Promises to Keep Page 11

  “We need our axe. Winter is nearly upon us, and we’ve no wood for cooking or for heat.”

  “I shall bring it today. Can I help you with anything else?”

  I didn’t want to leave him, but I could think of nothing more to ask. “I . . . I do not think so.”

  The wind whipped our coats and hair, and I clutched at my hood. Concern filled Connor’s eyes when he saw my red, chapped hands, though I quickly shoved them back under the cloak.

  “I will get the axe, then I shall walk you home,” he said decisively. “Come along.”

  Uncertain, I looked where he’d indicated: beyond the picket fence, toward the church. “In there?”

  “I’ll not leave you alone in the cold. You’ll be safe with me.”

  The sky rolled in an ominous grey, warning me of the impending season with its shrieking blizzards, frozen water supplies, and food shortages. Soon we would be crunching through snow instead of withered grass. Connor pulled up the stiff collar of his winter cloak, shielding his jaw from the wind. How would he fare here when the storms came? I imagined he was used to more temperate weather.

  “This is hardly cold. Wait until December,” I said, lifting an eyebrow. “And January will chill you straight through. We’ll need more firewood here than you would need in New England, I am sure.”

  He hesitated mid-step as if he’d remembered something important, but then he continued over the dry, yellow grass, moving with purpose. The easy smile he’d worn earlier now looked forced.

  “What did I say? Did I scare you with talk of our winters?”

  He glanced at me but said nothing as he continued toward a large tent across the field. He bid me wait a moment while he went in to retrieve our axe, and when he came out, he looked even more grim than before. More than a little concerned now, I hooked my fingers onto the thick black sleeve of his cloak, pulling him to a stop.

  “Connor?”

  He wouldn’t look at me. His eyes went instead to the line of trees bordering the forest.

  I scrambled out in front of him. “What aren’t you telling me?”

  Not long ago he and I had spent a warm, blissful afternoon by the river. He’d disturbed the perfection of the day by suggesting I might someday be forced to live a different kind life, one in which I would do what I must to survive. It had been summer then. Now our breaths formed little clouds that vanished into the grey of the day. Leaves that had once danced in reds and golds over our heads had long since died and fallen to the earth. I knew him better now. Seeing him like this, closed in with secrets, I was frightened.

  “The truth, Connor. I want the truth.”

  He still wouldn’t look at me. “You won’t like it.”

  “Of course I won’t. I haven’t liked anything since all this began.”

  My words hung between us, and I wished I could take them back, for they were in part a lie. Had none of this happened, I never would have met him.

  His shoulders sagged with surrender. When he finally turned to me, I couldn’t look away even if I’d wanted. His gaze was hard and intense, but behind it swirled a world of concern.

  “You said before that you were afraid,” he reminded me. “That you didn’t know what to expect and that’s what scared you the most.”

  His brow creased into deep lines as he searched for the right words, and I was tempted to put up a hand to stop him. If he was so afraid to speak of it, I did not think I could bear what he had to say. But I needed to hear. I needed to summon my courage and finally face facts. My world was changing, and from the expression he carried, I gathered that courage had become more urgent.

  “Time is running out, Amélie. The English are impatient to settle in, and they cannot do it while the Acadians are here.”

  “There is plenty of land here to share.”

  He closed his eyes briefly, the line of his jaw tight with exasperation. When he looked at me again, I was sorry. He was no longer teasing, no longer regarding me with affection.

  “They will not share. You know that.”

  The arms I had wrapped around myself in determination now tightened, protecting me. I had asked for the truth—demanded it even—but now I was afraid it would be too much for me to accept.

  “But we’re . . . we’re farmers. We are more of a help than a threat,” I blustered.

  “I know that, and you know that. I imagine the English know as well. But they no longer want Acadians here.” He reached toward me, but when I did not move, he dropped his hands back to his sides. “Amélie, the rest of the ships are almost here.”

