Promises to Keep Page 15

  So simple. So terrifyingly simple. My heart soared. We would take the ship and despite what Connor had said to me, we could sail back home—

  “We are near New York now, and when we are in control, we shall sail to Saint John Harbour,” Papa said. “MacDonnell told me he has learned there are other Acadians there, and we would be welcome.”

  “But Papa! Why not—”

  “This soldier of yours is wise. He has warned me we cannot return to Grand Pré. The English have burned everything, and they will throw us into prison.”

  He set a comforting hand against my cheek, and I was surprised by the touch of his palm. Normally my father’s hands were coarse with calluses, but those had faded with lack of work, and the smoothness of his skin reminded me that he had been imprisoned for even longer than I had.

  “We will find a way from here,” he promised, “but we cannot go home.”

  How I longed for the fields, for the circling gulls, for the battling hummingbirds who would return in the warmth of siwkw. I even missed the snow and the shrieking, punishing wind as it piled in drifts against our doors and windows. During the most wicked of winter storms, we had all been safe inside, huddled before the fire, singing songs or telling stories. I loved my home, my life, my world.

  But of course even if we could go back and rebuild, we would never be the same again.

  “Papa?” I whispered. “Did he . . . did he tell you of the other ships?”

  In the darkness I could not see the grief which stole his response. Tears surged to my eyes, but I blinked them away, knowing they would only make things worse. It was more difficult to control my emotions now that he knew the terrible truth, for it meant I was no longer alone with it. I longed to share my grief with him and to let him burden me as well, but I swallowed it back. Now was not the time.

  Papa leaned in to kiss my brow. He struggled to his feet, and the sound he made was that of a much older man.

  “I know about Henri, Papa,” I said quietly. “I saw him with Mali and the others. I told my sisters.”

  He paused. “Is he well?”

  “He and Mali looked very pleased with the situation.”

  Papa chuckled lightly. “I believe that.”

  “He said you arranged for him to be there,” I added.

  “Young men can get themselves into trouble when they are antagonized, and your brother is not meek.”

  “He will fight with the Mi’kmaq if he has to, Papa.”

  “If my son is to fight, he should not have to do it as a prisoner in his own home.”

  “Where is André?”

  “Ah. You did not find him, my little huntress? He did not want to go to the Mi’kmaq. He believed he had a responsibility elsewhere.”

  This was news to me. “What does that mean?”

  Papa had always been proud of his children. He told us constantly that we were smart and kind and polite, and courageous as well. When he spoke of André, his pride was obvious. His eldest son was so like him in looks, thoughts, and beliefs. André had grown into a man about whom he was very pleased.

  Now he squatted back down beside me, wanting to keep his words between us. “André has gone to the French, Amélie.”

  I opened my mouth to speak but snapped it shut. I could not imagine my brother in a uniform. “A soldier? André is a soldier?”

  “Not the French army, but the resistance. He is with a number of young men his age, and a large number of Mi’kmaq as well.”

  “But how . . . ?”

  “I have friends you do not know, ma chérie. In many places.” He smiled. “They will take good care of your brother.”

  I thought of André and of Henri, and my heart felt lighter, knowing they were out there. Neither of them would have fared well in this hell.

  “Oh, Mathieu . . . ,” Papa whispered. He dropped his face into his hands and breathed deeply, saying nothing. I knew he prayed for the son he could no longer protect. After a moment he raised his head and looked at me, remnants of unshed tears shining in his eyes.

  “Are you all right, Papa?” I ventured.

  The sorrow in his expression was unbearable, and I longed to take it from him, to take us both back to a place where pain did not rule every moment of every day. If only I could be a child again, running through the fields or the water or the forest, giggling as my brothers tried to find me. Oh, to be the little girl who tumbled like a boy down a hill then came to Papa, crying about a bloody knee. To sit on his lap and listen to stories told in his deep, soothing voice. To know that when I was tucked in at night, when the fire was banked and my parents had pulled up their own blankets, I was safe. I was home.

  “I will be, Amélie. Everything will be all right eventually,” he said, but his assurance fell flat. “And your handsome sergeant has given me hope when I needed it most.”

  He rose again and walked away. Though my eyes had adjusted as well as possible to this place, it wasn’t long before his lurching figure disappeared from my view. He had gone to put Connor’s plan into place, and I thought I knew whom he would speak with about it. The men he chose had to be strong, and they had to be trustworthy. They must be men he knew would step up to the challenge without fear, and they must be able to hold their tongues until morning so as not to raise any suspicions. How I longed for my brothers!

