Promised to the Crown (33 page)

1.
Why do you think the author chose to write the story from three points of view rather than as a single narrative? Why do you believe she chose to create three fictional characters rather than selecting a historical figure to document?

2.
France was in a period of relative prosperity during the era of the “King's Daughters” program, yet there were scores of women who wanted to participate. What do you feel were their motivations and aspirations?

3.
What were the main difficulties French women, particularly those who lived in cities, most acutely suffered upon arrival in New France?

4.
Rose's situation was terribly common; for slight offenses, women could be imprisoned by their families for the rest of their lives. We see that the “charity hospital” where Rose lives is an abysmal place, but when offered the chance to leave the Salpêtrière, Rose hesitates. In fact, many women who were offered their freedom chose to stay in the hospital. Why do you think a seventeenth-century woman would opt to remain imprisoned?

5.
Elisabeth seems to have the easiest time adapting to life in New France. She claims she “had less to leave behind,” though the truth of that statement is questionable. What about her personality enables her to make the transition more easily than her peers and to embrace the tumultuous changes in her life?

6.
Many of the women who agreed to become “King's Daughters” spent a good amount of time in convents, boardinghouses, and with “sponsor families” before marriage. The Sisters made sure their domestic skills were up to standard and gave them plenty of advice on selecting their husbands. What do you imagine the key pieces of advice were and do you think Nicole followed them?

7.
Rose decides fairly soon after her arrival that she wants to enter the convent. This decision could have been socially ruinous for her, despite the revered status of the Church in the colony, especially after she rejects a promising suitor. Why do you think her choice was frowned upon, and why was Sister Mathilde so hesitant to let Rose take orders?

8.
Aside from the emotional heartache of her miscarriages, Elisabeth and Gilbert also face some social stigma for their childless state. This is especially true because of their openly affectionate nature toward each other. What do you believe are the reasons for this social pressure and what does it say about the expectations for marriage in seventeenth-century Quebec?

9.
We see Nicole's transition from the shy farm girl to the capable social maven during the course of the book. What enables this transformation and growth?

10.
How does the fire symbolize Elisabeth's relationship with her mother, and what else could it symbolize about her future?

11.
What are the reasons for Manon's departure, both stated and implied? Do you feel she was justified in her decision to leave?

12.
In the end, Rose is able to overcome her trauma to enjoy her marriage, but she will always carry the scars. How do you think this will affect her relationship with Henri and her children moving forward?

13.
The portrayal of the clergy throughout the book is varied. The nuns are depicted as industrious and motherly, while Father Cloutier, in particular, is shown as petty and scheming. What do you feel is the reason for this contrast?

14.
Alexandre could have used his pull to influence the judicial system in the Beaumonts' favor when the bailiff decides to enforce the King's edict on the bakery. Why do you feel the women took this more subtle approach, and do you think the women's back-channel approach ultimately was effective?

C
HAPTER
1

 

O
nly for her little brother would she venture onto the white man's land—especially
this
white man's land. The air had not yet lost the cruel bite of winter, and Manon longed for the warmth of her longhouse. She had several miles left to trek and medicine to brew before she could rest. Young Tawendeh was ill with fever, along with half the village. Most were not grievously ill, but it was enough for concern. She had seen fever turn from mild to lethal in an hour, so she took no chances. Her remedies were the best chance for a quick recovery, though she feared few would accept her help until they were too far gone.

The path through the forest was far more arduous than if she skirted its perimeter, but the cover of the trees protected her from view. The scent of pine danced in her nose and perfumed her skin. Manon considered it the smell of her home and her people. She cursed the feeble light of the dusk hour when the towering evergreens blocked much of the weak spring sun. When true night fell, she would be able to track her path by the stars, but only if she could see them free from the overhanging limbs. She did not fear the night or the animals that lived by moonlight. A child of the forest, she knew the most dangerous creatures lived not in trees, but in the growing town to the southeast of her village.

“What have we here?”

Manon froze at the sound of the raspy male voice.

“A bit far from home, aren't you?” he continued.

She turned, very slowly, not wanting to give the man any reason to strike. Alone, in the forest, he would face no consequences if he attacked her.

“Stupid thing,” he drawled. “You don't understand a word I'm saying, do you?”

“I am just passing through, monsieur,” she spoke softly, but in perfect French. She did not allow the tremor in her heart to reach her voice. She would not let this dirty farmer know she feared him.

“This is my land.” The man, hunched and weary from a day's labor, straightened to his full height. “You're trespassing here.”

This is not your land, you foul creature. Nor any man's.
Manon kept the thought to herself; it would only spark his temper.

“I mean no harm, monsieur.” The courtesy tasted bitter on her tongue, but she sensed his considerable self-importance. “I am going home. This is merely the shortest route without cutting through your fields.”

“I don't care for trespassers,” the man insisted. “What's in your bag?”

