“Oh, thank you sir,” Marthe exclaimed.
“I need a moment longer,” Élisabeth rasped. She could hardly breathe and felt as if she might faint dead away.
“Give me space,” the governor said. The crowd stood back. The nobleman crouched over her, hooking her under both arms and pulling her to her feet.
It was too soon. Her head swam and she did not even know if the curse was lifted. She felt the governor’s hands travel from under her arms to her waist, where they lingered for a moment, before he set her down on the bench.
“You are quite safe now,” he said, his face full of concern. She twisted away. She was not safe in the least. In fact, with his actions, the governor had perhaps snatched her from the safety she had travelled across an ocean to reach.
“Are you well, Lili?” The brides fussed around her.
“Sheispale.”
“Thank you, Governor de Lafredière,” Sister Gagnon said gruffly. “We are in your debt.”
“I am glad to have been of service.” He gave the nun an elegant bow.
Before Élisabeth could rest, Marthe took her by the arm and tried to guide her towards the chapel door. But both brides and suitors surged into the aisle, sending the sisters stumbling into the arm of a pew.
Sister Gagnon struggled to gather her flock. “Everyone out,” she ordered the brides.
Most of the men had rushed out of the chapel, lining the pathway to greet the brides as they left, while a few remained inside the nave to pick off any stragglers. Some of the younger girls were swarmed and burst into nervous laughter as Sister Brodeur tried to corral them towards the exit.
No sooner had Marthe and Élisabeth walked through the chapel door than a man with a shy grin stepped forward to address them. He was not old enoughto have much of a beard, and his thick brown hair was cut short at the back, making him seem even younger. “May I escort you through the village?” he said to them.
“I need to sit down,” Élisabeth said faintly.
“I should stay with my sister.”
“It’s just… I would be honoured to show you my shop,” the man persisted. “I took over the business earlier this year. It is the best… rather, it is said to be the best bakehouse in the village. I have seen an increase in my income year after year.”
“You are a craftsman? With a living in town?” Marthe asked.
“Yes. I am a master baker.”
Marthe let Élisabeth’s hand drop and stood blinking at the man for a moment. Then she smiled. “Perhaps my sister can wait by this tree until she is well enough to walk.” She turned to whisper in Élisabeth’s ear. “It will do no harm to get the measure of some of these men before we make our choices, after all.”
Before Élisabeth could protest, Marthe walked down the path with the stranger, leaving her outside the Hôtel Dieu. Élisabeth gripped a tree with one hand and tried to steady her breathing. She looked around: Sister Gagnon had been waylaid by the mustached priest at the church door, and the other brides were taking advantage of her distraction to chat eagerly to their suitors. Only Jeanne Roy did not have a man hanging by her side. Instead, she walked through the hospital gates with the two native women, her eyes bright.
Then, Élisabeth spotted a man with a long beard slinking around the chapel door. His eyes were dark and hard, and on his cheek was a scar from a branding iron that marked him as a thief. The skin on the back of Élisabeth’s neck prickled. She looked for help but most of the brides had left the Hôtel Dieu grounds and Sister Gagnon was nowhere to be seen.
Élisabeth pushed herself off the tree and started to walk towards the gate. She glanced over her shoulder and saw the man take steps to follow her. She hurried to catch up with Marthe, turning right onto Rue Saint-Paul andbreaking into a stride. She did not get more than ten paces along the road before the branded man overtook her. He blocked her path and leered, revealing a gap where his front teeth should have been.
“Hello, my beauty.”
Élisabeth stopped in her tracks. She glanced around her. She could see Marthe and her companion in the distance, peering into the window of a house. She tried to move past the roughneck, but he loomed right and forced her to turn on her heel. She started back towards the hospital. Still he followed.
“What’s yer name? What’s the harm in telling me yer name?”
She felt a jolt in her stomach, as though a horse had reared up and landed a blow. She crossed to the south side of the street. The man followed, weaving and darting around her like a sheepdog herding a ewe. Without thinking, she ducked down the alley to her left.
Several empty market stalls were crushed together along the laneway. Before one of them stood a native man with long hair down his back and nothing on his chest but a silver gorget. Startled by the sight of his bare flesh, Élisabeth quickened her pace past him.
“Don’t run, my beauty.” The branded man was so close behind her she could smell his breath when he spoke. “If it’s a tour of the fur fair you want, I can show you. Bet you’ve never seen a savage up close before.”
“Leave me be,” Élisabeth blurted. The end of the alleyway opened onto the common. Élisabeth started to break into a run, then halted. All along the riverbank, as far as the eye could see, were native men and their tents. More men than she had ever seen in her life. Dozens of fires dotted the shore, and the smell of meat cooking rose in the air. French men milled about, drinking straight from bottles of liquor and laughing at two women hiking up their skirts to squat on the ground.
Another drunkard spotted Élisabeth and called out to her pursuer, “Who d’you got there, Claude?” He was tall with greasy hair hanging around his face. Élisabeth froze. She was now trapped between the two men.
