Promised to the Crown (27 page)

“I miss you, too,” Pascal said, hugging his brother close.

The other children, a girl of seven and a boy of eight, did not dare to speak in front of the strangers.

Rose examined the Giroux children, trying to remain undetected. They were underfed and filthy, but none had visible bruises or scars.

“Children, come with me,” Rose said, motioning to the young Girouxes.

They looked at her with distrust, but followed when their brother prodded them forward.

“Mylène, please find the children something to eat,” Rose said at the door to the kitchen. “And anyone else, if they're hungry.”

The maid welcomed the children and fed them their fill. When Rose emerged from the kitchen, Brigitte had returned to the parlor, her visit with her sleeping daughter concluded.

“Welcome to our home, though I wish it were under pleasanter circumstances,” Rose said. Her words were kind, though given with an icy countenance.

“Thank you, madame,” Brigitte said to Rose as she descended the stairs. “I had to see her. . . .”

“We understand,” Rose said. “What happened to the child?”

“It was Raymond,” Brigitte said. “When she came home without her fine clothes, he was in a rage for weeks. I suppose he's been taking it out on her ever since.”

“She refused to take them with her,” Elisabeth said.

“She told me,” Brigitte said. “Yesterday evening, Raymond complained there wasn't food. Gabrielle suggested he get a job and earn some. Raymond flew into a fury....

“After she ran away, he took off, and he hasn't returned. I expect he knew he'd be in trouble, the way she looked when she ran out.”

“Have you any idea where he might go?” Alexandre asked.

“No, monsieur,” Brigitte said.

“Why didn't you stop him?” Rose asked. “Or stop Gabrielle and get her to a doctor?”

“I had no idea she was hurt so bad,” the woman answered. “Honest, I didn't. Just thought it was a few bruises, like before. As to why I didn't stop her . . . I hoped she'd run to you good folks. We should have never taken her from you. Raymond is a terrible stubborn man. Hated to see his children well off when he wasn't.”

“As we thought,” Henri said. “He should have been happy that others were willing to do for his children what he would not.”

“I know, monsieur,” Brigitte said. “But arguing with Raymond is as much a waste of time as yelling at a tree.”

“Will you wait at home for him to return? Or help the bailiff look for him?” Alexandre asked.

“No, monsieur,” Brigitte answered, not daring to look at him directly. “After this, I'm through with Raymond. I have a brother in Trois-Rivières. I'm hoping he'll take me and the little ones in.”

“We know where the brother lives,” the bailiff said. “If we need Madame Giroux in future, we'll be able to find her.”

“Good,” Alexandre said. The bailiff had anticipated his question.

“Will you keep my girl safe?” Brigitte asked Rose. “Take care of her for me?”

“Of course,” Rose said, managing a weak smile.

“God bless you,” Brigitte said. “I am sorry. Will you please tell her that much?”

“We will,” Elisabeth said, intervening. “Because I believe you are.”

“Thank you,” Brigitte said. “I'll not bother you again.”

The children flocked to their mother, with extra bread in hand, and exited the house.

“We're on the lookout for Giroux,” the bailiff said with a bow as he left. “We'll let you know if there's news.”

Henri shut the door behind them, and the entire room seemed to breathe a collective sigh.

“They have to find him,” Pascal said. “Punish him for what he's done.”

“They'll try,” Gilbert said. “But he has lots of space to hide.”

“He's not that clever,” Pascal said. “He won't hide well.”

“We can hope not,” Alexandre said. “I'll put my resources into finding him, I assure you.”

“Thank you, monsieur.” Pascal looked at Alexandre as though the
seigneur
were King Louis himself.

“I'm going to sit with Gabrielle,” Rose said, handing over little Pierre, who insisted on his mother's arms when he saw her descend the stairs.

Gabrielle lay as still as before. Rose knew that she could not live long without waking to eat and drink. Her slight frame had almost no reserves to sustain her.

“Wake up, darling girl,” Rose said, exhaustion coming over her like a wave. “You're safe. We love you, and want you back with us.”

