Promised to the Crown (16 page)

“Don't fret on it. I imagine the girls could easily see your eagerness to begin the lesson. That has its virtues as well. But perhaps next week, spend a quarter of an hour getting to learn a bit more about the girls. Every scrap of information they share is a key to their minds and their hearts.”

“Of course, Sister. They seem like sweet girls.”

“They are,” Sister Mathilde agreed. “Some of them remarkably so, especially our little Manon. She reminds me so much of my own daughter.”

Rose stared openly at her superior, her mouth agape.

“I see I've stunned you.” There was a glimmer of mischief in the old woman's eyes as she delighted in Rose's flabbergasted silence. “Remember, though we sisters are forbidden from marrying or having children once we've taken orders, there is nothing to prevent a widow from taking the veil.”

“So your husband died?” Rose wished to retract the obvious question as soon as it left her lips.

“Yes. Our parents arranged our marriage when we were just eighteen. His father was a merchant, my father an even more successful one. I was a wife for two years before a fever claimed him. Just long enough for him to give me my little Rachel.”

“And where is she now?” Rose imagined the girl must be grown by now. The thought of Sister Mathilde as a grandmother seemed somehow aberrant.

“For four years she was the light of my life, but she was never a healthy child. A simple cold claimed her from me, despite my efforts to keep her well. For many years I had a very hard time accepting that it was God's will. I confess it's still a point of contention between us.” Though Sister Mathilde addressed Rose, her eyes glossed over as though looking back on her own past.

“So you entered the convent to escape your grief?” Rose asked.

“You think kindly of me. No. I entered to escape another arranged marriage. I also confess I was not fond of the first attempt. I pleaded with my father to let me take orders, and in the end, I had enough sisters for him to marry off that I was of little consequence.”

Rose laced her fingers, not knowing how to respond to the information.

“But I must tell you, I have found great happiness in my order. Great satisfaction in teaching, prayer, and most of all bringing a measure of comfort to the women of this colony.”

“I'm sure of that, Sister,” Rose said. “There isn't a woman in our settlement who isn't grateful for your presence.”

“Make no mistake, my girl. For as much as I have come to love my order, I would trade it all for one more day with my own daughter.” Sister Mathilde's voice wavered almost imperceptibly. “Now hurry along and prepare your lesson for next week. And remember what I've told you.”

Rose climbed the stairs, her thoughts churning. Sister Mathilde as a wife and mother did not register with the stately woman of God that she knew. The image of a young Mathilde with a baby at her breast seemed an unholy juxtaposition to the life she led now. But she'd survived marriage. She'd survived childbirth. She had carved a new life for herself out of the wreckage of the first, and seemed content with her choices.

Rose pushed the doubt from the pit of her stomach and settled into her task. Right or wrong, she knew that every path led to the same ultimate destination.

C
HAPTER
15

 

S
ince Adèle had been born, the hardest part of the day was the lull between the lunch and dinner rush. Months ago, it was a welcome respite, now it was an abyss of awkward silence. Elisabeth avoided it by escaping to the convent or scrubbing every surface in the bakery or the home above stairs until they were inhospitably clean. She'd opted for the latter that day, and was pleased when she realized the hour demanded that she attend to her customers. Elisabeth hurried down to the shop to help Gilbert. He acknowledged her arrival with a nod and they busied themselves with customers for several hours. Welcoming smiles were offered, pleasantries exchanged. Elisabeth wondered if the customers noticed her insincerity, and Gilbert's, too. For the sake of the business, she hoped not.

“Supper?” Elisabeth asked when the last customer exited the shop.

“Please,” Gilbert said. “Call me when it's ready. I'll be seeing to things down here.”

“That's fine,” Elisabeth said.

It's not fine!
Elisabeth wanted to shout.
But I suppose it will have to be for now.

She thanked the heavens that at least one good loaf of bread remained from the dinner rush so she didn't have to bake another. She loved baking, but it was the last thing she wanted to do when the shop closed these days. She made a good soup with freshly harvested vegetables and hearty chunks of salted pork. The odor in the kitchen was more than pleasant, the room scrubbed clean, and she even took a few minutes to straighten her hair and clothes.

An hour later, Gilbert ascended the stairs and took his place at the table.

“Thank you,” he said as she placed his supper before him.

“Of course,” Elisabeth said, patting his shoulder.

It was the only exchange of words during the meal.

Normally, Gilbert drank half a glass of wine with his evening meal, but lately he had taken to drinking two or more.

I'm so sorry I failed you,
Elisabeth longed to tell him.
I'm so sorry you're stuck with a wife who can't give you a family.

She managed to keep her tears at bay through dinner, but retreated to the bedroom once the dishes were cleared and cleaned. She muttered an excuse and disappeared into the room her husband had not slept in since Adèle's birth.

