Distant Fires (13 page)

Trying desperately to imitate the style of her betters, she pattered over to where they stood in delicate little steps, flashing a smile behind her fan.  Noticing the child, she stopped short, staring at Shanata, with a kind of horrified curiosity. Shanata did not like the way the woman
looked or smelled, and when she spoke, without understanding the words, she knew that they were cruelly directed at her.
 

“My dear, Nicholas,” she hissed with affectation, “could it be that you have found yourself a little...savage?”
 

Nicholas tried his best to keep his cordiality, but his anger could not be fully masked.
 

“The
child
,” he replied, emphasizing the word, “was placed in my care.  She is a... Huron orphan. I brought her to see my mother.”
 

“Your mother!”  She almost shrieked. “I am afraid with the terrible loss you have suffered, you are experiencing some confusion. The dirty creatures in the streets, in the countryside, surround us. Why now, in your mother’s present state of health, would she wish to see a...a savage?”
 

Alexandre, hearing this exchange quickly sought a diversion.  
 

“Sophie, I think what Nicholas’ mother needs is not for us to say. I shall speak with you later, Nicholas; now, if you would excuse us, Sophie would like to show the family her latest acquisitions. Come, Sophie!”
 

She set her jaw in petulance, as her brother took her firmly by the arm and escorted her back to the chateau. Nicholas could hear her grumbling, “...that creature is not going to set foot under our roof…”
 

Realizing now the problem that might arise in bringing the child into the house unannounced caused him to leave her outside, whilst he attempted to locate Madame or Monsieur Girald and seek permission.
 

Escorting the child past the guards at the front, he led her round to the rear entry, near the gardens and fruit trees. “Stay here, until I return.” he said in a kind, but firm voice, as he settled her on the grass and hastened back to the chateau.
 

Tired from the heat and the confusing series of events, she lay back on her elbows, smelling the sweet grass and absently looking about. The noonday sun beat down on her, causing sweat to form beneath her dark clothing. She hoped the man would return soon.          
 

Flowers, in colours that she had never seen before, dazzled her eyes amidst the trees and passing foot soldiers.
 

Looking toward the other end of the garden, she noticed a woman—a very light woman, who appeared so soft and light that she seemed like a cloud, sitting on a long chair, staring straight
ahead.  Shanata couldn’t take her eyes off the woman, for she reminded her of some strange Spirit, one which materialized out of nowhere.
 

The woman lifted her face to the sunny skies, as though calling upon the Great Spirit in prayer, and then, as Shanata watched in fascination, she dropped her head and fell into uncontrollable sobs.
 

What would cause the light cloud lady to weep like a dark cloud?
She thought curiously, rising on her wobbly legs. She had not wept since they had taken her from her village in the canoe, but she understood the pain that made people cry. The man told her to stay, but she wanted to go to the cloud lady. Maybe she could help her.  
 

The cloud lady did not see her come up beside her, but she did feel the tiny hand, which touched her on the arm, and was, somewhere in her conscious mind, moved by the gesture.
 

At last she lifted her gaze, and was startled by the smooth, dark skin and hair of the face that greeted her. Questions and fears flit through her mind as they stared at each other, neither saying a word. Nicholas loomed into view above her head, breaking the spell.   
 

“Mother, I thought you would be in your rooms, I was in talking with Madame...uh, I see you have met Shanata,” He squat to the child’s height, “This is mother, my mother,” he emphasized, “You call her…ah…Lady.”
 

Shanata looked at Nicholas and then his mother.  
 

“The cloud lady, she is your...mother?  She asked, timidly.
 

Nicholas nodded and looked a little puzzled. “Why is she the cloud lady?
 

She lifted her brows. With a shrug of her shoulders, she answered, “She is the colour of a cloud. Tell me,” she inquired with curiosity, “if she is a white cloud, why does she rain with tears?”
 

He smiled at this comparison, but it was a smile tinged with pain. “She is without her husband, my father, and it makes her very sad. You see, it is very hard for her...and for myself. Just as it is for you.”
 

Louise, whom had been listening to this exchange through tears, wondered what was being said.  She smiled slightly when told that the child had dubbed her “cloud lady”.  
 

“I believe it is the lightness of your hair and gown that causes her to think you are a kind of heavenly vision. When she saw you weep, it appeared to confirm it.”  
 

“How charming”, Louise said, brightening a little. She looked at the small, expressive features of the cherubic face, the spare, diminutive body covered in a coarse, charcoal grey dress several sizes too big, and saw sorrow in her eyes, eyes, she somehow suspected, which had seen
and known more pain than they should ever know. A deep compassion welled up within her, in spite of her personal concerns.
 

“She has been staying with the grey sisters for the past few days, and I thought you might like to meet her.”    
 

Louise gestured to the child to sit by her, and watched as her son spoke gently to the little girl. “I see that you feel a certain... responsibility for the child’s well-being,” she stated. “By what name is she known?”
 

“Shanata,” he replied, simply. “I... I will explain how she came to be here, when we have a private moment. Suffice to say, she has been severed from her family through... misadventure, and has suffered much trauma. It should not have happened. You see,” he uttered, as the words had stuck in his throat, “she is a Mohawk of the Iroquois tribe…”
 

An expression of fear and distaste crept across Louise’s face, as she stared at the child as though she were some menacing monster.    
 

“Oui, Maman,” he continued, in frustration, “an enemy of the people. But I assure you, she has done nothing to deserve her present plight. An unfortunate set of events has brought her to this. It should not have occurred.”  He slid his fingers through his wavy, brown hair, and shook his head.
 