  I stared at him, unable to speak. Everything in me wanted to deny his words, to accuse him of lying, but how could I do such a thing when I knew it was the truth?

  His miserable expression drew me from my state of shock. “It is not your fault, Connor.” Once those words were out, others followed, rushing like water through the narrows. “It won’t be so bad. They will see we mean them no harm, and they will change their minds. I’m certain this is all a mistake. They will let the men off the ships and we can go back to what we were before. That will happen. It must. It would not be Christian of them to carry through with this terrible plan.”

  He cupped his hands under my elbows. “I’m sorry, Amélie.”

  Run, stupid girl! my heart screamed. Go to Mali and be safe! Run now while you still can!

  “Where? Where will they send us?” My voice sounded very small, even to me.

  “I don’t know. South.”

  “When?”

  “Soon.” He closed his eyes. “The truth is you won’t need much firewood.”

  FIFTEEN

  After Connor’s warning, I thought long and hard about spreading the news among the women of Grand Pré, shivering in their homes without firewood. I climbed to the peak of the hill, needing to find peace in my head and heart so I could think clearly. I could not go to Maman or Claire, because I didn’t know how to tell them about Connor. That was another, separate problem crying out for a solution.

  If Papa had been there, he would have helped me find the answer I sought. Twenty years ago, he had faced a moral crossroads as I did now. But he was gone. He could not help me.

  I stared into the vast greyness before me, its sleeping beauty sectioned into three: the dikes, the black grey of the ocean, and the stark lines of the mountains before they faded into sky. God had created all this, and the Mi’kmaq spirits had made it real. God had introduced grey to the world, and the Mi’kmaq spirits had painted it on every tree, every ripple of the sea. Where did human beings fit into it all? Why were we here? And why were we exactly here in this place? I had always considered myself to be a part of this land, as rooted as the willows my ancestors had planted almost seventy years before—but no one was slicing at their trunks, ripping out their roots.

  Connor had given me information no other Acadian knew. He’d wanted me to be prepared so that when I stepped onto that ship I wouldn’t be overcome with shock—as if being informed could ever have prepared me for that. But was there anything I could do with that knowledge to save my people and myself?

  The right thing, I supposed, would be for me to reveal to everyone that I was friends with a British soldier. That I might even have fallen in love with him. I could tell them what he had told me, and maybe we could work toward some sort of last-minute resistance. With that admission, though, the women I had grown up with would surely hate me, as would their children. They would judge me for my weakness and call me a traitor. And if anyone informed Winslow about what Connor had told me, he would likely be both punished and demoted.

  After all that, would they even believe me?

  Seeing no other solution, I eventually did what I thought Papa would have called the good thing. I knocked on the doors of the houses around me and was welcomed in. The first conversations were difficult, since I wasn’t sure how to begin, but I became more confident as I spoke. Without saying how I knew, I told the women the ships would be here soon. I watched their eyes, hop
ing to see a spark of rebellion, but those were few and far between. Instead, I was met with hostility. My dire warning was not welcomed. Most wanted to know where I’d come by such “vicious rumours,” and when I was elusive in my response, they walked away, shaking their heads. Some did believe me, and I was pleased to notice that some of those disappeared without another word, vanishing into the forest like my brothers. I said a prayer that they might be safer in the trees than on the sea.

  At least Maman and my sisters believed me, and they did not ask how I had come by such terrible news. Their faces had paled, but they would not take my suggestion that they run to the forest. In the end, they would never leave the men they loved. So I could not save them, and they did not want me to anyway.

  Oh, Papa. I tried.

  We didn’t need much firewood, as Connor had said. Less than a week later the English came to our doors in the blackest of mornings, jabbing muskets at our sleeping bodies. They stole us away before the sun could catch them at their foul act and reveal them as the cowards they truly were.