Elisabeth sat against the pillows and felt the tears roll down her cheeks. She ached for her lost baby. She cursed her battered body for taking too long to heal.

Worst of all, it seemed she was losing her husband as well, a little more each day.

Below, she heard Gilbert's footsteps on the wooden stairs and the crack of the front door as it shut. Perhaps he was going to use the outhouse. Perhaps he was going to the tavern. She didn't leave her bed to look.

Gilbert would not leave her. He had too much honor for that, was too devout in his faith, but Elisabeth wondered how long it would be before he sought comfort elsewhere.

She found solace only in her tears until she drifted to sleep and awoke to repeat the same scenes in the morning. Elisabeth stood in silence next to her husband, shaping the loaves of bread for baking before the breakfast rush. The sun had yet to rise, and Elisabeth felt fatigue to the marrow of her bones. Still, she pressed on.

“I can finish up here if you like,” Gilbert offered. “You could get a little rest before we open.”

“I'm fine,” Elisabeth said, her voice barely audible.

“You look exhausted. I don't mind,” Gilbert said.

“I'm fine,” Elisabeth repeated, with more vigor than she intended. She reprised in a softer tone, “I'm fine.”

“As you say,” Gilbert said. “I'm going to the stockroom.”

“All right. I'll be here if you need me.” The stock had been inventoried two days before, but she was not going to argue with him.

The bread needed to sit for three-quarters of an hour before it baked, but Elisabeth could not bring herself to follow her husband's advice and rest. Idle hands led to an idle mind, and dark thoughts were not far behind.

Elisabeth scrubbed the counters and tidied up every surface in the shop. She was becoming used to moving without the added bulk of a baby, or to her breasts that had only just ceased to ache with untouched milk. The fatigue, however, still gripped her like a cruel iron vise. The discomfort when she disturbed the muscles pulled and torn in her thirty hours of labor lessened, but that was almost as unendurable as the ache. As the pain subsided, it felt as though little Adèle slipped farther and farther from this world. For two brief days, baby Adèle was the most beloved child in the colony. Her delicate features were perfect, and she spent her entire existence in the loving embrace of her mother.

Two months' time had not been enough to ease the pain of the mother who still replayed her daughter's final breaths in her mind every time she closed her eyes.

The dough risen, the fire mellowed and ready for baking, Elisabeth placed two dozen loaves in the vast brick oven. For an hour she coaxed the fire to a constant heat and rotated the loaves every fifteen minutes. The work was just engaging enough to occupy her hands and mind and offer her a small measure of peace.

A few moments before six o'clock in the morning, Gilbert emerged from the stockroom and took his place at the counter. Elisabeth unlatched the door and welcomed the first customers with a shallow smile. For three hours they sold bread and pastries at a steady pace. The reputation of Monsieur and Madame Beaumont's bakery had spread throughout the settlement. The business was an unqualified success.

“You ought to rest,” Gilbert said when the breakfast rush had slowed to a trickle.

Elisabeth knew he was right, though she refused to indulge in the decadence of a midday nap.

“Would you mind if I went to the convent to see Nicole?” Elisabeth asked. She offered a small smile. “I promise I'll put my feet up.”

“Go,” Gilbert said, not returning the smile. “Don't worry about the dinner rush. I'll manage.”

He turned and went back to the storeroom, Elisabeth presumed, to fetch flour for the afternoon stock.

I miss you,
Elisabeth thought.
Come back to me soon.

She placed a few leftover pastries in her basket and shoved down her guilt at leaving Gilbert to prepare for the evening rush by himself.

But it seemed clear that he preferred her to leave.

The walk to the convent was just long enough without becoming taxing. As a former resident, Elisabeth did not need to announce herself but found her way to the common room where Nicole sat knitting and Manon played by the fire.

“Eat.” Elisabeth placed a pastry on a plate and handed it to Nicole with a look of mock severity.

“If you join me,” Nicole said, returning the glare and placing an empty plate in front of her. Manon scuttled over to claim her pastry to enjoy in front of the crackling fire before the ladies could claim them all.

“Very well,” Elisabeth said, remembering to prop up her feet as promised. “How are you getting along?”

“I'm managing,” Nicole said. “And you?”

“About the same,” Elisabeth said. “Bone weary most of the time. It's maddening.”

“I understand how you feel,” Nicole said. “This little one learned how to kick and has been keeping me up.”

Elisabeth smiled for Nicole, but it did not reach her eyes.

“Oh, Elisabeth, I'm sorry,” Nicole said. “That was stupid of me.”

“Don't be silly,” Elisabeth said. “I can be glad for you and sad for me at the same time. You're clinging to the good things right now, as you ought to.”

“Thank you,” Nicole said, relieved. “How is Gilbert?”

“He's quiet,” Elisabeth answered after a moment's hesitation. She didn't feel right burdening Nicole with the truth.

“He'll come around,” Nicole said. “He's grieving, too. He just needs time.”