“Nothing of interest, monsieur.” Manon spoke the truth. White men had little use for plants they could not eat.

“Let me see in your bag, you little savage.” The large man's stench nearly overpowered her as he stepped close and grabbed her wrist, snatching the deerskin pouch with his free hand. “Nothing but weeds. Are you trying to cast some kind of spell, witch?”

“No, monsieur.” She fought harder to swallow back her fear. A whisper of the word
witchcraft
could see her dangling from the gallows. “I am merely gathering herbs to heal fever.”

The man spat without releasing her wrist. “You were stealing those weeds off my land. I could see you hanged.”

He wasn't lying. She paused for a brief moment to consider whether she could inflict enough damage on the brute of a man to enable her escape when he took a step closer.

“Don't be upset,” he said, caressing her cheek with a dirty finger and moving closer still. Close enough that she could smell his rancid, whiskey-laced breath. “You're too pretty for the hangman's rope. We might be able to work something out.”

Anger flashed in her eyes. This grimy man spoke as if she were the dirt beneath his feet, and he was going to force her to tell her full identity. Something she'd sworn never to do.

“I don't think so.” Manon broke his grasp on her wrist and stepped backward. “This land is
not
yours. It belongs to Seigneur Lefebvre.” She spat his name like a curse. The lord of these lands had once been her protector, but she hated using his name to earn her freedom all the same.

Before she could react, one of the farmer's massive hands slammed into her cheek, and stars dotted her vision.

“How dare you,” Manon growled. “I know the
seigneur
. I was known as Manon Lefebvre to your people. The
seigneur
would not appreciate your behavior toward me. But please, continue, if you wish to lose every inch of your lands.”

Manon saw a shimmer of fear in the farmer's eyes.

“Likely tale, you brown trollop,” he said, voice wavering. “How do I know you aren't lying?”

“Madame Lefebvre's parents live less than a mile from here,” Manon said. “They will vouch for me and my right to be here. I'm sure they'll welcome the intrusion over a bag of weeds that means nothing to any of you.”

“You're lying,” the man pressed. “Trying to trick me.”

Her hunter's instincts forced her heart to slow and her breathing to steady. If he fought, she would defend herself, but killing—or even injuring—a white man would cost her her life.

He had to go with her to the Deschamps' house.

“Monsieur, I speak the truth,” she said, returning to a respectful tone. “The Deschamps can assure you that the
seigneur
has no objection to my presence here.”

The man hesitated at her mention of the
seigneur
and his parents-in-law. Anyone might know the landholder's name, but his wife's family was not of the first circles.

“Fine, then. Lead the way, if you know it so well.”

She started west, toward the cultivated fields. Her moccasins made a slap-slap-slapping noise on the hardened earth. She moved quickly, but not fast enough to give the farmer cause to think she would run. He trudged along a few paces behind her, breathing labored from the exertion.

Less than ten minutes later, Manon knocked on the door of the small but inviting farmhouse. Though visitors here were scarce, the flickering of the fire and the smell of good food radiated the kind spirit of its mistress.

An old woman answered the door. She no longer stood as straight as she once had, but moved with efficiency. No spark of recognition lit the woman's eyes as she looked with a furrowed brow at the unknown girl.

“Manon!” The cry came from behind the woman. It was the first time anyone had called her by her French name in ages, and it fell hard on her ears.

Familiar chestnut hair and soft eyes came into view. It had been five years since Manon last saw Nicole Lefebvre, the woman she once considered her mother. The years had been kind to Nicole, leaving only a few lines of experience around her eyes and a bit more fullness to her hips. Nicole dressed in fine fabrics, perfectly cut and tailored, as one would expect from a woman of status, even in her small community.

“Hello,” was all she could utter as Nicole took her in her arms. She felt a few decorous tears fall from Nicole's cheek onto her own as they embraced.

“Look at how you've grown, my sweet girl! You're practically a woman,” Nicole said, then, seeing the red handprint on her cheek, she cradled Manon's face in her hands to inspect the injury. “What's happened to your cheek?”

“A misunderstanding,” she answered. The red print would soon be a bruise, but would fade in time. Nothing to worry over, especially with Tawendeh's condition apt to deteriorate the longer she was away. Manon did not say that the Huron people had long considered her a woman. She had learned years before that the French had the luxury of long childhoods.

“Welcome, Manon,” said a commanding voice from the dining area.

Alexandre Lefebvre, her one-time foster father, entered the living area and bowed, very slightly, in her direction. Manon offered him a barely perceptible nod, like a queen acknowledging a stable boy. The farmer shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his considerable size causing the floorboards to creak, calling attention back to himself.

“I am sorry to disturb you,” Manon said, the French language still feeling odd on her tongue. “Your tenant found me gathering herbs in the forest, at the edge of your lands. I assured him that you would not object to my presence, but he preferred to hear it from you directly.”

