Promised to the Crown (14 page)

C
HAPTER
13

 

N
icole approached the edge of the fledgling farm, weary but satisfied. It had taken Nicole just a few hours after her arrival to learn that French agriculture was a far more civilized affair than farming in the colony. Starting a farm on virgin soil meant waging war against vegetation that had claimed the land centuries before. Trees, vines, roots—all had to be cut down, dug up, and either burned or used for lumber to make proper fields for growing crops. Luc had begun the war against the land, but he needed Nicole to help win the last backbreaking battles. She spent much of her summer toiling in the Quebec sun that was every bit as nasty as her winter storms.

Luc's plot gave them a decent harvest, however, and by autumn the rest of the land was cleared and ready for spring. It would be easier next year.

“Supper's ready, then?” Luc rested on his hoe and wiped the sweat from his brow and patted her protruding midsection. Another miscalculation. Despite Luc's assurances that their child wouldn't make an appearance before summer, the first Jarvais child was expected in late February or early March. It was bad timing in more ways than one. It left them no time to improve the house and kept Nicole from spending many hours in the field when she was most needed.

“Yes, indeed,” Nicole said, wiping a sweaty lock from his brow. She looked down at his hand on her abdomen and smiled. “We're both ready to eat.”

Luc took her hand and they walked back to the farmhouse. It was still small enough that you risked rolling out of bed and into the kitchen, but Nicole had made modest improvements to make the house a bit more comfortable. The pantry she fashioned from their fallen timbers looked as though it was on the verge of collapse each time she opened the door, but it still held. Each of them famished, Luc by his labor and Nicole by the baby inside her, they dug into the supper with ardor. It was a simple meal of bread and chicken stew, but satisfying after a day of work. They ate in relative silence, as was their custom, reserving conversation for after the meal.

Afterward, Nicole sat in her wedding-gift chair near the fire, knitting a small blanket from soft wool that Sister Mathilde had sent once she'd heard the news of the impending arrival. Luc, much like Nicole's father, could not bear to sit idle, so he sat sharpening the blade of his favorite knife whose increasing dullness he'd taken to complaining about for the past week. Nicole relaxed and took in a purifying breath. This was her favorite part of the day, where they granted themselves permission to relax.

“The harvest will see us through winter,” Luc said, having assessed their haul that day. “Praise be.”

“That's wonderful.” Nicole smiled at her husband's relief. He was not as used to the uncertainty of farming as she was.

“So now, the question is, what to do with myself during these cold months.” Luc continued scraping his blade on the stone as he spoke.

“Staying in and getting fat on my cooking isn't good enough for you?” Nicole asked, winking at her husband.

“Tempting as that sounds, we need a cash reserve, Nicole,” Luc said, no humor in his voice. “The harvest was fine this year, but what about next? Or the one after?”

“That's the way farming works, Luc,” Nicole said. “We'll have bad years from time to time. We'll get through it.”

“I don't want to ‘get through it' or ‘make do.' I want better for us. Better for the both of you.” Luc looked up from his blade to assess his wife's reaction. “I'm going trapping with some of the fellows from the regiment next week. We plan to be out three or four weeks at most.”

“You're going to leave me here alone?” Nicole asked. “There's no one for miles.”

The remote location of their homestead made Nicole nervous. In France, she had lived an easy walk from Rouen.

“You'll be fine,” Luc said. “You can always go into town and stay with Elisabeth if you want.”

“She's busy enough,” Nicole said, thinking of the heartbroken missive Rose sent after Adèle passed. Being so far removed from her friends was a hardship she had not yet conquered. It brought to mind that there was nothing at all keeping the same tragedy from befalling her. She placed her hand on her abdomen, where it was greeted with a distinct flop from the growing child, a reminder of the delicate nature of life in these early moments. “I don't like it, Luc.”

“For three or four weeks, you'll be fine here, Nicole,” Luc said, inspecting the edge of the blade in the weak candlelight. “And with the profits I'll make, we'll be set all year.”

