Read The King's Daughter Online
Authors: Suzanne Martel
The King's Daughter (11 page)
“I'm not a lady,” Jeanne protested, lowering her head.
An authoritative hand lifted her chin and domineering lips claimed her mouth. True to form, Simon kissed as impetuously as he mounted an offensive.
Without giving her time to collect herself, he turned her around, took her by the arm and propelled her towards the dining room. There the guests greeted them with the jokes that suited the occasion.
Intoxicated by the wineâand perhaps by the kissâJeanne enjoyed herself. Her joyful laughter rewarded those fellow diners who paid her clever compliments.
Questioned about her journey across the Atlantic, the storyteller from the orphanage came back into her own. She amused everyone with her picturesque descriptions and anecdotes. Forgetting the discretion, reserve and self-effacement preached by the nuns, the old Jeanne Chatel reappeared, exuberant and full of fun.
Her liveliness fell on fertile ground. Here was a gathering of optimistic people who faced death and lived intensely. They had no time for affectation; her freshness cheered them up. The conversations were animated, the atmosphere relaxed.
Thérèse, very proud of her protégée's success, smiled maternally. Hubert stole a glance at Simon. Perhaps this time his friend had finally found a suitable wife. But he didn't seem too convinced of it yet.
Monsieur de Rouville was sitting at the other end of the table, thoughtfully observing the surprising wife the king had sent him. And several times Jeanne felt his green eyes upon her.
Unfortunately, everything comes to an end. The guests left, and Hubert went out on the doorstep to see them off. Thérèse disappeared for a final inspection of the kitchens.
Simon was in the hallway, bending over a table topped by a decorated mirror, checking a long list he had taken from his pocket. He seemed preoccupied. There were so many essential things he had to think about before he disappeared into the depths of the countryside for the long winter.
Jeanne, still excited by this unforgettable evening, carefully picked up her skirts to climb the stairs. Her lord's commanding voice stopped her on the second step. Without turning around, he issued his orders.
“Madame, we're leaving at dawn. Don't forget. Make all your preparations and be ready.”
Already he was buried in his papers again.
Jeanne made a mocking pretense at a curtsey and murmured, “Very well, my lord.” Then, like an incorrigible child, she stuck out her tongue at the broad back before her.
Suddenly she froze. Above her husband's shoulder, she met a pale, icy stare in the mirror. He had seen her.
He set his papers on the table, turned around and in two steps he was beside her. She waited, holding her breath.
“Madame, you are an impudent girl.”
He picked her up in his arms as if she were Isabelle, bounded up the stairs and, with his shoulder, pushed open the door of the room with the big feather bed. He closed it behind him with his foot. His eyes were shining like emeralds in his tanned face.
Carried away in a whirlwind, Jeanne thought that nothing and no one could resist him. Simon set her down on her feet by the bedâgently this time. He held her curly head firmly in his two big hands. Never would she have believed those pale eyes could express so much tenderness and gentleness. Once again she trembled under his unending kiss.
18
THE CANOE
glided through the autumnal forest. New France was putting on its most beautiful finery. A radiant sun lit up the trees, whose magnificent colours enchanted the king's daughter. This was the season the settlers had baptized “Indian summer.”
Silent, as were all men of the woods, Monsieur de Rouville enjoyed Jeanne's enthusiasm. He was proud of his adopted country's beauty and possessive of every tree, every changing aspect of the river they were ascending. At times Jeanne felt he had invented the entire landscape just to present to her as an offering.
They travelled in short stages, interrupted in the evening by the forays Simon and his men made into the forest. Now, however, Simon would return sooner and slip quietly into the shelter the Limp faithfully constructed for Jeanne. She slept in her husband's powerful arms or stretched out beside his slender, muscled body, as safe as in her garret in Troyes.
The muskets were always within reach and the knife was stuck into the ground near their bed of branches. But it wasn't the weapons that reassured Jeanne. In her husband she felt a strength and a will that left no place for fear. Now she understood Carrot-Top's declaration: “I'd follow him to the ends of the earth and so would everyone who knows him.”
