Marthe frowned.Ourbakery? She had not realized that it was a joint venture between her husband and his old master’s widow.
The tavern was already crowded at eleven in the morning. Groups of men sat at mismatched tables, drinking out of pewter cups with carafes of brandy in front of them. A mongrel wandered in between the tables, looking for scraps, and a pair of haggard women in tightly laced bodices sat at the far end of the room, playing a game of shut-the-box. Nearby, lounging close to the fire, was the governor of Montréal. Marthe’s eyes widened.
“This is Marthe Jossard. She has married Antoine Verger,” Maman Poulin told the tavern owner. Marthe nodded politely while her eyes darted to the far end of the room. She was certain that Lafredière was looking at her, though with his eye patch, it was hard to be sure.
“Have you heard the latest?” The widow’s friend leaned forward, her bosom slopping onto the counter in front of her. “The Sulpicians now insist I shut the tavern at nine o’clock every night. Have you ever heard of such a thing? First they threaten to excommunicate us if we sell liquor to the natives, now they think to restrict my hours. Those priests are growing drunk on their own power!”
“They do not make the laws. What would the intendant in Québec say if he knew how bold they’ve grown?” Maman Poulin tutted sympathetically. “How is anyone to make a living?”
“No other business is so strictly controlled,” Anne Lamarque said, straightening up and giving Barbe Poulin a begrudging look. “I don’t know if I shall be able to afford your bread anymore. I may have to make my own.”
“Oh, ma chère, you can’t imagine how much work it would be to make all the loaves you need. This village is fortunate to have our Verger. He is as tireless as my husband once was. The work falls entirely to his shoulders now, since Old Poulin’s death. And since he’s taken a wife, we have no space in the house for an apprentice.”
Marthe looked away, feeling the heat rise to the tips of her ears. She had not considered that her presence in the household might be a burden on the business. She took a step back and studied the array of stone jugs on the shelves behind Anne Lamarque. Would it increase their income if Verger put up shelves in the front room when Maman Poulin remarried and left, so that they could add jam and honey to their list of wares? She was thinking about whether anyone would be lazy enough to buy jam rather than make their own when she felt a hand on her arm.
“A fresh face in this village is as beautiful as the morning sun,” a low voice remarked.
Marthe’s face responded like the setting sun, a red that deepened the longer the governor’s one eye stayed fixed on her. Lafredière wore a different coat today, though his calves were just as sleek in his silk stockings. In his left hand, he gripped a small pewter goblet.
“My lord.” She dropped into a curtsey.
The governor’s eye looked her up and down and Marthe’s cheeks grew even hotter. “I am surprised your new husband has let you out of his sight. May I ask how marriage suits you?”
Marthe raised her chin. “It suits me well, thank you. I have come to New France to make my fortune, just as anyone else. And for a woman, marriage is the necessary first step on that journey.”
The governor threw back his head and laughed so loudly that Maman Poulin stopped haggling with the tavern owner and came over.
“Good day, Governor,” she greeted him. “I see you’ve met Maître Verger’s bride.”
“I have just introduced myself. She tells me she has come here seeking her fortune. What do you say, will she make a success of it?”
“She has made a good start by marrying the best baker in town.”
“A necessary step, she tells me.” The governor stroked his beard while gazing thoughtfully at Marthe. “Of course there are easier ways to make one’s fortune.”
“Oh?” Marthe perked up. “Pray, tell. How may my husband and I increase our living?”
“I would be a poor example of how to get rich if I gave away my advice for free,” Lafredière chuckled. “What might you offer me in return for my counsel?”
Marthe glanced at Maman Poulin. “We could give you bread, I suppose.”
The governor chuckled again, making a show of wiping a tear from his good eye. Then he blinked and fixed it on her. “I would dearly love to try your bread.”
“The bakery is always open to you, my lord,” Maman Poulin interrupted. “We are on good terms with your servant. I know the fort bakes its own bread, but you may send your woman anytime to collect all the loaves that you like.”
“Perhaps I might drop by myself.” He did not lift his gaze from Marthe’s face.
“Until then, have you no advice that you could share?” she asked. If there were easy riches to be made on the island, she wanted to hear it.
Lafredière leaned forward. Marthe did not know if he was too close by design or if the drink made him unsteady. “Only that you try some way to flee this island. It is worse than purgatory, with hellish flies waging war upon us at night, and savages intent on doing so by day. And should anyone ever try to have a bit of fun…” The governor paused and raised the goblet in his hand. He spilled a drop of wine on his coat and he smoothed it down until the damp spot disappeared. “The Sulpicians slam down their pious fists. Remember, they may have been appointed the seigneurs of this island, but I am the closest voice to the king. I say, do not heed everything the Sulpicians say. Make merry when you can.”
He winked and sauntered back to his table. The moment he was gone, Maman Poulin turned on Marthe.
“What do you mean, demanding favours from the governor?”
Marthe blinked to deflect the widow’s glare. “I thought…”
“There is no easy path to comfort for the likes of you and me. Only work and more hard work. Backbreaking, never-ending work.” The widow straightened her bodice, then paused. “He’s not wrong that there are far too many rules nowadays, though. God would not have given us wine if he did not mean for us to seek solace in it.”
