The Island of Doves (24 page)

As Susannah buttoned her cloak and pulled the hood up around her ears, she overheard a conversation between Magdelaine and her son in the kitchen. She was warning Jean-Henri to be cautious with the woman who was not yet his wife, lest they find themselves with two babies to take care of. Already Magdelaine was trying to take the situation in hand, control the uncontrollable. She was nothing if not consistent.

Still, Magdelaine seemed to have accepted Jean-Henri’s decision and had even taken the child into her arms for a while. She walked him around the sitting room and showed him the pictures that hung on the walls. Then she took him to the dove’s cage. He watched the bird as it hopped from one perch to another, never quite opening its wings in the small space of the cage. It bobbed its head at Raph, curious about this small new person. Susannah thought back to the first time she had met Alfred on the boat, when he had explained the mechanics of flight so clearly to her. The force of
lift
combined with the force of
thrust
—that was what the dove needed in order to fly. But it didn’t have the space for either inside the cage.

Magdelaine pressed her nose to the boy’s cheek, and Susannah hoped she was coming to see that if she did not fight so hard against everything that challenged what she thought was true about the world, she might have some peace. The newly formed family might bring her a great deal of joy for the rest of her years, if only she would let it. But as Magdelaine’s circle tightened, Susannah wondered about her own place in it, whether there was a place for her here at all. She felt there was no reason to believe that they needed her as much as she had come to need them.

Magdelaine had told Susannah from the first day that she could stay as long as she needed to, but she had only meant until the danger had passed. Once that obituary arrived, they all knew that Susannah was safe. Perhaps it was time to begin making plans for the spring. She would see this matter through—welcome Therese back home or learn that she had been wrong and welcome Father Adler instead—and then she would leave the island. She could find work somewhere. She knew that Magdelaine would help her.

The snow in the lane was crowned with a layer of ice, and it crunched beneath Susannah’s boots. She walked in one of two wide troughs made by the runners of sleighs and stepped carefully around the leavings of horses and dogs. The lake seemed to be encased in a thick pane of glass, but she knew that beneath the ice it moved, its currents tumbling stones as old as the world. Now and again the frozen surface would groan with the pressure of the invisible surging of the water. Along the beach, waves had frozen in great arcs, one on top of the other, like icing along the edge of a cake.

She trudged to Morin’s store with the letter to Father Adler in her hand. Susannah had planned to slide the letter under the door but was surprised to find Morin there on such a cold morning. They exchanged smiles of solidarity, both their noses red from the cold.

“A letter to go out, please,” she said and handed it to him.

Morin nodded, his teeth clamped on a pipe. “Maybe next week.”

“That’s sooner than I had hoped. Thank you.” She turned back toward the lane.

“Miss?” Morin said, calling her back. “I believe I have a letter for you.”

She stepped back under the awning. “For Madame Fonteneau?”

“No, for you. ‘Miss Dove.’” He read the name from the envelope.

She thought with a jolt of Edward, but of course he would not have called her by this name. Then she thought of Sister Mary Genevieve. How strange that Susannah was sending a letter to Buffalo just as one was arriving from the same place for her.

But no, when she opened the envelope she found that the letter was not from Edward and not from the sister. It was not from Buffalo at all. In fact, it was not a letter at all, but a drawing sketched by a careful hand she recognized as Alfred’s. The drawing showed a simple pot sitting in a shaft of light. The pot was empty, but she knew what was hidden inside it. A planted pea, taking root in the secreted damp of the soil.

I
n the first week of February, they received a reply from Father Adler that he would come as soon as he could after the thaw, when the boats finally started running again. Magdelaine decided that she would not tell him of Raph’s true origins, and instead would let him believe that the baby really did belong to Jean-Henri and Esmee. What good would it do to say otherwise? He
was
theirs now, and she felt it was their duty to protect him from the truth of his origin.

Father Adler had advised them in his letter to baptize the child as soon as possible and not wait for his arrival, for if he was delayed and God forbid the child died, he should not want the separation from eternal peace on his conscience. The idea of asking Father Milani to bless his own bastard child filled Magdelaine with bile; still, she knew that Father Adler was right. The baby had to be baptized, and the sooner the better.

“Good morning, madame,” Father Milani said as she came into the church.

Off the sanctuary was the small alcove where he slept—or purported to sleep, at least—and it contained a narrow desk where he sat writing a letter. His voice was jovial, the voice of a swaggering sinner who knew that he could spend his time any way he pleased and never once worry his head about what consequences might come his way. He laid down his pen and stood, noticing for the first time the pale-eyed baby she held in her arms.

“And who do we have here?”

“Father Milani,” Magdelaine said, anger making her tongue slow to work. “This is Raphael Fonteneau and I would be grateful if you would perform his baptism.”

The priest glided over to them, the tails of the preposterous scarf tied at his neck fluttering a little behind him. He touched Raph’s cheek. “Of course.”

She watched him carefully as he looked the baby over, waiting to see if he noticed the boy’s eye, if recognition might spark. But if he was aware of the link between them, he did not show it.

“I had not heard that Jean-Henri had determined to take a wife.” He smiled. “Of course, a child’s arrival will force a man’s hand to the bond. As it should.”

