“We will make him see the risk of ignoring Lafredière’s crimes. If wepetition the intendant in person, with the signatures of anyone who knows about his behaviour, the authorities will have to see sense. Between the villagers he’s harassed and the men who were with us in New York… there will be a hundred signatures, maybe more. If we bring them to the intendant and explain what’s at stake, he cannot ignore it.”
“Ifwebring the evidence? So… you’ll do it?” Lajeunesse stood up.
Francoeur’s hands tightened on the back of his chair. He stole a glance at Élisabeth. “If he’s attacked one of the village wives…”
“Hell’s teeth,” Jambon grimaced. “Another long winter’s march for us then.”
“We’re going to freeze our balls off. Again.” Lajeunesse cupped his hands over his groin.
“I will pack our bags,” Élisabeth offered, stepping towards her husband.
“Élisabeth, you cannot come with us,” Francoeur said gently. “It will be a difficult journey and may take more than a month to reach Québec. A woman cannot travel for so long in such cold.”
“You would leave me here?”
She had grown used to how her husband lumbered around the house with his hammer and nails, making a racket as she plucked a bird or skinned a rabbit for their dinner. She wondered what it would be like to sit by the fire, peering at her darning in the dim light, and not hear him hum, or smell the sweet tobacco he stuffed in his pipe. She wondered why he did not roll over at night and insist she perform her duty as his wife.
“I would die without you,” she stated.
He stroked his beard and smiled. “You woulddiewithout me?”
Their guests tried to smother their smirks. Élisabeth walked away from the table, beckoning for Francoeur to join her by the hearth.
“It is no lovelorn declaration,” she said. “It is a fact, I cannot survive here alone.”
“Forgive my teasing,” he said, at once serious. “Of course you cannot stay here alone. But you cannot travel with us either.”
“What would you have me do then?”
“I’ll bring you to stay with your sister in town.”
“Is it not more dangerous to be in Ville-Marie with the governor stalking the streets for women to choke?” She slipped her hand into her pocket, seeking the smoothness of the rosary beads against her fingertips.
“You could stay here, if we ask Jeanne Roy to come and live with you.”
“No!”
Jambon and Lajeunesse peered at them from the other side of the hearth. She lowered her voice. “No. I won’t have her in this house.”
“Then I will take you to your sister’s. A month or two with Marthe and Verger. Does that not sound fine?”
She tried to imagine it. She thought of Marthe and Maman Poulin sitting at the table in the warm bakery, sharing stories. The other brides from the ship—Thérèse and Françoise, even Apolline—visiting every day. The bustle would be more cheerful than her own hearth. But it was at her own hearth that she longed to stay, with Francoeur.
“Will it really be as long as a month or two?”
He reached his hand out to stroke her cheek. “By the time I am home, winter’s back will be broken and we will start afresh in the spring.” She wanted to turn her face towards his calloused palm. Start afresh. She wished he would kiss her. What harm could come from one kiss? She almost wished she had abandoned her piety, listened to Marcosi’s sly whispers and touched him that first night, and every night afterwards.
Start afresh? If only she could.
“Élisabeth, I know life here is not easy.”
“I do not mind the work,” she said quickly.
“I mean to say, it is a lonely life. You will be happier with your sister. And when I return, we will begin again.” He leaned down and spoke softly. “We can start our family then.”
She blinked several times to hold back the tears stinging her eyes. Nevermind a long winter’s march. The one thing her husband required of her she could not do.
She was barren. Useless.
