“How do you imagine the witch can speak the native tongue?” Élisabeth asked, watching the two women squeeze together to make room for Jeanne Roy. “It must be some kind of spell that allows her to understand them.”
“Perhaps they’re speaking French.”
“French!”
“Don’t sound so surprised,” Rose said. “Sister Brodeur says that some priests can speak native languages fluently. It stands to reason that those women might speak French.”
“Stop staring,” Élisabeth said. “The witch will see.” She crossed herself and squeezed her hands together. “This chapel is too small.” Her knees did not stop bouncing as she spoke.
“Sit still, Lili.” Marthe placed her hand on Élisabeth’s knee to calm her. Her sister’s trembles were turning into convulsions and Marthe was forced to tear her eyes away from the native women. Goodness knows what the congregation would make of Élisabeth, shaking from head to toe and talking of mushrooms and witchcraft. Marthe faced forward and prayed that her sister would settle down before she once again ruined their chances of making a good impression.
No sooner had Marthe fixed her eyes on the back of the governor’s head, than he turned around.
She quickly looked away. She studied her hand on Élisabeth’s leg. She picked a piece of straw from the cuff of her chemise. She forgot all about Jeanne Roy and the native women. When she dared to look up again, she was shocked to see that the governor was still staring at her.
With his one good eye, he winked.
She dropped her eyes. She could not believe it. The governor of Montréal had just winked at her. What should she do? A wave of determination crashed over Marthe. She would make the most of the chance that had presented itself. She raised her head and looked straight at the governor.
She smiled back.
9
A priest with a grey mustache stepped up to the altar for the communal confession. Élisabeth forced herself to look away from Jeanne Roy and the native women. It would not be long now until she would know if the curse was lifted. When the pangs in her belly would cease and she would once again know the sanctified peace that she had lost that night in the tavern, when her life changed with the flick of a witch’s finger. Unless—if there were a demon inside her, might she pull a face and recoil as the Eucharist touched her tongue?
She stood to recite the Confiteor in French, then sat when the priest switched into Latin to enumerate their sins. She let the incomprehensible words wash over her and glanced around the nave. This newly built chapel was much smaller than the church in Saint-Philbert. Though still modest, their place of worship back home was infinitely richer than this. Three hundred years old and built from the same uneven stone as the rest of the dwellings in her part of Normandy, the church had the comforting look of an old amber-and-brown patchwork shawl. Inside its walls was the memory of centuries of penitent devotion. Protective, penitent devotion. The contrast with a chapel so new she could smell the sap from the freshly cut pine boards made her worry. Rémy had told her to find the strongest cure she could, even if she had to travel farfrom Saint-Philbert to discover it. Was this new chapel on the edge of the world sacred enough for the task?
The Sulpician priest rang the altar bells and stepped back to prepare the Eucharist. Élisabeth clasped her hands.
“Stop your twisting about,” Marthe muttered beside her but Élisabeth did not care if her sister was ashamed of her.
It was time, finally. Élisabeth prodded Marthe to get up, and when she dallied, Élisabeth pushed past her to the altar.
The body of Christ.Her mouth was already dry when the priest placed the unleavened bread on her tongue. She fell to her knees and nearly wept with relief when she neither grimaced nor brayed from the touch of the Eucharist. Still, her heart beat so forcefully she thought she might die. She remembered a prayer that called on sinners to prostrate themselves before God, so she lowered herself onto her elbows and stretched out face down on the floor. The stone was cool on her forehead.
Have mercy upon me, O Christ, the hope, refuge, and support of sinners.
“Lili has fainted!” A voice behind her cried.
Graciously this day hear my prayer and rid me of this curse.But there was no steam, no contortions, no last howls of the damned.
“It is the heat, there are too many of us in this chapel.”
O God my God, I humbly implore and beseech Thee, if there be an unclean spirit within me, cast this demon back to Hell. In the Holy Virgin’s name, I pray.
“Stand back, stand back. Let her breathe.”
“Get up, Lili,” Marthe whispered in her ear. “For pity’s sake, get up.”
Élisabeth raised her head an inch off the stone floor. Had it worked? Or did she feel the same?
“My sister is very delicate. She needs some air.”
I have greatly sinned… through my fault, through my fault, through my most grievous fault.
“Let me assist you, child.”
“It’s the governor, he’s helping her!”