“Indeed,” Magdelaine said. The muscles in her shoulders felt coiled like a spring, and her head began to ache. “I would not have expected you to know. Certainly you are too much occupied with your duties to give your ear to island gossip.” Magdelaine was trying to shame him, but of course it would never work. “Yes, my son will marry Esmee Leroux.” She had prepared the next part in case he insisted on performing the wedding first. “We are waiting for the thaw so that some of her family might be present. But I’m sure you’ll agree that the matter of the child is more urgent. He has not been well.” That too was a lie. But this was a man who had no use for the truth.

Milani nodded again. “Yes, I see. Let me consult my appointment book,” he said, turning back to the desk.

“Father, I would be grateful if you would perform the sacrament today. Now.”

“Now? I’m sorry, madame, but I am engaged at the moment in some correspondence . . .”

“Please, Father. I ask you as a faithful member of this congregation. It means so much to me that it would be today.”

He pressed his lips into a line and looked back and forth between Magdelaine and the child. “It is highly unusual. Where are his parents?”

“Both of them have been ill, and I fear for the child.” In truth, Esmee
had
been sickened at the thought of Father Milani’s devilish hands touching the boy she now felt earnestly in her heart was her own son, as much as if she had given birth to him herself. She had explained their theory on Raph’s paternity to Jean-Henri, and the news had made him furious, then more protective than ever.

“But where are the godparents?”

“I will be his godmother. And he will have to make do with just me.”

Father Milani considered her request. After a moment, his face softened. “He resembles you, madame.”

She swallowed. “I hope he will take after my son. His father.”

“I’m certain he will.” He excused himself to go to a cabinet and remove the necessary items to perform the ritual. They waited beside the fire in the back of the sanctuary as he warmed the holy water so that it would not chill the child on so cold a day.

Magdelaine watched him work. “Do you know, Father, the thing I find most useful about our religion for the people of this island?”

He glanced up at her, curiosity in his eyes. Perhaps he had some ideas of his own on that front.

“Though I understand that we must have a priest’s guidance in matters of our faith, it is also true, as you know, that this part of the world does not yet have nearly enough priests. And much of the time, the faithful are left to their own determination to stay true to their religion.”

“It is true, and I lament it.”

“But what I find useful is that the faithful may do this because even without a priest, there is God himself, watching us always, listening to the words we say and the words we do not say. He sees everything, in the day, in the night, he sees inside our secret hearts. We cannot hide a thing from him. Do you not find that a comfort, Father?” If he didn’t understand her meaning now, she thought, then he really was a fool.

He looked at her, stricken by her words, but he soon covered this reaction with his carefully constructed façade.

Milani cleared his throat. “You are right. It is a great comfort, madame. Now, let us introduce this new soul to the Lord’s keen attention.”

•   •   •

A
s Magdelaine’s household waited eagerly for Father Adler’s arrival, more drawings appeared for Susannah. She had asked Mr. Corliss not to come back to the house, and he was respecting her wishes by sending them through Morin’s store. One arrived every couple of days and Susannah handed each, wordlessly, to Magdelaine. She could see that he was trying, in his gentle way, to remind Susannah that he was waiting for her, should she have a change of heart. Each drawing depicted the same pot on the same windowsill, but time changed its contents. As with all creation, in the beginning, there was nothing. But then there was
something
, and that something thrived. The second picture showed merely a shift in the soil. The next, a tender shoot, like a green knuckle, emerging. The shoot then uncurled and stood up. It split its two leaves like a woman letting down her hair.

That was the thing about a seed. It hardly waited for man to intend anything upon it. The impulse toward life was so strong, the potential coiled so tightly within the seed coat, that the little vessel needed very little encouragement to begin. If a few drops of water seeped into the bin where onions were kept, the inert bulbs would come alive, each wide root slick like a tongue. If a jar of dried beans sat too near the steam and heat of the kettle, one would open the lid to find a dozen yellow-green worming roots, coursing against the edges of the dank glass in search of soil.

“My dear,” Magdelaine said after Susannah showed her yet another drawing, “I don’t see how you can continue to ignore this poor man’s attempts at kindness. Won’t you at least allow me to invite him over for a meal?”

It was the last week of February and they had just returned from a trip by sled to the other side of the island. Susannah folded up the drawing and slipped it back into her pocket.

“To what purpose?” she asked. “It will only give him false hope.” She knelt in front of Ani and unbuckled his harness, releasing him into the yard, then released the other dogs. Magdelaine noticed that her hands moved deftly now on tasks like these. Susannah no longer hesitated or tired easily with the work—she seemed at ease, confident. What’s more, her injured fingers seemed finally to have healed, though they were dreadfully misshapen. She joined Magdelaine at the back of the sleigh as they moved the bundles of wood to the stack beside the house.

Magdelaine wondered if Susannah really had made up her mind about Mr. Corliss, or if, beneath the dread and weariness in her heart, some part of her was still hoping to be convinced. “And tell me again
why
you can’t consider the possibility of mere friendship with this man? The danger has passed—your old life is dead and buried. And you are free to do as you please.”

