The Birthright (3 page)
Nicole’s face lifted to the ship waiting at anchor, and with a sudden jolt, she felt a new realization that took her beyond the confusion and sorrow. It was as if words were being whispered to her mind and heart there on the quayside, words suddenly more clear than the screeching gulls overhead.
She raised her arm and waved once more, this time wishing them a safe journey with all her heart…yet held also by a new conviction, one that left her shaken and transported beyond her sadness.
Though she couldn’t explain why or how, Nicole was certain she would be leaving as well. She would go to England. And she would leave with the coming of spring.
The unseasonable warmth lasted six full days, long enough to have the entire region talking. Halifax’s older ladies gathered each evening as was their habit, and while they knitted they recalled hard winters gone by and the one yet to come.
Then, on the seventh day, Anne woke up to find the day lost behind drifting veils. The world beyond her front porch lay cloaked in fog. The surrounding trees, now robbed of the last of their fall colors, were transformed to dark etchings against the misty dawn.
Cyril called to her from inside the house, “Anne? What on earth are you doing?”
She smiled but could not bring herself to turn around. She was too busy impressing the morning on her memory. “Enjoying the sunrise.”
“Don’t be silly, my dear. There is not any daybreak to enjoy.” Cyril emerged already dressed for his morning rounds, all except his frock coat and boots. His house slippers slapped across the holystoned planks as he strode to the open front door. “Come back inside. You might catch a chill.”
“In just a moment.” Anne inhaled another lungful of the biting air. She tried to hold it in, wishing she could also hold everything she was feeling with perfect clarity. The whole day seemed surrounded by a special luminescence. The dark shadowy trees were burnished with a glow only she could see. The haze itself was not gray but silver, which sparkled with the light of her joy. Anne strained with all her might to retain every last detail. She wanted to look back on this morning with such vividness she would be able to close her eyes and see again how everything had been, captured by the sparkling hush that filled her heart. She shivered with the delight of it all.
“There, you see?” Cyril walked up beside her and slipped a wrap about her shoulders. “Cold and trembling already.”
She reached up and clasped his hand. “You are such a good, dear man.”
While drawing her inside, Cyril halted and looked down upon her face. “You’re a funny little robin this morning.”
Anne held her husband’s hand tighter still, thinking how remarkable it was that just the week before she had been inconsolable in her grief over Louise and Henri’s departure. Her heart had felt so heavy she questioned whether she might ever recover. Yet here she was, receiving the day with joyous fervor. She was not someone given to great swings of emotion, but there was so much happiness to this dawn, so much goodness in this day, she wanted to dance and sing her way down the lane. She turned her head, kissed Cyril’s hand as it rested on her shoulder, then said, “I don’t deserve you.”
“Ah, my darling Anne.” Normally Cyril did not express his feelings in public. And any show of sentiment on her part where others might see, even within their family, was met with frowning displeasure. But not this time. Perhaps it was because of the way the mist clung so tightly they could hardly see their front fence, or perhaps because of how she had moped her way about the house since the Robichauds’ departure, or perhaps because he now sensed the exultation that caused Anne’s heart to overflow. Whatever the reason, Cyril leaned in close and, with his free hand, stroked her fine, dark hair. “It is good to see you returning to your old self, lass.”
She slid around in his arms, bundling in close, knowing it was time to share the news. “I have something to tell you.”
“And I you, my dear.” He made a show of pulling his father’s watch from his vest pocket. “I am late for my rounds.”
“They will have to wait a bit longer.” She took another breath, once more caught by the need to hold this memory close. This was her husband’s face the day she shared the news, the way he looked, the love he held in his eyes, the way his arms felt around her. When she released her breath, it was to say, “Cyril, we are going to have a baby.”
The news catapulted him back until he was stopped by the doorjamb. “Y-you are…”
“With child,” Anne finished for him, when it was clear he couldn’t do so himself.
“M-my dear…” He straightened himself, then reached out. “Look at me. I deal with such matters a dozen times a day, yet now I am trembling like a leaf.”
“But you’re happy?”
“Happy? My dear darling Anne, I am beside myself with jo y.”
She smiled, knowing to him it would look like she was behaving calmly, while in truth she was preoccupied by the need to capture the moment, the impact the happy news had on him. Tears of joy flashed in his eyes, and his body shook with delight as he looked on her with awe. Yes, all of these things needed to be experienced so deeply that she could reflect back at the end of their long and glorious life together and remember with crystal clarity this resplendent moment. “I am so glad.”
“You…you seem so…well, serene.”
“I’ve had time to come to terms with this.”
“How long?” he asked.
“A few days now.” She watched as he stepped over to her and then drew her close. She felt the strength in his embrace, and the love. “I wish I could have been certain earlier and told Louise and Henri before their departure.”
Cyril did not slacken his hold on her when he replied, “But think of what your news will mean coming later on. Instead of a letter describing your sorrow over their departure, you will give them reason to celebrate and be glad for you.”
“For us,” she said, wondering how it was that one heart could hold such joy, such love, and still remain intact. “Glad for us, my husband.”
Nicole heard the horse-drawn cart long before she saw it. Cyril and Anne always used the wagon with the harness that jangled like bells for the journey to Georgetown. Catherine had been poised at the window for two days now, knowing they were coming, though not exactly when. Knowing too it would be the last journey Anne could make this winter. Anne remained a delicate figure and prone to the grippe during the winter months. Therefore, a two-day journey over snowbound trails would be impossible for her. Weather permitting, Nicole and Catherine and Andrew would travel to Halifax once Andrew had delivered his Christmas sermon. Even so, this was to be their final time together for three months, and Catherine had been beside herself with excitement. Nicole heard Catherine’s little cry of delight as the cart rounded the last turn and finally came into view.