Nicole couldn't argue. The money could help repair the ramshackle cabin. Though she held her tongue on the subject, Luc knew the condition of the house paired with the arrival of a baby made Nicole anxious.

“Luc, I'd really prefer that you stay here.” Nicole set aside her knitting and took her husband's hand. “As you said we'll be fine for the winter. Anything could happen.”

“If the natives come calling you're a better shot than I am,” Luc said, laughing at his joke and returning to his knife.

“Don't make light of it.” Nicole gripped her knitting needles to keep from hurling them at his head.

“Calm down. It's three weeks.” Luc's expression changed to annoyance, as though her fears of wildlife, storms, and hostile natives were the products of an overly vivid imagination.

“If you think you have to, go,” Nicole said, throwing her knitting in its basket and retreating to the lonely bed on the other side of the room. Luc was an endearing man. Perhaps too much for Nicole's own good, but he was never so infuriating as when he would not listen to reason. There would be nothing she could say or do to sway him from his course, and she had to let him go.

 

Curse Luc Jarvais for leaving me here.
Nicole would have screamed if she weren't too busy shivering under her blankets. The howling winds cut through the rickety cabin and the October air was as merciless as she'd feared.
How could a baby survive here in February? How would I?

For the first two weeks after Luc's departure, it was the loneliness that plagued her. Her family's farm was active and bustling; the convent, too, was alive with life. By contrast, her little home felt eerie and foreign. Nicole was unused to solitude and refused to make friends with it. In two weeks she scrubbed every surface clean to the point of sparkling, mended every scrap of clothing, and knitted miles of baby blankets and other garments. She passed the time, but felt unable to cast off her restlessness. Then the weather turned, and it was all she could do to keep from freezing. The paltry stack of firewood Luc had left was long since depleted, and it was all she could do to chop enough on her own to keep the fire going. Luc had been sure the storms would not hit so early. Yet another miscalculation.

There was a persistent
thump-thump-thump
at the door, which Nicole assumed to be the wind, until she realized the rhythm was too regular. She sat up in the bed and set aside the blanket with a regretful glance.
It might be Luc, unable to open the door if the wind has barred it with snow.
She saw the shotgun, always loaded, that stood next to the door.
Or it might not be.
She grabbed the gun with a silent prayer that she wouldn't be forced to use it.

On the porch stood a young girl, four or five years of age. She was lithe like the white-tailed deer so abundant in the woods, with night-black hair styled in two messy braids and large black eyes filled with fear. Nicole guessed she was a child of the Huron people who had a settlement close to the farm. She was dressed from head to foot in thick leather and fur pelts, but still looked frozen to the porch.

“Hello.” Nicole spoke slowly, unsure if the girl could understand French.

The child responded with a few words in her own language. Nicole shook her head to show that she did not understand.

“Are you hungry?” Nicole pointed to the cauldron that hung with the frozen remnants of her supper from two days ago.

The child shook her head and grabbed Nicole's hand, pulling her into the glacial October night. The child barely gave Nicole the chance to grab her cloak and shut the door with another prayer that none of the candles would burn the house down before they returned from wherever the child was dragging her. Still, the child's panicked expression made Nicole unable to refuse the unknown request. Perhaps the child had a sibling in trouble and Nicole was the nearest adult to help. Whatever the reason, she had to go.

“Where are we going?” Nicole asked.

The child offered a few words, none of which Nicole understood.

They continued for a quarter of an hour into the heart of the woods where Nicole had never dared to venture. If the child left her, she would never find her way back, especially since the snow kept her from seeing more than a few feet in front of her. When the child dropped her hand and darted forward, Nicole's stomach churned with fear.

“Stop!” she yelled. “Wait for me!” The snow stole the words from her mouth. The Huron child wouldn't be able to hear her cries, no matter how loud.

She cursed her slowed movements and awkward gait. The Huron girl peeked back from around a tree and motioned for Nicole to join her.