  I leaned back against the wall of the ship and closed my eyes, wondering if I’d be able to sleep. The news, both horrible and hopeful, had drained me. Every muscle ached with exhaustion, and I felt sure my thoughts would race, preventing slumber of any kind. But when I opened my eyes again, Papa slept nearby, Maman cradled in his arms. It was comforting to see them like this, and I closed my eyes again.

  TWENTY-TWO

  I awoke to sounds to which I had become accustomed: the whining of dozens of children begging for food, the weak, hushed assurances of parents who could offer nothing. Occasionally I might hear a guarded laugh. Our existence in this pit had become a sad, pointless routine.

  “Good morning,” Maman said, smiling at me. Even in the dark I could see the dark lines under her eyes were vivid this morning, like bruises against her pale skin. “Sleep well?”

  A sunbeam snuck through the boards of the deck over our head and lit the hold. People struggled to their feet to stretch, balancing against the rocking of the boat.

  I smiled back at her and shook my head. “Did you?”

  “No. But it seemed a good question to ask on such a morning.”

  That reminded me suddenly that this was a specific morning, unlike all the others. “Where is Papa?”

  She lifted her chin slightly but her weary gaze rested on me. “He went up for a walk with some of the other men this morning. I didn’t mind. I said I would go later, with you.”

  I barely heard her. It was already happening, and I had almost missed it! Across the hold, six men had grouped together at the base of the ladder. A few more had gathered around them.

  “How long have they been gone?” I asked.

  Maman’s eyes had closed again. “They will be back soon.”

  With one hand on the slippery wall of the ship, I edged over and crouched by Claire. She lay on one side with her eyes closed, but I could tell she was awake.

  “Claire!” I whispered.

  Her eyes blinked open. She hadn’t spoken to me since I’d begged for private conversation with Connor the night before. Now she was too curious to regard me with the scorn I knew she felt.

  “What is going on, Amélie? Something is happening.”

  I didn’t want anyone to overhear, but it was difficult to keep my voice down. In truth, I wanted to sing!

  “Papa and the others are about to take over the ship!”

  She sat up. “What?”

  I explained the plan—neglecting to mention the fact that we were now the only ship—and watched a smile bloom on her weary face. Just as quickly, her excitement faded. “The sailors are armed, are they not?”

  I waved a hand, dismissing her
worries. “Pah. They don’t expect anything. We have been stupid animals this whole time, doing nothing to arouse their suspicion. Why would they be prepared this morning? No, they will have no idea. Think of it, Claire! Soon we will all breathe the air whenever we want!”

  “I hope Papa is careful.”

  “He will be fine.”

  The hatch creaked open, and my sister and I gripped each other’s arms. When sunlight shone down on the six waiting men, they stood taller, puffing their chests with a pride they still felt despite everything. Hands flexed into fists then relaxed, and I imagined the men’s hearts hammered like woodpeckers’ beaks. How I admired them for their bravery. What I would give to climb up there with them, to set us all free!

  But what of Connor? At least he would be ready. He had put all this into motion, so I felt certain Papa would keep him safe.

  Monsieur Guilbeau was the first man to put his hands on the ladder, and despite the thrill of the moment he managed to maintain a grim expression. He began to climb, his eyes on the open hatchway; then he could not contain himself a moment longer. He grinned down at the others, and a few fists were silently thrust toward the sky.

  “Sergeant?” A sailor spoke sharply above us, his voice carrying down the hatch. “Step back, would you? Those men need to—”

  It was beginning! I leaned forward, intent on the sounds above me.

  Connor’s indignant reply came back, though I couldn’t make out his words at first. I pictured him, drawn up tall in his long black cloak, his chin lifted with authority.

  “—speak to me like that,” I finally heard. He spoke more slowly than I’d heard him speak before, every syllable deliberate, and I understood he was stretching out the moment, ensuring the Acadian men were prepared and in position. “Can you not see this uniform, lad? You’ll show respect, you will, and I’ll bloody well move when I’m ready. These prisoners can wait”—I heard him snarl—“as can you.”

  The sailor didn’t sound impressed. “Pardon my saying so, Sergeant, but I—”

  Our ceiling, black and shiny with slime, shuddered under the weight of a sudden crash, and the men at the base of the ladder rushed up on cue. Behind them hustled more men, each as eager and determined as the one before. The women and children below hushed, straining to hear as violence erupted above us. The ship resonated with pounding boots and yelling men, and down below we all held our breath.

