She was so lost in her thoughts that she did not see the soldier Francoeur until she left the chapel.
He was talking to another man on the churchyard path, his sandy curls unmistakable. Élisabeth felt the demon unfurl his wings in her stomach and flap them mightily. She pressed herself against the chapel door to prevent Marcosi lifting her off the ground. She hoped Francoeur had not seen her.
“Whatever’s the matter?” Maman Poulin had not missed her cowering by the entrance.
“Maman Poulin, I… I am quite shaken by all we have heard today. I need to sit a moment longer.”
The widow followed her gaze. “Isn’t that the habitant who made you an offer?” She had a shrewd look on her face. Élisabeth swallowed. Of course Maman Poulin would know of Francoeur’s proposal.
“I cannot speak to him. Not now.”
“Goodness, child.” The widow sighed loudly. “Then leave him to me.” She pattered down the path after Francoeur. Élisabeth stood in the shade of the Hôtel Dieu walls, rubbing her rosary between her hands, feeling the beads against her bones. Surely one witch could undo the magic of another. Surely she would not need to submit to torture to be cured. She felt the demon turn twice in her stomach.Stay down, Marcosi, she prayed, though she knew he did not obey her. She waited until she saw the widow curtsey and the soldier walk away before creeping forward to rejoin her.
“I think he was lingering in the hopes he might speak with you,” Maman Poulin said. “I said you were unwell, and he was disappointed, for he cannot stay in town.”
Élisabeth looked away in the hopes she might deter the widow from saying any more. She did not want to discuss Francoeur. She wanted to figure out how to dispel the evil spirit that dwelled within her.
Maman Poulin prattled on, oblivious.
“He was here to fetch flour for his neighbour’s wife. Can you believe his neighbour has turned coureur de bois and gone west to Odawa territory, leaving his new wife alone all winter?”
The demon Marcosi thrust his horns into her gut. The blow was so fierce she almost fell forward.
“Some men.” The widow shook her head. “You shouldn’t let that one get away, Lili, for he would not do that to you.”
“What did you say?” Her voice caught in her throat.
“Francoeur is a good one. He’s thoughtful and speaks as he should.”
“No. About his neighbour.”
“Oh. He’s left his wife to go off and trade furs.”
“Did… did he mention… did he mention the wife’s name?” Élisabeth’s whole body began to tremble.
“Ma chère, look at you, you have been bitten by the cold. We’d best get home. A brisk walk will chase the shivers away—”
“Please! Did he tell you his neighbour’s name?”
“Good grief, girl, there’s no need to shout. He said her name is Jeanne. Jeanne Roy.”
Élisabeth did not hesitate. She searched the horizon and saw Francoeur heading down towards the river path. She hiked up her skirts and ran pell-mell after him. She could hear Maman Poulin cry out but she did not stop. She did not even feel the ground beneath her feet. Her hair came loose at the back of her hood, her stockings fell down around her ankles.
“Francoeur!” Élisabeth called out. He turned and stopped, putting his hand up to block the sun from his eyes.
“Élisabeth?”
She stopped in front of him, breathing heavily. He grinned at her dishevelled state. “You are unwell, I understand?”
She blushed. “I did not see you in the chapel. I ran after you because… because I feared you would think me very rude for not wishing you a good afternoon.”
“I could never think badly of you.” Francoeur’s expression clouded over. “I was thinking badly of myself. After our last meeting.”
“You have nothing to feel badly for, it is I who…” Her voice trailed off, then she looked up. “I liked the blueberries very much.”
He nodded thoughtfully. She squinted into the afternoon sun, wondering how to proceed. “I understand you live very near my friend Jeanne Roy. I did not realize you were neighbours. Tell me, how does she fare?”
“The duchess?” Francoeur scratched his beard. “She has remarkable fortitude. She seems to manage very well all on her own.”