  Without the sunrise the cold was even more shocking. We huddled in our cloaks, wrapping blankets around ourselves and the bewildered children. Then we allowed ourselves to be marched to the ships. The mud path was our only witness, collecting a pattern of clogs and moccasins of all sizes. Soon even that would be gone.

  I had never been so afraid of our harbour. In the past it had given me such happiness to look out and admire the majestic ships anchored there. Sometimes the crafts seemed to dance, bobbing bow to stern when the wind skimmed over the water and coaxed waves to the surface. Once I had even dreamed of being aboard one, bidding my family farewell and sailing into an adventure. Now an ominous grey light leached off the sails of twenty lurking transports, and their hulls creaked with impatience. I felt as if I were entering a floating cemetery at night. The urge to flee was strong, but Giselle’s cold fingers gripped mine, and I knew she could never keep up with me if I ran.

  We had been told to bring what we could carry, but when we arrived at the docks, our things were stripped away and stacked in heaps. Bodies pressed against me as we were funnelled toward the gangplank, but out of terror and confusion, we did not raise our voices. I longed to cry out, to remind the others that silence implied consent. We did not consent to this! But the soldiers carried muskets across their chests, and I had seen them fix those horrible bayonets before. Once we had spoken as friends, exchanged pleasantries, lived in harmony. Now we meant nothing to them. They would not hesitate to still our pitiful rebellion.

  A freezing gust cut across the dock and we tucked our chins against our chests in reflex, hiding from the hungry salt wind. Children huddled close to their mothers, their little voices hushed.

  “Will Papa be on the ship with us?”

  “I do not want to go there, Maman. I want to go home.”

  And even, “This is an adventure, Maman! Remember you told me it was an adventure? Why are you crying?”

  I eyed the line of ugly cargo boats. It was obvious to me that they were too small to hold the waiting crowd. Yet we were being steadily loaded onto them. Like the rest of my people, I opened my coat upon request and shivered helplessly while the soldiers searched everyone—including the children—for any kind of weapon. I carried nothing of the sort. None of us did. If anything, I longed for a candle or lantern, since I knew the hold of the ship would offer only blackness. Would we even be able to see the faces of the others? Would we ever see sunlight again?

  I knew most of the people around me, though some had been brought from other Acadian villages. Families clung together if they could, but ours had been split apart months before. At least I had been able to assure my sisters and Maman that Henri was safe in the forest. There was no such comfort to provide about André. He still had not surfaced. All I could do was pray he was all right.

  I reached the edge of the gangway and froze, holding up the line. “Wait. This is the wrong ship,” I said. “This is the Pembroke. We are supposed to be with our family. They are not on the Pembroke!”

  “We should be on the Hobson,” Claire agreed behind me. She had not understood my English, but she had seen the painted white letters on the bow at the same time I had. “Or the Elizabeth. This is a mistake!”

  “Sorry, miss,” a soldier said. “Our orders is to put you here. Now up ye go.” His nonchalance was chilling. It was as if he were welcoming me to a party or something. He even smiled. “Once you’re at the hatch, kindly go down the ladder and find a place to sit. There we go.”

  “But this is a mistake!” I cried in English. “Take us to the Hobson.”

  “No mistake. Come along, miss.”

  I blinked up at him, my feet anchored on the mud-splattered boards of the dock. How could I blindly go up that ramp? I am not a sheep! I wanted to cry, but in truth I had become exactly that.

  “Move along now.”

  He flapped a hand, then absently adjusted the strap across his chest. My eyes followed the blackened leather around his body and stopped at the mouth of the musket peeking over his shoulder. Would he point it at another human being—a woman? a child?—and shoot? Of course he would. He was a soldier, trained to kill whomever he was told to kill.

  I was expected to step lively, like all the other sheep. So I did. Before I stepped onto the gangplank, I peered down the dock at the other ships, aching for Papa and Mathieu. Would I ever see them again? Would they at least send the ships to the same destination? Oh God, let it be that way!