At the base of the tree lay Luc, arrows lodged in his shoulder and thigh.

“Oh God!” Nicole dropped to her knees at her husband's side. “Luc, no, please!”

She forced herself to take a few steadying breaths and gather her wits. She saw that his chest rose and fell, though the breathing was shallow and irregular.

Thank God,
Nicole thought.

She examined his wounds, hesitant to touch them, but knowing he would have no chance otherwise. The arrows came out, taking hunks of flesh with them. She ripped strips from her petticoat and wrapped them on the wounds as tight as she could, though the bleeding refused to cease.

The Huron girl emerged from the forest, and Nicole scolded herself for not noticing that the girl had disappeared.

The child bore a large branch and ran back for another. She then rooted through Luc's sack and found a thick woolen blanket that had been Luc's bed since he left the farm. Taking a knife, the girl made slits in the fabric every few inches. Nicole was impressed by the girl's skill, thinking she must be older than she looked, but didn't spare the time to comment on it.

When the girl began to weave the blanket onto the branches, Nicole understood and helped the child fashion a crude stretcher to drag her husband home.

Nicole managed to lift and roll Luc's considerable frame onto the stretcher and secure him the best she could. The girl gathered the supplies and hoisted Luc's pack, almost as large as she was, onto her back and set off toward the farmhouse.

Nicole looked down at her husband, kissed his brow, and lifted one end of the stretcher, dragging the other behind her. She had to stop every few moments to catch her breath. The muscles in her back screamed against the odd contortions and exertion. The snow, for the first time, proved an asset. The makeshift stretcher slid with relative ease over the snow, though it demanded every ounce of Nicole's strength to pull it.

The trek into the woods had taken fifteen minutes. It took close to an hour, cloaked in complete darkness, to return. Nicole all but wept when she saw the farmhouse and redoubled her efforts until she reached the door.

Inside, Nicole resisted the urge to collapse on the floor. She worked on freeing Luc from the stretcher. The blanket was soaked through with blood; Nicole's hands were slick with it as she attempted to loosen the wet knots. Once she freed him from the stretcher, Nicole gathered clean cloths and made proper bandages for the wounds. Nicole fought rising nausea as she removed the old bandages that had done little to stem the flow of blood from his shoulder and thigh.

His flesh was cold. Too cold.

Sometime during her slog back to the cabin, Luc had died.

She lay down next to her husband and surrendered to the tears. Despite his faults, he had been a good man, a kind husband.

No more late-night embraces, no more sweet boyish face to greet her. The injustice had yet to occur to her. The pain was all she could comprehend at that moment.

The Huron girl sat next to them, barely stirring except to stroke Nicole's hair.

Within minutes, Nicole's hips screamed for her to rise off the hard wooden floor, and she had no choice but to listen. She covered Luc's broken body with one of the embroidered sheets she'd received as a bride and cleaned herself of his blood. The dress was frozen stiff with snow and caked with crimson. She looked down and shook her head, knowing it was destined for the rag pile.

What a thing to think of at a time like this.
Nicole growled at herself as she found her warmest nightgown.
You have another. Many could not say the same.
Her pragmatic nature forgave the errant thought. Replacing her dress would be months off, especially now. If she hadn't another, God knew how she'd be able to clothe herself until she regained her pre-pregnancy figure.

The little girl looked expectantly at Nicole.
God, her parents must be sick with worry with her missing out in this storm.
Nicole looked out the one window and saw that the snow still fell steadily and the night was moonless.
There is no way I can take the child home in this. She's better off here for the night. Her parents will be glad for it despite their sleepless night.

The Huron girl accepted one of Luc's old shirts with a questioning look, perhaps confused by the need to change clothes for sleep. Nicole changed into her nightgown and climbed into bed. Every aching muscle shouted at her; she did her best to drown them out. Though she did not think sleep would come, she knew she needed to rest for the baby.