“The young lady speaks the truth, Rocher,” Alexandre said to the farmer. “She is welcome anywhere on my lands and is not to be harassed, is that understood?”

“Yes, seigneur,” the man said with a bow. “Forgive the intrusion. Can't be too careful, you know.” The man cast a knowing look in Manon's direction.
Yes, because my people are the dangerous ones. You have that much to fear from a woman half your size alone in the woods?

“Quite,” Alexandre said. “You have other things to attend to, Rocher. Have a pleasant evening.”

The farmer shook his head at the sight of Dame Lefebvre embracing a native girl, and bowed his way from the house.

“I'm sorry to have bothered you,” Manon said, her tone still formal. “I must return home.”

“Nonsense.” Nicole took Manon's hand and led her to the table where the rest of the family sat. “You'll stay for supper.”

“I cannot,” Manon said, patting Nicole's hand. Now that Nicole was Madame Lefebvre, her hand was free of the calluses earned from a hard day's work. It pained her to refuse the hospitality of the woman who had been so kind to her, but she would not be able to sit still while Tawendeh was ill. “There is a fever in the Huron village. My brother is among the ill. It can become serious so quickly.”

Nicole responded with the quizzical furrow of her brow at the mention of the word
brother
.

“Adoptive brother,” Manon explained. She was an orphaned only child when she'd first met Nicole some nine years prior. Her aging grandmother had been less and less able to keep track of her young granddaughter, so Manon roamed unchecked. Her favorite thing to do was to wander into the woods and follow the brown-haired French angel who lived in the run-down cabin near the Huron village. She had never spoken to this lovely creature with her foreign clothes and creamy skin, but love-starved Manon could only imagine she was as lovely and sweet as she looked. When Manon happened upon Nicole's husband, grievously injured by a Huron arrow that was meant for a stag, Manon found the angel and dragged her to the dying man. In the end, they were too late. Nicole adopted Manon and they were inseparable for the three years that followed.

“You'll be in want of supplies if the fever spreads. We'll send you with all we have.” Nicole transformed at once. She was no longer just a loving mother and dutiful wife, she was a commander. The women of the house set to work gathering anything that could be of use when treating the ill: blankets, clean rags, and more food than Manon could hope to carry in four treks to the village.

Manon forced herself to keep from fidgeting as she waited for Nicole and her mother to assemble the supplies. She could be of no use, nor could she refuse the food and supplies her people needed. She stood and observed the family as they bustled about on her behalf rather than sitting down to their own supper. Nicole's parents had only spent a few weeks in Manon's company. They seemed to have a vague recollection of her, and welcomed her into their home. The chatter of immaculately dressed children only served to make the small farmhouse seem all the more welcoming.

“Your family has grown,” Manon said, to break the awkward silence.

“Without question,” Nicole said with a laugh as she folded a thick woolen blanket. She indicated a beautiful girl of eight with golden-brown curls. “You remember Hélène, of course, and Frédéric. Sabine was born shortly after you left and Cécile and Roland arrived early last year.”

Hélène was the child from Nicole's first husband, born only a few months after Manon had come into Nicole's care. She had stood by Nicole's side when the dark-haired, sturdy boy called Frédéric, the very image of his father with dark hair and flawless ivory skin, entered the world. He greeted Manon with wide eyes and a head cocked sideways with unspoken questions.
An imp, just like Tawendeh.
The toddling twins, blond and mischievous, were too absorbed in playing with their wooden horses on the dining room floor to notice the guest. Shy Sabine clung to her mother's skirts and looked at Manon with curiosity, weakly returning the native girl's gracious smile.

“What lovely children,” Manon said in earnest. “You have been blessed.”

“Amply,” Alexandre agreed, taking his place by his father-in-law's side at the table as the women continued gathering. He reintroduced the Deschamps family without the slightest indication that her arrival caused him displeasure.
Not that he would ever voice it.

Nicole's parents, two younger sisters, and little brother had come to the colony nearly six years before when Manon was still a ward of the Lefebvres. Not long after the Deschamps arrived, Manon realized Nicole's original family had usurped her place in Nicole's life. Claudine and Emmanuelle would take Manon's place in her heart. Alexandre, Manon was sure, thought to please his wife by moving her family to the New World, thereby easing her homesickness and worry for their well-being. In so doing, however, he cut out Manon's place in their family and replaced it with Nicole's own sisters. Perhaps it wasn't by happenstance, either. Manon's presence with the leading woman in their small society already caused stares from the rest of the settlement. The elder Deschamps had clearly endured hard labor. Their faces showed the signs of too many days in the sun. Still, both looked plump and hardy, thanks to the bounty of their new land. They wore plainer clothes than the Lefebvres, but still fit in better in the settlement than Manon in her deerskin robes and moccasins.