  Then it was my turn. The girl in front of me was already halfway up the walkway, and the soldiers were urging the crowd behind me. I inhaled the salt air as if I were about to dive into the ocean, filling my chest and holding my breath as long as I could. Then I left Mathieu and my father behind. The sea rose in a ravenous welcome as I stepped onto the gangplank, lifting the boat. I lunged for the thick rope strung along the small bridge and clung to it with both hands, waiting for the wave to subside, then I reached behind for Giselle’s hand. It was damp with sweat despite the winter chill. I took another careful step.

  “Don’t touch her!” I glanced back with surprise at the hostility in Claire’s voice. One of the soldiers had taken Maman’s arm, and she’d turned to stone. The soldier released his grip, but Claire’s glare held. “She does not need your help, Englishman.”

  I didn’t recognize either of the soldiers at the gangplank. Those waiting on the ship were strangers to me as well. Where was Connor? What of his declaration that he would watch over us? I swayed with the motion of the ship, feeling dizzy with betrayal. Perhaps he was on another ship. With all the confusion, it was possible even for the soldiers to be loaded onto the wrong ships, I supposed, and my heart twisted at the possibility that he might be close yet not arrive at all. My eyes roamed the crowd, skipping over dozens of small white kerchiefs. From a distance I looked exactly the same as every other girl there. Would he even see me if he was here?

  A woman I did not recognize stopped at the hatch and flailed out, fighting the soldiers who restrained her. They pulled her back and tied her hands together; then they forced her, screaming, through the hole. She was swallowed into the black belly of the boat, and the sounds she made were piteous. I promised myself I would not cry.

  As Giselle and I walked up the gangplank, I looked back at Claire and Maman. My sister was frowning, her gaze uncertain, and though she was by nature a quiet girl, it was discomfiting to see her this way. After Papa, André and Claire were always the ones in control, the ones to maintain peace in the house. But André was not here. Neither was Papa. At times, Claire did not seem to be here either. She was with her heart, swaying and starving on the miserable Hobson.

  Our clogs shuffled over the wet deck until it was our turn to stop at the hatch. I still had not spied Connor amidst the seamen. All I saw were rough strangers preparing for the voyage, and the rest of my people stooped with submission. The longer I searched the deck, the more convinced I became that he was not coming. He had
lied to me. If only his words hadn’t felt so real, so honest, they might not have hurt so much, but I had been gullible and let myself believe in him. I wouldn’t be so foolish next time.

  The hole in the deck offered no hint of light. Surely they would send down lanterns. The alternative was too terrible.

  “What’s going to happen?” Giselle whimpered, pressing up against me. She’d been in that position almost the entire walk from our village to here.

  “Be brave, Giselle. We will be fine,” I repeated for the thousandth time.

  “Look!”

  As one, we turned and gawked at the furious red glow lighting the sky behind us, and our sobs began anew. Our homes and farms had been set ablaze, and the crackling orange glare made the billowing smoke leap like monstrous ghosts. Like the branches of willows, the women swayed against each other, striving to stand strong against the punishing winds of change, but I could hear their branches breaking one by one.

  I stared in silence, wondering why the British would do that. The homes were empty now, the farms easy pickings. Why destroy them?

  Giselle’s fingers clawed my arm. “Where will Petit Chat go?”

  Up until now she had existed in a childish stupor, protecting her heart with the illusion that she had been dreaming. Now that wall was being burned away, and she witnessed the physical truth blazing on the horizon. They would have thrown torches on the roof, and the embers would have tumbled onto our table, our chairs, and our beds, igniting the pillows where our sleeping heads had rested hours before. The window curtains would twist into flaming ribbons, our clothing would flare, then melt into clouds of white smoke. Giselle’s question haunted me. What of the animals? What of her cat? What of the dogs, who felt like members of the family? Who would feed them, tend to them? Were they burning as well or had they run?