The Island of Doves (22 page)

“And where is he tonight, the reverend?”

Mr. Corliss replied with an embarrassed shrug. “I suppose you could say he disapproves of the French style of reverence.”

One of the men standing nearby, the grown son of a trader named Luc, raised his fingers to count the ways in which they celebrated. “Revere the wine,” he said. “Revere the food. Revere the
belles femmes
.” He gestured toward Susannah and Esmee, laughing.

Magdelaine smiled. “I will never understand that way of thinking. It’s so unpleasant. How can one revere life by taking every pleasurable thing out of it?”

Mr. Corliss nodded. “I will agree that he has a singularly rigid point of view.”

“Indeed. You say he enrolls girls, but it is only to teach them sewing and to memorize verses they do not understand,” Magdelaine said. “Honestly, I thank the Lord that Reverend Howe will not take them as regular pupils. The girls tell me he insists on cutting their brothers’ hair, then converting them whether they want it or not, and turning them back out again if they will not submit to his ways.”

“I cannot speak to the past,” Mr. Corliss said. “But since I arrived at the school that hasn’t been true. My sole focus is literacy for each student. I leave the theology to Reverend Howe. In fact, I would be glad to give you a tour.” He hesitated, glanced between Magdelaine and Susannah. “I was disappointed to hear that Miss Dove didn’t have time for one when I invited her back in the spring.”

Back in the spring, of course, Susannah had been terrified of her own shadow, too terrified even to tell Magdelaine, it seemed, that Mr. Corliss had shown interest in her. Now, things were different. Magdelaine glanced at Susannah, trying to read her thoughts.

She turned back to the teacher. “Mr. Corliss, I’m sure we can arrange something.”

“Please excuse me,” Susannah mumbled. She turned and hurried away from them, up the beach.

“I fear I have upset her,” Mr. Corliss said to Esmee. “I didn’t mean to insist—”

“Nonsense,” Magdelaine said. “She mentioned earlier that she was not feeling well. I should have heeded her concerns and seen her home. Please, go back to enjoying the feast. Esmee, could you help Mr. Corliss find something hot to drink?”

“Yes, of course, madame.”

Magdelaine nodded to them and went off after Susannah, catching her by the elbow and gently turning her around. “What is the matter?”

Tears streamed down her cheeks.
The second young woman I’ve brought to crying this evening
, Magdelaine thought.
Heaven protect them from me.

Susannah pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve and blew her nose. “Why did you force me to speak to him? It only makes things more difficult.”

“I don’t understand,” Magdelaine said. “You are safe here; your old life is in the past. Mr. Corliss seems genuine in extending a hand of friendship. There’s no reason why you shouldn’t be able to accept it. If you want to.”

“But that’s just it—my
old life
, as you call it, can never really be past. The little I have told Mr. Corliss about myself has been a lie, and I am too ashamed to tell him the truth. What good is a friendship based in deceit? Don’t I owe him more than that?”

Magdelaine patted Susannah’s hand. “My dear, I don’t think he is asking for an account of your activities—I don’t think he supposes you
owe
him anything at all. I think it is much simpler than all that. He likes you. That is all.”

Susannah shook her head. “Don’t you see? I am trapped by the past. I may have escaped the dangers, but I cannot erase what happened. I cannot start fresh.”

Magdelaine thought for a moment, choosing her next words carefully. “Why did you come here, Susannah? Why did you leave behind everything you have ever known, to come here, to an island you’ve never seen, full of people who know nothing about the real you. Why did you do it?”

Susannah did not hesitate before she answered. “For safety. To save my life before my husband took it.”

“That is what I thought too, in the beginning. That is what I thought would have protected my sisters. Safety. Caution. I have thought for so long that if only I had been more careful, if only I had stayed vigilant—that somehow I could have stopped that brute from killing Josette, could have stopped Therese from taking her life.”

The mention of Therese’s name seemed to call up a question in Susannah, and she opened her mouth to ask it. But then she seemed to lose her nerve. Susannah was quiet for a moment before she said, “It’s an awful thing to believe in, but isn’t it true?”

“No. I don’t think so. Not anymore. And I don’t think you came here for safety. You may believe that, but it is not so. I think you came here because you wanted to be
free
—and that’s a different thing. You wanted out of that prison your husband kept you in, the prison of loneliness and fear. You wanted freedom.”

Susannah watched her mouth and the words that came out of it like birds flushed out of a tree. She took a small breath. “That
is
what I wanted.”

“Mrs. Susannah Fraser has been dead since April. You saw the obituary yourself.”

Susannah swallowed and nodded.

“So there is no reason why you should not have your freedom. But you cannot wait for
safety
. There is no real safety, not for any of us.”

