“Forwhere?” Élisabeth could not keep the panic from her voice. The witch had left the nuns’ farmhouse? Without granting her wish?
“Odawa? Perhaps I did not say it right. The land to the west, somewhere. Her husband wants to be a coureur de bois, trading furs all across the land, which seems terribly daring—”
“Rose, stop talking!” Élisabeth cried. She scrambled to find her skirt and bodice, trying to step into one and pull on the other at the same time. A thought suddenly struck her and she froze. “Is Jeanne Roy going to this… Odawa territory too?”
“I don’t know.”
Élisabeth cursed herself as she tied her bodice laces and pelted down the dormitory stairs. How had she let the witch slip away? In the kitchen some of the younger girls were eating milk curds and maple syrup, their recompense for not being allowed to meet the suitors the day before.
“Where’s Sister Gagnon?” Élisabeth blurted.
Claire pointed a finger without looking up from her curds. Élisabeth followed its direction, running into the corridor next to the kitchen. The nun wasnot there. She opened the door and felt the rain on her cheeks but could not see anyone outside. Then she put her head round the corner of the common room and saw Sister Gagnon standing by the fire next to a visitor.
It was the soldier Francoeur. A small puddle was forming on the floor under his boots.
“Ah, Élisabeth, there you are,” the nun said. The soldier smiled at her and wiped a sodden sleeve across his face.
“This young man has come to ask you to marry him.”
Behind her, Élisabeth heard a gasp. Rose and Lou had followed her down the stairs, bodices crookedly laced and hoods askew. The soldier’s face fell at the nun’s blunt delivery. He took off his wide-brimmed hat and rocked back on his heels.
“What are you waiting for?” Sister Gagnon said to her. “Come here.”
Élisabeth stared at the soldier in the wet brown coat. He stepped forward to offer her his hand.
“Wait, Sister,” Élisabeth turned away from him. The nun was heading for the door. “I don’t know this man. I don’t know his family or where he’s from—”
“Then you have much to discuss,” Sister Gagnon said, and closed the door behind her.
The soldier bowed his head. “Our roles are reversed today.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Today my clothes are wet. Yesterday it was your skirts. I’m sure the nuns are looking forward to the winter when all of the matches have been made and they don’t have to get out a mop every afternoon.”
“I-I had been wading into the river. It is so hot in this country…” Élisabeth looked over her shoulder towards the closed door. She had no time for this. She had to find Jeanne Roy or any hope of a cure would be lost. The witch could even now be on her way to Odawa territory. She wondered if she could make it past the nun, who was surely standing on the other side of the door. Élisabeth turned back to her suitor. “Truly, I hope you are not here to propose to me.”
He hesitated, then leaned towards her. “In fact, I came because I was curious about something you said.”
“Yes?” Élisabeth pressed him, wishing he would hurry his thoughts.
“I can understand one’s opposition to marriage in principle—my dearest friend has long argued against it. But why would a girl who came here on a bride ship be so set against it?”
“Look,” Élisabeth said, growing more anxious. “Francoeur—?”
“My friends call me Francoeur. Though I was christened Joseph Deschamps—”
“I am not wholly set against marriage. But I cannot marry right now.”
He looked puzzled. “What are you waiting for, if I may ask?” The soldier would not be hurried.
“I cannot explain now, I’m very pressed for time.”
“You’re pressed for time, but waiting for marriage?” The corners of his mouth twitched again. “I’m perplexed.”
Élisabeth stared at the man, willing him to get out of her way. He did not seem likely to budge. Indeed, his solid chest and thick arms made him seem as sturdy as an oak. He looked at her and she noticed his eyes were a hodgepodge of hazel, nothing like Rémy’s deep brown.
“May I make a suggestion?” he offered.