Through the window Nicole saw Catherine and Andrew greeting the young couple with welcoming embraces. She felt no resentment over their closeness, nor jealousy. No, she held back because it was at such times that she felt most acutely her own lack of roots. Returning to Acadia, or Nova Scotia as it was now called, had been a most satisfying experience. She remained certain she had made the right choice by staying behind when Henri and Louise sailed back to Louisiana. But there was nothing she could do about her feelings of isolation. She carried this deep inside her, probably would the rest of her days. Coming to know the Father had comforted her greatly, yet there was this mystery to her makeup, this legacy from her early days upon hard and bitter roads.
The kitchen window looked out over the front garden. Other than a few scattered turnips and potatoes, the garden now lay brown and bare. Nicole kneaded a piecrust into its tin while watching Andrew and Catherine erupt into cries of delight. She guessed at the news and smiled in shared pleasure. Anne and Cyril would make wonderful parents. Nicole smiled even brighter when she raised her flour-covered hand to return Anne’s enthusiastic wave. No, she was not jealous, but the family’s joy over this most natural of events seemed to heighten her sense of wondering where she belonged.
Journeying to Nova Scotia, discovering her family, settling into their routine, and now learning English had all proven to be valuable lessons. More precious still had been the sense of binding herself to her Lord. Yet for every answer she gained, for every lesson learned, even more questions sprang to her mind. What was to be her own lot in life? Would she ever find a man and settle down? Was she to have a family, a home, a place that was hers and hers alone?
“Nicole, look at you!” Anne bustled in, as happy now as she had been sad the last time they saw each other, the day Henri and Louise left. “You have more flour on yourself than you do in the pan.”
Nicole accepted the slighter woman’s embrace and then gazed into her fragile porcelain features, noticing right away the new flush, the bright joy that shone about her. There was no question now. “Tell me the news.”
“Wash your hands and come with me.”
“Tell me first.”
“I won’t. This is
my
news, and I want to tell it
my
way.” Anne laughed and grabbed Nicole’s arm. “Hurry or I will burst!”
Catherine came through the door as Nicole was wiping the flour off her hands. “Would you like a cup of hot cider to take away the chill of the road?”
“Thank you, Momma, but first Nicole and I are going out to the point. That is, if this sluggish lady can hasten her step.”
Catherine gave them a fond look. “My two fine daughters, look at you.”
Anne’s impatience only made Nicole move more slowly. “Perhaps I should brew you a cup of tea. You look all peaked,” Nicole said.
“She does not,” Catherine chided. “In fact, she looks marvelous.”
“John Price has gone out for a walk,” Nicole continued. “He’ll be so glad to see you, perhaps you should wait—”
“Grandfather will be seated by the fire when we return,” Anne broke in. “That is, if I can ever get you up and ready to
leave
.”
“Sit a spell,” Nicole teased. “Catch your breath and tell your mother about the journey. She has been spending her days waiting at the window—”
“And I have been waiting
weeks
for the chance to talk with you alone!” Anne found Nicole’s cloak and flung it at her. “Now either come along or I will drag you!”
Hand in hand they emerged laughing from the cottage. Cyril looked up from unpacking his cart—medicines for the village and Halifax goods for Andrew and Catherine—and grinned. “Hello, Nicole. Has she told you yet?”
“No, I haven’t, and don’t you say a word!” Anne gripped Nicole’s hand tighter and tugged her out the front gate. “Cannot you move any faster than this?”
But Cyril had not finished. He hefted a cedar chest from the cart and cried, “Look what Charles has sent us, a chest full of spices!”
“Don’t stop her now with such distractions,” Anne pleaded. “I’ll never get her started again!”
“Careful what you say,” Nicole warned, caught by the smaller girl’s joy. “I might race away and leave you in the dust.”
“Not this time.” Anne seemed to laugh even when speaking the simplest words. “For today I have wings all my very own!”
“Then show me these wings!” Nicole gathered her skirts and sprinted ahead, finally able to cast aside the melancholy and escape from all the unanswered questions.
The two girls ran together through the village, holding hands and laughing, spurred on by the smiles and fond greetings of those they passed by. All knew their story and shared in the mystery of their becoming friends.
Friends yet much more, for Anne was fast becoming the sister Nicole never had. They reached their spot at the cliffside, high above the point where the Bay of Fundy joined up with the Bay of Cobequid, then seated themselves on the massive old tree trunk. Anne took a long moment to find her breath while staring out over the waters of her home. “I used to come here when I was a little girl.”
“You did not drag me out here to speak about your childhood,” Nicole objected.
“No. But I was thinking about this on the journey.” Anne kept her face turned toward the sea and its chilly breeze. “How I sat here through my growing-up years and wondered who this girl was, a girl my age, who had given up all this so that I might live.”
Normally, thoughts of the early days and their hardships left Nicole feeling as though a shadow had been cast over the entire world. But not here, not now. Anne shone with a joy so profound, not even the darkest memories could touch Nicole. “Tell me.”
Anne turned to her. “You already know, don’t you?”
“You’re with child?”
“Yes.” Anne looked back to the sea, breathing in the air and the day both. “When I was little, I always thought it would be nice to know you. I hoped it would. But never in my wildest dreams did I imagine it would be this good, this…”
“Perfect,” Nicole whispered, turning her own face seaward. “Perfect in every way.”
“To have another woman my own age, one who knows my deepest secrets and my past, some parts even better than I know myself. It is a miracle. But as for perfect, I am not so sure.” Anne reached over and took Nicole’s hand. “I pray every night that you will soon find a young man of your own. Someone who will give you the kind of joy that I’ve found in Cyril.”