Susannah seemed to be rolling these words over in her mind. She needed time, Magdelaine saw. She hoped Mr. Corliss was a patient man. Susannah’s gaze flicked to something behind them and Magdelaine turned to look, expecting to see the figure of Mr. Corliss at a distance, engaged in jovial conversation. But instead, in the darkness at the lip of the water stood Esmee and Jean-Henri. They did not touch, but her son’s head was inclined toward Esmee’s and they whispered to one another.

“What is this?” Magdelaine asked, turning back to Susannah in surprise.

She gave Magdelaine a knowing look. “You wondered whether your son was in love. Now you know.”

“I don’t believe it!”

“Neither did he. But as you can see, he learns quickly.”

“
You
are responsible for this?” Magdelaine’s shock subsided into a swell of happiness. She smiled at Susannah. “You matched my son with my
servant girl
?” She was joking, of course, suddenly filled with a lightness of heart. She had already come to love Esmee as a daughter. How could she not have seen what was brewing between them?

“It was not my doing, I promise,” Susannah said, clearly relieved to be talking about someone else’s entanglements. “I only acted as messenger, relayed what she had told me. I knew he couldn’t help but love her back. Esmee was nearly sick with feeling for him and he did not see it.”

They stood side by side, watching the lovers. Magdelaine laughed at her son’s cluelessness, at her own. “Now
that
I will believe.”

Susannah leaned her head against Magdelaine’s shoulder. “I helped them because they needed help—it was plain to see,” she said. “But I had another reason. It will bring
you
happiness too, I hope?” Susannah looked at Magdelaine. “Your family is growing.”

Magdelaine nodded, and her breath caught in her throat as she watched their figures in the moonlight, blue-black and silver. They passed a mug of wine back and forth between them, sharing it. Esmee took a drink and when she handed it back to Jean-Henri he cupped his hand beneath her wrist, just as Henri had done so many years ago when it was Magdelaine’s wrist, Magdelaine’s cup. She thought again of Jean-Henri as a small boy who longed to run faster than his legs yet knew how. Joy in the smallest thing—a robin peeking out from the maple boughs, a shimmering icicle on the cabin window—would rise up in him and he would call for his mother to come and see, so that they could rejoice together in the gifts the world kept giving, over and over and over.

N
othing was quieter than a Mackinac house on Christmas morning. Revelers slept as if enchanted into stasis by a spell, their bellies full of wine, their hearts full too.

Susannah peeked from the doorway into Magdelaine’s room to see the woman lying on her back with her limbs spread wide and her hair tangled around her head like a crown. She pulled the door closed. Down the hall, Jean-Henri’s door was closed, and Susannah felt sure that if she checked Esmee’s bed, in the small room off the kitchen, she would find it empty.

With the quiet house to herself, Susannah finally had time to reflect on the conversation she had had in the kitchen with Esmee. She realized that she needed to get a letter to Buffalo so that she could find out whether Sister Mary Genevieve might actually be Magdelaine’s sister Therese. Mr. Morin wouldn’t be in his store today, but maybe tomorrow. She would walk the letter there then. Today she would have to force herself to wait and rest.

But first she wanted some fresh air. Susannah dressed in her red wool and tiptoed down the stairs and into the sitting room. She placed new logs on the banked coals, then pulled on her cloak and stepped out to the front porch, feeling the chilly wind run its fingers up her scalp. A dusting of snow had fallen in the early morning, and she swept it from the stairs with the broom. Her motion disturbed a brown rabbit hiding beneath the thimbleberry bush, and it sprang out across the white expanse, racing for cover in a sleepier yard. She thought of the carved stone rabbit on Josette’s headstone, how it had weathered so many winters in the graveyard. But this rabbit was terrified, vulnerable—real.

Something else moving through the snow caught her attention, and she looked up to see Alfred Corliss come around the curve of the island on the lane, then raise his hand to Susannah in greeting. She longed to lean the broom against the porch and hurry back inside, but instead she waited as he came nearer.

“Good morning, Miss Dove. I was just now debating whether it was too early to call when you stepped outside.”

She let her eyes graze his shoulder but couldn’t quite bring herself to look into his face. “Good morning, sir. Merry Christmas.” It was much colder now than it had been the night before, and Alfred’s nose was pink, his eyes tearing from the wind’s bite. She couldn’t very well leave him out in the snow. “The rest of the house is still sleeping,” she said. “But will you come in for something warm to drink?”

“I wouldn’t trouble you,” he began.

“It’s no trouble, Mr. Corliss. One must not be cold on Christmas morning.”

Susannah shook the snow off the broom, and they went inside. She hung her cloak, then took his hat and overcoat and hung them on the adjacent hook. She glanced up the stairs. “Perhaps we could talk in the kitchen, so we do not wake the others.”

He pulled a chair up to the worktable, and Susannah pushed the kettle over the flame. They didn’t speak as she made the coffee. Alfred looked out the window, laced his fingers together on the table. She carried their full cups over on a tray and sat down in the opposite chair.