 

It took some persuading, and a tantrum from little Pierre, to convince Elisabeth to return home when evening came.

“Someone will stay with Gabrielle all night,” Henri promised. “We'll send for you if she wakes.”

“Let's go, sweetheart,” Gilbert said. “Pierre needs his bed and his
maman
.”

“Very well,” Elisabeth conceded, embracing Rose. “Take care of her for me.”

“As if she were my own,” Rose said. “Get some rest so you can help her when she wakes.”

“That sounded familiar,” Henri said, with a rare smile, as he closed the door.

“Always prudent to remember sage advice,” Rose said, returning the smile. “No matter how unreliable the source.”

“Unreliable,” Henri said, feigning disbelief. “Madame, you wound me.”

Her smile faded. “What a day.”

“Indeed,” Henri said. “I hope to heaven they find the bastard and see justice served.”

“I don't have the energy for anger,” Rose said. “I'm going to sit with Gabrielle awhile.”

For more than an hour, Rose sat, stroking the back of Gabrielle's hand and the soft skin of her cheek.
This is no world for a child.
Rose's free hand rested on her stomach.
I'm so sorry I'm bringing you into such a miserable place.

Mercifully, Gabrielle's chest continued to rise and fall. Rose couldn't be sure if it was the truth or wishful thinking, but Gabrielle's breathing seemed to grow stronger.
It's a blessing you're strong, my dear girl. You've been called on to use that strength far more often than a child should.

The following morning, Rose rushed to dress in the predawn hours. Yves gratefully surrendered the chair beside Gabrielle's bed when Rose arrived and left to seek a few hours' rest before his workday began at sunrise.

“Good morning, Gabrielle,” Rose murmured. “You're warm and safe, my darling.”

She noticed a twitch of movement in Gabrielle's face in response to the words. At first, Rose thought she had imagined it. But then she saw the tiniest movement in Gabrielle's hand. It was all she could do not to scream her excitement.

“Henri!” she called, keeping her voice even. “Come here, please!”

“What is it?” Henri asked from the doorway, not yet coherent.

“She moved. Her face and her hands,” Rose said.

He looked at the girl as Gabrielle's right hand twitched again.

Henri ushered Rose from the room and spoke in whispers. “It's not a bad sign, but let's give the Beaumonts a few more hours of sleep before we send for them.” Although he wouldn't say it aloud, Rose could tell her husband didn't want to encourage her hope too soon.

“You're sure we shouldn't fetch them?” Rose asked.

“No need,” Henri said. “If I know Elisabeth Beaumont, and I do, she'll be here in less than an hour.”

As he predicted, the Beaumonts arrived just a quarter of an hour later, bringing a massive basket full of breads and pastries.

“I'm hoping to persuade you all to eat today,” Gilbert said. “And, also, the baking kept Elisabeth busy.”

Rose left her friend alone with Gabrielle and occupied herself with Pierre while the men ventured out-of-doors to find a useful occupation for Pascal. The boy had little patience for idle waiting.

“Such a big wee man,” Rose said to Pierre as he drooled from the corner of his smiling mouth. “And soon, I'll have my own to care for. Will you like to play with him when you get bigger?”

Pierre had Gilbert's rich brown hair, his mother's expressive brown eyes, and a smile all his own. Though Rose feared the horror the world could deal to these sweet children, she understood why people accepted the risk. To see the joy in the baby's face filled Rose's heart with unmitigated delight. She smoothed the locks from his forehead and kissed the soft skin.
Perhaps I will enjoy this after all.

“She's awake!” Elisabeth called from the bedroom.

With the infant in her arms, Rose ran upstairs to see Gabrielle for herself. The girl was pale and listless, but breathing soundly and awake.

“Thank heavens. I'll go fetch the men. They'll want to see her,” Rose said, passing Pierre to Mylène, who also sought the reassuring sight of Gabrielle's curious green eyes alert and taking in her surroundings.

Rose ran for the door and hoped the men had not ventured far. After four or five minutes of a solid jog, she saw them off in the distance.