Susannah sighed. “I know that what you say is true, but somehow I still cannot believe it. Besides, there is too much I would not be able to explain to him. How could I ever tell him the truth?”

“I don’t suppose you have to decide that yet,” Magdelaine said. “But it’s not impossible that he might be more understanding than you think.” Susannah gave Magdelaine a dubious glance that made her laugh. “I am not saying it would be easy,” she said.

Susannah cleared her throat and looked away from Magdelaine. “The real reason, you see, that I have been avoiding Mr. Corliss,” she said, “is that I do not expect I will be staying here past the spring.”

Magdelaine paused in her work, her chin resting on top of the rough wood she held in her arms. “Oh.” She felt a pang of sadness that another loss was upon her. One more person she had allowed herself to care for was going away. Magdelaine tried to hide her disappointment. It made sense, of course, that Susannah would want to move on. There was nothing tying her to the island. Her time here was always meant to be a temporary arrangement. How could Magdelaine expect her to stay, just for her own benefit? She cleared her throat. “As I told you when you arrived, I will be glad to help you move on when you are ready.”

Susannah’s shoulders fell slightly, but then she nodded too. “Yes,” she said. “I think it is for the best. Perhaps I will go to Detroit, to that school Noelle told you about. Do you think they would have me as a teacher?”

Magdelaine smiled. “Certainly—if I tell them you’ve converted.” They laughed.

Susannah grew quiet again as they finished unloading the wood, brushed off their hands, and headed inside.

“Whatever you want to do, I will help you,” Magdelaine said.

•   •   •

B
aptism seemed to agree with Raph and as February gave way to March, he awakened to his new world. He was a solemn baby but watchful too. When Magdelaine held him on her lap in the sitting room, his eyes darted from her face to the fire and back to her face once more, then to the fringe on the wool blanket that hung on the back of the chair and back to her face again. He seemed to be asking whether Magdelaine too saw the miraculous blue-orange flames, asking how her fingertips found the rough wool each time she reached for it. Every once in a while a smile would flash across his face that was pure Jean-Henri, the top lip stretched higher on one side. And she had to remind herself that this baby wasn’t really her kin.

In mid-March Magdelaine packed two traps, a sack of dried fish and leeks, and a pouch of rice in a small bag, and sharpened her knife. Dressed in two layers of worsted beneath her broadcloth skirt, she hitched Ani and another dog to the sleigh and left for her sugar camp on Bois Blanc. She spent the first few days at the camp alone and tapped many of the maples. The stand of trees was so dense that she could forget the grove was surrounded by an enormous lake, boats moving to and fro. There was nothing but the trees. The sun set early and she worked until the dim light began to make her squint. She heard the
thwap
of one of the traps and a rustling in the grass.

Ani raced toward it and barked wildly until she reached him. As quickly as she could, she cut the rabbit’s throat. For a long time she had not been able to eat rabbit at all, after what had become of Josette, but the dried fish would not be enough to satisfy Ani, and she had spoiled him for so long she doubted whether he could hunt successfully on his own. As the thawing sap plunked slowly into the pails, she skinned the animal and gave a few pieces of the meat to Ani and the other dog. The rest she cooked in a stew and ate it straight from the pot, burning her tongue as she watched the cloud cover recede and reveal the stars.

It had pained her to leave Raph behind so that she could escape to her camp—though she couldn’t think of a more competent mother than Esmee. The longing for him was familiar. After all, she had felt the same about leaving Jean-Henri behind all those years ago. She thought about Raph all the time she was away from her house. She had made a habit of narrating her actions when he was around—“This is a spoon and you use it to stir”; “This is a book and you hold it like so; here, feel the pages”—and she found herself hoping that Esmee wouldn’t forget to do the same. Of course Esmee did things in her own way, and in truth it was a better way, with more patience and trust in the child.

Magdelaine thought about Susannah too, her plans to leave, and the prospect made her feel uneasy. Everyone who needed saving had been saved, she supposed—Susannah, Raph, Noelle perhaps—and that was a fact to celebrate. But something had happened to Magdelaine since she had rescued Susannah. Susannah had rescued her back. The past would always be with Magdelaine, but her friendship with Susannah made her see now that today mattered too. She felt lighthearted, hopeful. And she didn’t want it to come to an end.

Magdelaine typically lingered at the camp for two weeks or more, but this year she could not fight the temptation to return home after five days. The hired men had begun to arrive at the sugar camp, and they no longer needed her assistance. Last year she had stayed because it was a way of escaping from Jean-Henri and the house she didn’t want. But now she found that she wanted to be there in the ostentatious house with the big fire and the snow falling outside. She wanted to be among them, before things changed once again.

She packed up the few items she had brought along. The sack of food, now empty, she rolled up and slipped into her bag. During her time there the ice had begun to crack open. She would have to leave the sleigh behind on the island. Ani and his brother trotted with her to the canoe and she pushed off, her paddle knifing the icy water. Her shoulders knew the motion the way her hands knew how to come together in prayer. When the port came into view she saw that it really was spring—the first boat of the year had arrived. At the beach her feet crunched over the ice that remained. A family of grebes swam in an arc away from her.