“I imagine your household will attend the Christmas Mass together later today?”

Susannah nodded. Magdelaine and Esmee and Jean-Henri would go, of course, but she wasn’t sure about herself.

“And you, sir?”

“Reverend Howe will preach at noon. And again at two. And again at four.” Alfred laughed. “He is fond of preaching, and the fondness seems quite independent of the response of his flock. He has a captive audience in these students, you see. They board at the school. Home is far away for some of them.”

Susannah responded with a close-lipped smile. Alfred’s easy way with conversation made her nervous. She had once known how to conduct herself during a simple social visit: when to nod, when to smile, how to interject a charming aside without shining the spotlight on herself. But now it all felt silly. And perilous. Alfred was here because he wanted to ask something of her, she knew. Something impossible.

They passed a few awkward moments staring into their cooling coffee, and Susannah felt her uneasiness growing. Perhaps if she made him uncomfortable enough, he would simply give up and leave.

“You must be looking forward to the spring,” he said, trying again at conversation. “And your garden? You did remarkable things with it earlier this year.”

Susannah looked up in surprise. His observation made her wonder whether he had been watching her from afar, and she didn’t like the notion. “Thank you. I have some ideas about what I’d like to try next year. The growing season is short, so my choices are limited.”

He nodded. “Reverend Howe believes in teaching gardening to the young men. I have found that most of them are excellent foragers with a vast knowledge of the local plants, but they have little experience with planting itself. I myself have little experience. My father was a businessman—more comfortable at his desk with his ledger than he was outside. Everything I know about planting I learned as a boy, from my mother. But it has been years since I’ve spent time digging in the dirt, and I don’t wish to misinform my students.”

Susannah nodded, still avoiding his gaze.

Alfred sipped his coffee, then cleared his throat. “I wonder if you might be willing to spend some time with us in the spring? Help ensure the students are on the right course with their garden?”

Perhaps that was all he wanted, assistance with the lessons, Susannah thought. Well, that was something she could provide. “I would be happy to help if I can, sir.”

He nodded. “I appreciate that, Miss Dove. While the weather keeps us indoors, I am hoping to teach them something about the anatomy of a seed and how it germinates. That way in the spring they will understand what is happening when the seed is buried in the ground. Do you have any suggestions?”

Susannah thought for a moment. “Well, you might try sprouting some peas. You could place a handful in a damp cloth and keep it somewhere warm. Be sure the cloth doesn’t dry out. Check every so often. It will take a few days for the sprouts to emerge. You could examine them, label the parts. But keep a few back for planting. You’ll need a pot of good soil. Keep them well watered, on the windowsill. You want sunlight, but you don’t want them to get cold. The students could chart the progress, and in the spring you could plant them outside . . .” She trailed off when she noticed that Alfred was grinning broadly at her. “Have I said something amusing, sir?”

“Forgive me, no. It is just that I think this is the most I’ve ever heard you say. And I am enjoying listening very much.”

His compliment made Susannah feel self-conscious. Suddenly her dress felt too tight and she straightened the collar, touched the handle of her cup but did not pick it up for fear of spilling it. Beneath the table she worried the skin around the thumbnail on her left hand. Time had lessened the pain in her fingers, but sometimes they still ached. And they would never again straighten out. She knew some people were unnerved by the hand’s appearance, and she often kept it hidden from view. “I am not very good at conversation, sir.”

He smiled. “That is not true. It is only that there is much you do not say.”

She responded with a weak smile of her own. Part of her was afraid he would linger here in the kitchen. But she realized that another new and frightened part of her was afraid he would go.

He cleared his throat again. “Miss Dove, I get the feeling, sometimes, that I make you uneasy, and I regret that. I want you to know that I have no desire to invade your privacy. I would never ask you to reveal your secrets—though there’s something about you that makes me want to tell you mine.” He smiled. “I may have mentioned that my brother disapproves of my work here, wants me to return to Boston and the factory. There is more than that. I ran away, you see—couldn’t take another day of that life. My brother doesn’t know where I am. You are not the only one hiding here.”

She took a small breath and met his eyes. She wondered what he knew, what he thought he knew.

“But I am not going back. This is where I belong. My family is not my destiny. I can choose the life I want, and that life is here.”

Alfred seemed to be waiting for her to respond, but what could she say? She couldn’t begin to explain herself when there was so much about her past that she could not tell him.

He sighed. “I know what you are feeling,” he said. “The world can be an awfully cold place.” His cup was empty, and he slid it a few inches away so that he could rest his elbows on the table. He tried to begin again. “It gives things and then it takes them away.” She thought of her happy years as a girl in Manhattan City. Of her mother and father. “And loneliness can engulf us.”