“She's awake!” cried Rose. Whether they heard her, or inferred the reason for her arrival, Gilbert and Pascal came running toward the house while Henri made for the barn and his horse to fetch the doctor.

Rose called for Mylène to prepare warm broth, bread, and water for Gabrielle. Rose ascended the staircase, passing Pierre to Yves as she went.

Her heart sang to see Gabrielle was still alert when Rose entered the room once more.

“I'm so glad you came back to us,” Rose said, holding Gabrielle's free hand. Elisabeth already held the other. “You gave us quite a scare.”

“Thank you for helping me,” Gabrielle said. “I'll try not to scare you again.”

C
HAPTER
27

 

“S
tay in bed, Gabrielle,” Elisabeth said. “I'll get supper.”

Though she kept her tone light, Elisabeth's expression betrayed her concern. Gabrielle seemed cheerful, but in the weeks since her awakening and her return to the Beaumonts' home, the young girl's color had not returned and she tired far too easily. Her lack of recovery frightened her new mother.

Gilbert had set up a “daytime bed” for Gabrielle in the family's main living area, so the girl could feel part of the goings-on without straining herself.

Elisabeth tried to focus on the venison and vegetables she chopped for a stew, but found her eyes wandering to the frail figure beneath the quilt.

An hour later, the smell of the stew wafted down the stairs and lured Gilbert and Pascal from the shop.

“My word, you're a good cook, woman,” Gilbert said by way of greeting as he placed the bread on the table and kissed his wife on the cheek.

“Pleased to hear it,” Elisabeth said, glancing from her husband to Gabrielle.

He followed her gaze, and a frown flickered across his face.

“I'm going to eat at the table tonight,” Gabrielle said, not waiting for acknowledgment before she stood.

“Sweetheart, I can bring you your food on a tray,” Elisabeth said, rushing to the girl's side. “You need to rest.”

“I'll never get stronger if I don't move around,” Gabrielle said.

Elisabeth looked to her husband for support, but he offered none.

“She can try, for a little while,” Gilbert said, pulling out the chair for Gabrielle and taking her arm to help her into place. He turned to Gabrielle. “If you get light-headed, it's back to bed, though.”

“Of course,” Gabrielle agreed.

“Good girl,” Elisabeth said, still not convinced of the wisdom of letting the girl sit upright, even for a meal. “Eat as much as you can, but don't strain yourself.”

“You're putting us on,” Pascal said with an impish grin. “We know you're just trying to shirk your share of the work.”

His levity was superficial. As much as Elisabeth worried, she knew Pascal worried more. The boy had said that Gabrielle was the only blood relative he still claimed.

Just as everyone was seated and served, there was a knock on the door below.

Gilbert rolled his eyes. “Monsieur Lucas has probably forgotten his supper loaf again. I'll help him out, to avoid the wrath of Madame.”

The Beaumonts laughed. Madame Lucas's temper had a reputation throughout the settlement. When he returned, however, Father Cloutier and Bailiff Duval trailed him.

At the sight of the men, Elisabeth hesitated a brief moment and gestured to the two free seats at the table. “Would you join us for supper?”

“Thank you, Madame Beaumont,” the priest said as he took a seat.

Elisabeth forced a smile and served the two men generous helpings of stew.

“Your reputation as a cook isn't exaggerated,” the bailiff said, eating with zeal.

The priest looked at his companion's table manners with disdain. He ate with careful movements that seemed all but choreographed.

“We come with news,” Father Cloutier said. “Regretfully, Raymond Giroux's body was found this afternoon. It appears he had an unfortunate encounter with a wild animal, God rest his soul.”

“Better than he deserved,” Pascal mumbled.

“Young man, this is your father we discuss,” Father Cloutier scolded.

“I know, and I meant what I said.” To his credit, Pascal's tone was not defiant but resolute.

“You must honor your father, even in death,” the priest replied. “The Bible commands it.”

“As you say.” Pascal didn't look up from his plate.

“Are you feeling all right, Gabrielle?” Elisabeth asked, noticing the girl had paled.