“While I suppose one might wonder why a single, friendless creature should matter so much, I feel a certain share in this consequence, and as an Iroquois child, I am sickened by the very thought of what she must now be forced to bear.”  
 

Shanata looked up as though aware of what was being said.
 

“What’s worse,” he added, seeing his mothers aversion and mistrust, slightly ease into one of compassion.
 

“Like any other child, she has need of her own family, but we do not know where the missing family members relocated. Nor can we send her off with an escort, to find them, for there is a possibility of putting ourselves at further risk of reprisal over knowledge of the child’s existence.  
 

“Therefore, it has been decided that it would be in her best interests to pass her off as an Huron. It should not be difficult; as the language is very similar. I have been ordered to place her with the nuns …  possibly a Huron family.
 

Louise fell silent a few moments, reflecting on the possibilities. After some deliberation she said, “Ask the child if she would like to return to the Grey Sisters.”  
 

When Nicholas spoke, Louise saw the tiny face darken, and for the first time, show sign of breaking. “She says that she wishes to return to her family.”
 

Reaching for the child, she drew her to sit by her side. Staring into her soft fawns’ eyes, and felt imbued with a sense of mission.
 

“Stay with her here,” she said, mysteriously, “I will return presently.” And with that, she breezed out of the garden and into the chateau.
 

A short time later, she returned, smiling in satisfaction.  
 

“Without disclosing the particulars, I told Madame Girald, that you had been made guardian of a native child, and asked if I might keep her in my suite for the present,” she laughed, “she somewhat confusedly, agreed.”  
 

“Now,” she said, displaying a recurrent surge of interest, “I shall have a bed for her placed near my dressing closet, and then, of course, she may dine with me in my rooms …”
 

Suddenly, her mind resumed upon another matter, and with it, an attendant gloom.
 

“My son,” she began, quietly, “I had assumed we would have a moment to speak privately, but I fear that under the present circumstance, it may be difficult.”  
 

Gathering her composure, she lifted her gaze to his questioning eyes.
 

“It was my intent to inform you, of my plans,” she said, in a quavering voice.  “As you can see, my health is much improved ... so much so ... that, following the memorial, I have decided to return to Quebec.” she saw his look of concern, “I know that you may take my action to be a trifle
premature, but I can assure you, I am in full command of my faculties. There are many issues to which I must attend, on behalf of your father and our ... friend, the Comte …”
 

She paused, to wipe her eyes, and as her son began to speak, put a finger to her lips.
 

“This last week has been the most harrowing of my life, too terrible to contemplate,” she sniffed, biting back tears, “just as it has been for you, my poor son.  Madame has extended her warmth and hospitality, in a way, which has left me forever grateful, but it must be understood, that it would be wrong to overstay. Choosing to remain will not alleviate the pain in my heart.”
 

Nicholas knew that his mother was used to a pampered life, in which his father made all decisions. He had rarely seen her in command of any situation. Now, much as he, in some ways, hated to admit it, other than her obvious grief, she seemed capable of picking up the pieces and making a new life somewhere else.
 

“If I might take it upon myself,” she hastened to add, “I would like to place Shanata into the hands of my dear friend Mother D’Agoust of the Ursuline nuns...I trust that she will give the child proper instruction, and a decent home. And then,” she continued, “After settling matters relating to ... your father, I intend to return to France.  She paused, then began again, this time, in a small voice, “Nicholas, my son, shall I expect to have you at my side?”    
 

She noticed disquiet in his attitude. This was the question he hoped to avoid, and although she seemed lucid and insistent, he was uncertain of response in her present state.
 

“Maman, I have given the matter a good deal of thought, and after careful consideration, I feel it would be in error, to leave.” His voice was shaking with emotion, as he knelt at her feet, clasping her small hands, “The life of a nobleman is not the life I choose.”  
 

He stared at this woman, with love and admiration, sensing, only now, that her outer beauty and refinement belied hidden steel, he felt a hint of the pent-up emotion, welling to the fore.  
 

“This is my life now, the military, this colony. I feel that, if given half a chance, I can be of service to these people ... just as father was, in his way.” He saw her face mirror his pain and apprehension. “I know that living here, was not the future you chose for yourself, and that, even I, was at a loss when first we arrived, but since that time I have come to know where I belong.”  
 

He paused, then added, “And, as to your future, please know that, whatever your decision, I bow to your judgement.
 

He saw admonition in her eyes, but she wisely withheld comment.  She knew that she would miss him, but he was grown now, and she found herself less disappointed than thankful, at the man he had become.
 

“As you wish, my dearest,” she sighed, smiling through her tears.  
 

They held each other for a few long minutes. He drew back.
 

“There is something else I wish to say,” he said, hesitantly. “I understand that I have...inherited certain deeds and titles. To which I am not at liberty to attend, and have given the matter contemplation. If it is your intention to return to the home of my Grandpere, I would like you to reconsider.” he paused in sad reflection, “When...father and I last spoke, he was given to know that the De Belaise estate had suffered from mismanagement, in his absence. Not only had it lost revenue, it was in danger of losing some of its holdings. If you intend to return to France, it should be in a comfort and style as befits you, and this estate will provide you with all that are necessary.”
 

“In short,” he continued, “what is needed is a sure hand, and I would consider it an honour if you would continue on at the estate, and manage its affairs.”           
 

For the first time, she appeared to brighten. “I will give it my deepest consideration,” she said, quietly.
 

Although she cared for the well being of her parents, any affection she may have had for them died the day she was forced to relinquish Armand. Therefore, to live with so great a burden
of sorrow, and in the company of those who were at the helm of her original loss, was not a delightful prospect. She was pleased to be offered one.