“Yes,” Susannah said, before she could stop the tiny word from slipping out.

“And we might like to have someone to call on, for counsel, for friendship—”

If it was God he meant, Susannah thought, he could save his breath. “
That
particular friend is deaf to my troubles.”
I have prayed a thousand prayers
, she wanted to say.
And not one of them was answered.

She saw from his amused grin that she had misunderstood him. “I wonder, Miss Dove . . .” Alfred said, then winced. He twisted up his mouth, pushed the flop of curls off his forehead. “I wonder if you would let it be
me
. Let it be me you turn to in times of trouble.”

She opened her mouth in surprise, then closed it again.

Alfred pressed on, in danger of losing his nerve. “Ever since we met on the boat I have thought of you and wondered how you fared. And then we saw each other again, even though it seemed impossible we ever could. I cannot explain why, but I feel, somehow, that I know something about what you are carrying, whatever secret thing it is that you are afraid to let anyone know. And I suspect it is something you think terrible, and yet I want to tell you that whatever it is, I could never think badly of you—”

Susannah felt anxiety climbing her lungs, and she stood up from her chair, took a step away from the table. She couldn’t allow what was happening now to continue. “You speak out of turn, Mr. Corliss. You know nothing about me.”

“Please, forgive me, Miss Dove, but I must say this to you. I would never
insist
, you see. I would never insist on . . . well, anything, really, from you, and certainly never that you would tell me something you do not wish to tell.”

He stood and came around the table to her side, approaching carefully, the way one might step toward a frightened animal. He reached for her left hand, and though she flinched slightly she let him take it and lift it up onto his palm. Then he ran his thumb over the two crooked fingers, the hard piece of scarred bone under the skin.

“This hand, for instance. You injured it, maybe as a girl, maybe in some other way. If you ever want to tell me how, I’d like to know. But only because I am interested in the story of you, Miss Dove. Not because I wish to
do
anything with the knowledge.”

She saw then that he knew, that somehow everything she had hoped to hide was laid bare.

“Don’t you see? It’s all right. I don’t need to know everything about you, if there are things you cannot tell me. I already know everything that is important.”

She wanted so badly to nod in agreement, to say that she wished to know him too, that she wished to pass the time together. But his kindness—for that was what it was, and nothing more? The feeling was so unfamiliar, she had trouble naming it—his kindness felt like a threat. She was still married, not in her heart but according to law. She had run away from home, was lying about her name, her past. He would never be able to accept her if he knew the truth. And of course there was always the risk that if she told him the truth, somehow word might reach Edward and he would come after her. She pulled her hand from his grasp and slipped it into the pocket of her apron.

He sighed. “I’ve said too much. Please forgive me. I’ll leave you now.” He turned toward the front hall, and Susannah followed him.

As he lifted his hat from the hook, she said, “Mr. Corliss, wait. Let me try to explain.”

He turned back to her, and she made herself look directly into his eyes. It seemed very important to her just then that she make him understand, once and clearly. “You are a very kind man and I seek, along with Madame Fonteneau, to be a good neighbor to you and the others at the mission.”

Alfred drew his bottom lip between his teeth, then looked down at the floor.

“Should you need a cup of rice,” Susannah said, her voice surprising her by growing thick with tears, “or should you need to borrow our ax while your own blade is out for repair, we would be happy to oblige you, sir.”

Alfred’s eyes were full of baffled concern. Her tears unnerved him, and he reached for her elbow.

Susannah stepped quickly away from his hand. “But you must never again come here to call on me, in particular, you see. And you must never think that we could be anything other than neighbors. Do you understand?”

Edward himself might not be chasing her, but the mark he had left on her life would be with her forever. There was no freedom from her past, however far she traveled from it. It was foolish to think she could start again.

Alfred shook his head. “No, Miss Dove, I do not understand. If your heart is set so hard against me, then why do you cry? Understand me—I am not making a proposal of marriage! Only a proposal of friendship, friendship with the smallest hope that perhaps, in time—”

Susannah shook her head roughly. “No, sir. Please do not say any more. I cannot bear it. If you have any feeling at all for me, you will go. And do not come back.”

Alfred waited another moment, watching her, but when Susannah did not falter he placed his hat on his head and, defeated, left the house without another word. The door closed and she glanced up the stairs. No one stirred. She stepped carefully back into the kitchen and tipped hot water from the kettle into the sink so that she could wash their coffee cups. Then she sat down at the table, put her head in her hands, and wept.

She thought about how close he had been, thought about how he had touched her fingers. The most frightening thing of all was that, when he had asked what had happened to her hand, she had almost told him. Alfred Corliss was a kind man who could be trusted with a secret, who might, in exchange for the honor of revealing herself to him, offer company, counsel. Here was God offering to assuage her loneliness, and she had turned away from it. But what Alfred was asking was impossible.