“Not as well as before,” she said. “I should rest. Father, was that all your news?”

“Yes, child, though I would ask you to remain at the table a little longer.”

Elisabeth noticed a flash of annoyance on Gilbert's face, but her husband hid his irritation admirably.

“I do have some additional concerns to discuss with you,” the priest continued.

“Very well, Father,” Gilbert said.

“The Ursulines are willing to give Gabrielle a home. Given her circumstances, they are willing to waive the usual endowment that accompanies a candidate for the novitiate. She could ask for no better opportunity.”

“The Sisters are kind,” Elisabeth said, remembering her own happy weeks in the convent. “But Gabrielle is welcome here.”

“I worry, madame, that this may not be the best environment for her,” said the priest.

“How could you think so?” Elisabeth asked. “We care for her like a daughter. She's fed, clothed, and taught a trade, as well as instructed on how to run a home. She's better off than many girls her age.”

“And when it comes time for her to marry, what then?” asked the bailiff, finding his voice after his third helping of stew.

“She'll have the best dowry we can muster,” Elisabeth said, snatching plates from the table and placing them on the washboard.

“You would be willing to do so much for a child that is not your own?” The priest's eyes widened.

“You see us in our pew each Sunday, yet you seem surprised to find the principles you preach lived out here?” Gilbert sat back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “You offend us, sir.”

“Not my intention, I assure you,” Father Cloutier said. “Though I have concerns about your wife as a guardian for a young, impressionable girl.”

“And what, pray tell, makes my wife's conduct questionable?” Gilbert's hold on his temper was tenuous at best. The telltale vein in his forehead throbbed.

Elisabeth did not trust herself with words. Instead, she served dessert and cider.

“The talk in town is not favorable.” Father Cloutier took a dainty bite of Elisabeth's prized
millefeuille
pastry. “People say you run the bakery as equals, though the Lord requires a woman to submit to her husband's authority.”

“My wife is the better baker, Father,” Gilbert said, pushing his plate forward. “I seek her opinion in all things because God has blessed her with superior skill. A humble man can—and should—admit this.”

Father Cloutier harped on humility from the pulpit without end. He appeared none too pleased to have his arguments brought against him.

“I hear you are also teaching her to read and write,” the priest said.

“Necessary for the business,” Gilbert replied. “I'm teaching Gabrielle as well. I would mention, the Ursulines would educate her, also.”

“Only so she could be of service to God,” the priest began.

“Learning to read in service to one's husband and family is also a Godly virtue,” Gilbert said. “Father, my wife spends every waking moment taking care of her family with at least the same love and devotion you have for your church. Say what you will about me, but her conduct is irreproachable.”

Elisabeth bit back a smile as she recalled her behavior the morning Duval brought her intoxicated husband back from the tavern.
Perhaps not irreproachable, love.
As much as Elisabeth wished to defend herself, she held her tongue. Her husband's defense would be far more persuasive.

“Monsieur Beaumont—” the priest began.

“No more, Father,” Gilbert said, standing and walking to the stairs. “I have worked since before dawn, and I'm bone tired. Please see yourselves out.”

The priest left in a huff. The bailiff trailed after him like a scolded dog following his master.

“I don't want to leave,” Gabrielle said. “I don't want to become a nun.”

“Nor will you have to,” Elisabeth said.

“How can you be so sure?” Pascal asked, voice brimming with venom. “He seems bent on getting his way, as usual.”

“The Sisters know me,” Elisabeth said. “They won't take Gabrielle from my care without reason.”

“True,” Gilbert said, reclaiming his discarded dessert. “And like it or not, the priests can't contradict the nuns as much as they like to think.”

“Back to bed, sweetheart,” Elisabeth said, offering her arm to Gabrielle. The girl was noticeably shakier on her walk back to bed. “Please don't worry.”

“I'll try not to,” Gabrielle said. “Is it strange that I feel sad about Papa?”

In all the upset over Gabrielle's future, Raymond Giroux had been almost forgotten.

“Not at all, dear,” Elisabeth said, smoothing a brown lock from Gabrielle's forehead. “My
maman
and I didn't get along, but part of me still misses her.”

