had to escape from this nightmare. Her legs burned as she raced up the hill, the wool of her skirt chafing her bare skin as she ran. She swallowed against the hard lump at the back of her throat as she thought of the family she was leaving behind.
But no matter what Tante Perle said, there was nothing Meg could do to help. And why should she risk her life, anyway? Even if she didn't do anything, when she eventually made it back to Picasse Bay, everything would still be back to normal.
Except normal meant Nève moving away. And what about Tante Perle? Would she be there when Meg returned? Either way, Meg couldn't just wait around to be deported with the others.
She dashed into the barn and scrambled up the ladder to the loft. Heaving with each breath, she pulled out the oyster to examine it; the crack had crept farther across the shell. Who knew how much longer the magic would last? She needed to get out of there; she had wasted enough time already.
Meg closed her eyes and held the shell between her fingers. She willed herself to think back to the time in the cellar when all this began. The coloured lights that danced in the darkness, the dizzinessâthe same thing had happened in the lower deck of the ship. And each time she was transported from one time to another, she had been holding the shell. She traced the edges of the shell lightly, waiting for the colourful lights and dizziness to appear as they had before.
After several minutes of nothing happening, she stopped. What else did she need to do to get out of this nightmare? She glanced around the loft. Tante Perle's shawl lay strewn in the straw where she had tossed it aside when she first arrived. The shawl had been her only haven from the smells and sounds of the lower deck. It had been so dark and lonely there. Darkness. The cellar had also been dark. That must be it!
Meg pulled Tante Perle's shawl over her head and did her best to block the light. The musky odour of the hay stuck to the shawl penetrated her nostrils. The edges of the shell were rough against her fingers. Concentrate, Meg thought. She gave herself up to the sensation of the shell between her fingers and closed her eyes.
Soon, a flash of thoughts whirled through her mind. The image of the harbour basin with the awaiting ships dissolved into the seascape of bobbing lobster buoys of Picasse Bay. Meg welcomed the dizziness and laughed with giddiness. It was working!
“Margit!” Joseph's voice penetrated Meg's thoughts.
Meg shook the sound away and concentrated with all her might on the images flashing in her mind. The image of Geneviève's confused stare merged with Nève's sparkling eyes.
Meg!
Someone was calling her, from her own time. She was almost there, she couldn't stop now.
“Margit!”
No. She wouldn't let herself be pulled back. She squeezed her eyes shut to conjure more pictures in her mind. Her body tensed as she channelled all her energy. Another image appeared. The stars beyond the towering masts of the deportation ship twinkled and transformed into pricks of red, white, and blue lights.
Meg!
It was there, she could almost make out the fuzzy bits of her old life at the edges of her consciousness. Time wavered and rippled from the past to the present as her dizziness grew. She really was being transported back to Picasse Bay, she was sure of it!
“Why aren't you with Gen'viv, Margit? I just saw her walking towards town.”
Meg froze. All of her thoughts suspended around her like a movie set on pause.
Geneviève had gone without her? But she was blind! How could she hope to make it to the church by herself and avoid the patrolling soldiers?
Meg pulled Tante Perle's shawl away. The coloured lights dissolved as her eyes met daylight.
What would happen if the soldiers caught Geneviève? How could she explain her living situation to them? There were no records to prove it. They might even transport her to one of the waiting ships to save themselves the trouble of finding out where she belonged. Then Geneviève would be alone, separated from the Haché-Galland family just like Tante Perle had said.
“Joseph!”
The little boy stood at the bottom of the ladder with Mache-couine at his feet.
“Maman sent me after you to give you this for Madame Douaron.” He held out a serving spoon. “What are you doing in the barn? Maman thinks you are with Gen'viv.”
Meg pulled the shawl around her shoulders and stumbled down the ladder.
“You're right. I should be with Geneviève.”
The dizziness fell away as the harsh reality set in. This wasn't some crazy dream, it was real. Meg couldn't deny it anymore. The ships were real. The soldiers were real. The Galland family was real. And most of all, Geneviève was in grave danger. Meg grabbed Joseph's hand and ran from the barn.
She had to find Geneviève before it was too late.
M
EG AND
J
OSEPH RAN TO THE HOUSE FIRST
, but Madame Galland and baby Daniel were gone.
“They must have gone to Madame Douaron's to look for us,” Meg said breathlessly. She turned to Joseph. “Leave the cat. Can you show me where you last saw Geneviève?”
Joseph let the cat go, and Mache-couine thumped to the floor and took his place next to the warmth of the hearth. Joseph took Meg's hand and they ran out of the house and down a rutted path lined with trees.
“Geneviève!” Meg called out her name in desperation. Thinking of how brave Geneviève was being only made Meg feel like more of a coward for abandoning her.
The path grew muddy at its lowest point and a cool wind ripped through Meg's cotton shirt. She swept Joseph into her arms and wrapped Tante Perle's shawl around him.
“Geneviève!' she called again.
Margâ¦riteâ¦!
Off in the brush, Meg caught a glimpse of Geneviève's golden hair. She tore through the bushes, shielding Joseph as the alders brushed the sides of her face. Geneviève stood in a clearing, her face flushed and streaked with tears as she held her hands before her, as if trying to make sense of her surroundings.