“I hope so, Nicole,” Elisabeth said. “I really do. It's been two months and nothing has changed. If anything he's quieter and more distant than before.”

The pair sat in silence for several minutes, watching Manon play with her growing collection of dolls. Clearly, the Sisters did not object to the novelty of a child in residence.

Rose appeared in the common room door, winded and looking as if she'd had a hectic morning.

“Pastry and milk?” Nicole offered.

“Please,” Rose said, taking a seat. “Sister Hortense and I went to speak to the Huron people about Manon again.”

“And?” Nicole sat upright, stealing a glance at the dark-haired waif on the floor.

“It's as we thought. Her grandmother was indeed very ill and passed away several days ago,” Rose said. “The grandmother wasn't able to speak coherently for a long while, it seems. The tribe simply lost track of Manon. One family thought she was with another and so on. It happens. The chief seemed embarrassed.”

“That explains why Manon was alone so much,” Nicole said. “The old woman simply couldn't look after her.”

“Right,” Rose said. “And the grandmother was the last of Manon's family. The tribe didn't realize the girl was wandering so much. Apparently, she loved to spy on you, Nicole. She thought you were an angel.”

“It's a miracle nothing happened to her,” Elisabeth said, imagining Adèle at eight years old, alone in the woods. “Poor girl.”

“She's clever,” Rose said. “And a quick study. I've asked the tribe to let us keep her, at least for a while, to give her some schooling with the other girls.”

“And what did they say?” Nicole asked.

“No, at first,” Rose said. “They don't like the idea of adopting out one of their own. And most of the girls we teach are a few years older than Manon and not quite as impressionable. But since Manon is alone in the tribe, we convinced them it was in her best interest. If she were a boy, there would have been no persuading them. As it was, they worried that she wouldn't be happy without a family, though.”

“She'll be with me,” Nicole vowed. “After what she did for me, I can do that much for her. Luc would have died alone if not for her.”

“I told them that,” Rose said. “Sending her back to the tribe would be cruel to both of you. I think they're more apt to let her stay because of what happened to Luc.”

“Thank you,” Nicole said with brimming eyes.

Rose called Manon over and explained that she was welcome to stay with them if she wished. The child flung herself into Nicole's lap, sobbing and smiling all at once.

“There, there, sweet baby,” Nicole said. “You're going to be fine.”

Elisabeth looked at her friend and the lovely raven-haired girl in her arms and smiled, pleased that she was almost successful in stifling her pang of jealousy.

“Thank you very much, Nicole,” Manon said distinctly. Though her vocabulary was growing at an impressive rate, she still concentrated on every syllable she uttered; hunting for the right words as a hunter stalks his prey.

Rose and the Sisters saw to most of Manon's education during her stay thus far, but Nicole directed the girl's French conversation. Elisabeth sensed the classes served as a diversion for Nicole, just as the bakery was a diversion for her.

“Don't thank me, dear heart. I'm glad to know I can keep you for a while longer.”

“I want to stay always,” Manon said, smiling at her foster mother.

“That makes me so happy, sweet girl.” Nicole embraced Manon again. “Why don't you go supervise dinner? Sister Éléonore will miss you if you don't.”

“What a good student,” Elisabeth remarked as the Huron girl left the room.

“She is,” Nicole agreed, with pride in her voice. “I think the Sisters intend her for the Church.”

“And what do you want for her?” Elisabeth asked.

“Whatever will make her happy,” Nicole said. “I have a hard time imagining her enjoying a cloistered life, but she is still a child.”

“You're a born mother,” Elisabeth said. “And a good one.”

“Thank you,” Nicole said. “It's easy to love her, though.”

“That it is.” A rare, genuine smile crossed Elisabeth's lips.

“Your turn will come,” Nicole said, fumbling with the words. No one knew what to say to her. Condolences were maudlin and encouragement was patronizing. Elisabeth could not fault those who remained silent in her presence.

Elisabeth turned her attention to her teacup. “I'm not sure it will,” she said, the china shaking in her hands. She'd avoided speaking in any depth on the subject, and saying the words aloud made it seem too real. “It's hard to make a baby when there isn't a husband around.”

“What do you mean?” Nicole asked. “I saw Gilbert yesterday.”

“In body,” Elisabeth said. “We hardly speak. He finds any excuse to leave the room when we're alone.”

“Oh, Elisabeth,” Nicole said. “I'm so sorry.”

“He's been gone every night for the past three weeks,” Elisabeth said, the confession pouring from her. “I have no idea where he goes, but he's been drinking. I can smell it, and he looks like death in the mornings. I have to wake him now. He used to be up half an hour before we had to start baking, eager to start the day. But now . . .”

Nicole took Elisabeth in her arms and gave her silent permission to cry.

“I can't bear to lose him, too,” Elisabeth said. “I know I've failed, but I don't want to be without him.”