“How could anyone not get along with you?” Gabrielle asked.

The earnest wonder in her face made Elisabeth smile.

“I have that effect on more people than you might realize,” Elisabeth confessed. “But I've learned a lesson along the way.”

“What's that, Maman?”

It was the first time Gabrielle had used the term. Elisabeth had to clear the emotion from her throat before she answered. “The longer I live, I find the people I struggle to get along with were never worth getting along with in the first place.”

 

“The man is as stubborn as a constipated jackass,” Sister Mathilde declared the following afternoon, when she heard about the encounter with the priest.

It took all of Elisabeth's restraint not to sputter cider on the convent floor.

“Laugh if you will, young madame, but it's the truth,” the nun said as she placed her cup on the table with vigor beyond her years.

The common room remained the same as it had when Elisabeth lived there. Only the young inhabitants had changed. They seemed to Elisabeth quite a bit younger than she had been when she arrived, but she realized that was just the result of passing time.

“I don't deny it,” Elisabeth said. “I just don't understand why he's so fixated on our family.”

“I'm sure he has his reasons,” Sister Mathilde said, smoothing the wrinkles from her habit. “He rarely acts without them. It boils down to the fact that women scare him, and educated, independent women scare him most of all.”

“What nonsense,” Elisabeth said, taking one of Pierre's nightgowns from her bag for hemming. “What man is scared of women?”

“Most of them.” The Sister arched her eyebrow. “Why do you think they spend so much energy putting us in our places?”

“I never thought of it that way, Sister.”

“Of course not,” Sister Mathilde said. “Your father raised you like a son, and your husband treats you like an equal. You haven't seen it as many times as I have.”

“I suppose you're right,” Elisabeth said, but she wondered how much the men were to blame. Her mother had wanted her under a man's boot, too. Men may have created the cage, but mothers clipped their daughters' wings and shoved them inside.

“And there he is now. Great shock, I'm sure,” Sister Mathilde said, shaking her head as a black-clad figure passed the window on the way to the front door.

Moments later, a younger nun escorted Father Cloutier to the common room. He frowned with annoyance at the sight of Elisabeth.

“Madame Beaumont, I had not expected to see you here.”

He took the seat nearest Sister Mathilde without awaiting an invitation.

“Perhaps not,” Elisabeth said. “I seldom have time to visit the Sisters as I'd like, but Monsieur Beaumont thought a walk and an hour of conversation would do me good.”

Elisabeth patted her increasing midsection. With all her ministrations to Gabrielle, she had not noticed her missing courses until they were more than a month overdue.

The gesture was not lost on Father Cloutier, but he did not acknowledge it.

“Just as well that you're here, I suppose,” he said. “I've come to speak to Sister Mathilde concerning the Giroux girl. I think she should move to the Sisters' care immediately.”

“She's not well enough to move,” Elisabeth said, stowing the baby's garment in her bag. “Last night's supper was her first out of bed.”

“The Sisters will provide her with medical care.”

“Father,” Sister Mathilde said, “although we would gladly take the child in if she wished it, or if she had no other options, I cannot take on the burden of nursing and feeding an extra person if the faithful of our community have offered to do it for us.”

Sister Mathilde sat as tall as her curved spine would allow. Her blue eyes did not waver.

“I understand your reluctance, Sister,” Father Cloutier said, “but you did agree.”

“I agreed that she would be welcome here if no other option existed,” the nun replied. “The request surprised me, given how useful Gabrielle has been to the Beaumont family, and they to her. Now that I know she is wanted in their home, I see no reason to move her here.”

“You would go back on your word, Sister?” the priest asked.

“I will not,” Sister Mathilde said. “If Gabrielle Giroux desires to join our order, or if the Beaumonts cease to offer her care, I will welcome her under my roof. She is a hard worker, and would be an asset here. However, my duty in this settlement is finding wives for the settlers. New France needs mothers more than Sisters. Gabrielle is better off with the Beaumonts unless God calls her otherwise.”