The children slept with Gansagonas, who cared for them with silent devotion. The young dog that the Bretonvilles had given Nicolas complicated things in camp.
When the little boy had appeared on the dock, rubbing his sleepy eyes and dragging a puppy as wide as it was long on a leash, Jeanne saw Simon's face grow hard. She guessed a refusal was about to follow, if only as a matter of prudence. With a courage that was new to herâfor she had grown up in submissionâshe stood up to authority. She borrowed Thérèse de Bretonville's favourite tactic and let fly with a barrage of orders in all directions.
“Nicolas, did you thank the captain for his gift? Keep the dog next to you. Gansagonas, show him how to keep the animal quiet if he has to. Come sit beside me, Isabelle. You'll see the dog tonight. Mathurin, is my medicine bag in the canoe? Good, then we can leave. Goodbye, Captain.”
She slipped into her place in the canoe and waited to see what would happen. Simon turned around and stared at her, open-mouthed. The expression on his face was one of profound amazement.
Then he shrugged his shoulders, raised his paddle and all the canoes glided over the water. Hubert, thinking it was too good to be true, waved to them from the shore.
Jeanne was in the midst of savouring her triumph when her husband turned around again.
“God preserve me,” he grumbled under his breath. “I've married a shrew.”
“And I a despot,” the rebel retorted sharply.
Simon took up the task of paddling again, and a few minutes later, Jeanne noticed his shoulders were shaking convulsively. His head thrown back, Monsieur de Rouville was laughing as if he didn't have a care in the world. She was carried along by his infectious gaiety, and both of them shared the joke for a long time, united by a new friendship.
At the rear of the canoe, Limp, his toothless mouth opened in a wide smile, turned to his right.
Carrot-Top's canoe was gliding parallel to him, a few feet away. The two coureurs de bois exchanged a meaningful glance. It had been a long time since they had heard monsieur laugh. It would be a good winter.
19
ONE MORNING
, after days of travelling and numerous detours, the little boats approached the shore near a small clearing. Simon jumped into water up to his knees, and in one movement he pulled the canoe onto a sandy beach. He lifted up Isabelle at arm's length and set her on the bank. Then he picked up Jeanne in the same fashion and whirled her around.
She'd never seen her husband so exuberant.
“Here it is. This is my estate,” he announced.
Where? What estate? Jeanne wondered, but she was tactful enough not to show her disappointment. Some estate indeed!
Simon took her by the hand and proudly showed her every inch of it. There was a field as big as the deck of a ship, the blackened ruins of a house and, beside it, a ten-foot-long dwelling made of round logs and lit by a doorway with an animal skin for a door.
“Before, it was just forest,” he said proudly, pointing to the clearing.
But it's still forest, Jeanne thought, her heart softening. And far from fearing that hostile presence that encircled them, she loved it. Among those reassuring trees she was rediscovering all the joys of her youth.
Simon led her to the burned-out house. “You won't be afraid to live near these ruins, will you? It's temporary, you understand.”
“But I spent my entire childhood in ruins like these,” she exclaimed with a laugh.
Seeing her husband's perplexed expression, she added smartly, “I'll explain that to you later.”
They still knew nothing about each other, but they had a whole life time to remedy that ignorance.
The sight of his burned house must have brought back painful memories to the lord. His mouth took on a bitter curve and his eyes misted over with sadness.
The Builder's friends had helped him construct a comfortable home in the middle of the forest for a spoiled girl who would accept nothing less. Simon rolled a piece of charred wood with the toe of his moccasin.
Jeanne felt pity for him, but at the same time a voice inside her cried out, You can see perfectly well that he hasn't forgotten a thing. He still misses her and he's searching for her everywhere, even in you.
It is difficult to believe in happiness when you have been deprived of it for so long. Simon and Jeanne often fell back into the insecurity of their past lives.
But they were both people of action. Jeanne turned towards the log cabin. “Is this where we'll live?”
Simon was a little embarrassed. He thought of Aimée's whims again.
“Yes. I was hoping to have time to build another house before you arrived, but I wasn't able to.”
“In New France you don't refuse very much. Everybody has to do his share,” Carrot-Top had said. And apparently her husband's share was to build for others.
“Now it's too late for this winter. We'll have to live here,” continued Simon. “Do you think you can?”
With an effort he added, “If you prefer, I can have you taken back to Chambly with the children, or even to Ville-Marie. Before now I never realized how crude this shelter was. I'd built it for myself after...when...”
For the first time, Jeanne witnessed her husband at a loss for words. He was nervous, and he studied her anxiously. Surprised, she realized he seemed to be waiting for an outburst, a wave of protestations. Perhaps Aimée had conditioned him to recriminations and tearful scenes.
Faced with the prospect of a winter in that primitive structure, Jeanne couldn't blame the poor woman, especially if she had been accustomed to an easy, ordered existence. But judging by the size of the ruins and the remains of the chimneys at each end of the blackened rectangle, the house where Rouville had brought his first wife had been quite large and comfortable.
Once again, the king's daughter was thankful that fate had sent her here, and not the fearful Marie. This country was definitely no place for a lady. However, for an orphan girl brought up by a poacher, it represented an exciting challenge. Monsieur de Rouville would see that his wife's rustic character had some redeeming factors.
Jeanne turned to the man anxiously watching her and declared, “You'll be surprised to learn that I haven't always lived in luxury either. If we must spend the winter here, then it's high time we start preparing for it.”
With a determined wave of her hand, she brushed aside the fur pelt blocking the doorway. Her firm voice showed she was taking the situation in hand.
“To begin with, we'll need a suitable door, with a solid beam to barricade it.”
She continued her inspection in the dim light while Simon, leaning against the doorway, watched her with fascinated eyes.
“We'll need a table here near the hearth and two benches. Shelves here, and there and there. And in this corner”âshe kicked at a pile of branches and old peltsâ“in this corner, a good solid bed. Later you can give me a feather mattress,” she added without blushing.
Simon slipped behind her, laughing, and put his arms around her waist. His nose against her neck, he murmured, “There's no doubt about it, I married a shrew. An adorable shrew.”
“Windows. I'd like windows. I need light.”
Her husband looked gloomy. “In New France, windows are hard to come by. I could make an opening, but it would have to be boarded up as soon as it gets cold.”
“I'll think of something,” promised Jeanne, the incurable optimist. “Can you make a platform at this end with a ladder where the children can sleep, like at the blacksmith's house at Chambly?”
The young woman went about the cabin, organizing, making plans. She asked, “Where will Gansagonas live?”
“She'll prefer a shelter next to the house. The Hurons hate living in our houses. And Limp, too, for that matter. He'll build himself a cabin near the river.”
“And Carrot-Top and the others?”
“They'll be off in the forest hunting and trapping all winter. That's the season when the pelts are at their best. They have contracts with the traders in Ville-Marie who finance their expeditions and supply them with ammunition, provisions and blankets. In exchange, the trappers bring their furs to their warehouses.”
Suddenly Jeanne had an intuition. “And someone has financed you for the winter, Simon?”
Embarrassed, he looked down at his hands, then raised his head and returned her gaze with his pale eyes. Nothing and no one intimidated Rouville for very long.
“Well, yes! I have trading contracts to respect, too, before I leave on an expedition to Lake Ontario.”
“Then you're going to have to be away and leave us alone, the children and me? Why didn't you tell me?”
All of a sudden Jeanne felt betrayed, caught in a trap among the threatening trees of the encroaching forest.
“But I thought you knew. You saw the preparations I made. Everybody here knows I'm a trapper, not a farmer.”
Everybody but his wife, who is far too trusting, Jeanne thought bitterly.
Then she raised her chin with a determined air. “I'll find a way to manage by myself.”
“You won't be alone. Limp and Gansagonas's brother Anonkade will stay with you. They'll hunt and cut wood and in case of attack...”
He did not finish his sentence. As she had told Marie in her letter, Monsieur de Rouville had no intention of losing another wife at the hands of the Iroquois.