  I heard English protests and garbled threats, but more than that I heard French voices raised with triumph. I heard Papa over them all, though he sounded different, and I knew why. For twenty years, he had lived a quiet, proper life as a farmer and shipbuilder. He had worked hard and gone to church. He had been a strong, loving father, and he had been a leader among our people. But now, finally released from our stagnant prison and given the opportunity to fight for his life and ours, he had slipped back to his younger days, those days when right and good became confused, and decisions were made in the moment.

  Would the battle be short and straightforward? Would the sailors put up a fight despite being outnumbered? God help us all if it went wrong, if blood was shed. Claire’s nails bit into my skin, and I’m sure mine did the same to hers. I listened hard, but all we could do was wait.

  To our relief, the scuffle didn’t last long. Soon Papa appeared at the top of the ladder. Moving slowly, he climbed down, and when he turned, I could see he was smiling broadly, though blood from his nose ran over his lips and into the filthy linen of his shirt.

  “Charles!” cried Maman. “You’re hurt!”

  She started to struggle to her feet, but Claire held out a calming hand. “Wait, Maman. He is fine. Listen to what he has to say.”

  “Mesdames et messieurs,” Papa said, his strong voice ringing clearly through the hold, “this morning the Acadians have revolted against our English captors. Against our brave men, they had no choice but to surrender and give us the ship.”

  The reaction was delayed as the truth sunk in. What did this mean? What would happen now? The chatter began as whispers and grew to exclamations and noisy questions.

  Papa put up his hands, and everyone fell quiet again. “We shall sail to Saint John Harbour. I welcome everyone to come to the upper deck when you feel well enough. You, my friends, are no longer prisoners.”

  My chest filled with pride. We had done it. Even more prideful of me was knowing that I had something to do with this thrilling change in our fate. I raced with the others toward the ladder, impatient to see Connor, and when I emerged through the hatchway the sun’s rays tasted sweeter than maple syrup. All around me people laughed and embraced. It had been too long since I had heard laughter.

  Papa held a happy but weeping Maman in his arms, and he smiled when I walked up to him.

  “Where are the prisoners?” I asked.

  His reply was only for me. “Your Scotsman is an honourable man,” he said appreciatively. “The captain and his men are secured in the bow, and do not worry. No one was badly hurt. Just a little blood and some bruised pride.” In reply to my unasked question, he said, “You can look, but I do not think it would be wise to speak with him.”

  “Why not? Surely there is no danger now.”

  “I am sorry, ma chérie. But it was he who convinced me that if it became known you were acquainted, he would be blamed when the English return to their own kind. To them he would be a traitor. They would punish him. They could even hang him for treason.”

  “But I mean to express my gratitude.”

  Papa shook his head, and my throat closed. This could not be happening. Connor had made it possible for us to be together, and now . . .

  Should fate separate us, he had said. So he had known it would end this way all along.

  “Does this mean I cannot even say thank you?”

  Papa didn’t say, but his tight expression told me I was right.

  I must never speak with Connor again.

  TWENTY-THREE

  The ship no longer controlled Papa. He stood at the helm, tall and powerful and in full command. Charles Belliveau was in his element behind the wheel, and though he was much too modest to say so, I imagined he was proud to be the new captain of this ship.

  “Amélie!” he called. “Come here. See what I see.”

  I stood by my father and looked beyond our former prison, letting the ocean become something exciting and new again, not the abyss of loss it had been until now. Even Maman had roused herself, though it took great effort. Her illness had worsened, but with Papa’s help she climbed the ladder and managed to stay upright for a while. I stood at her side, providing extra support.

  “Coming about!” Papa bellowed, and the call was echoed down the deck. Maman stepped out of his way, and he turned the wheel back in the direction from where we had come. The sail spun into position and the wind came alive, whipping around us and filling the huge square sails as if it were on our side. The gales rushed through Papa’s golden curls, and his cheeks flushed a victorious red.

  “Would you like to hear a story, ma chérie?”

  I would do anything to hear Papa laugh again. “Of course, Papa. Does it have a happy ending?”

  “Oh, yes. A funny one,” Maman replied, gazing up at Papa with adoring eyes.

  “Do you know, Amélie,” said Papa, “that I already know a little about this ship?”

  We all knew a little about this ship. It was old and terrible. But Papa was grinning, so I asked, “What do you mean?”

  “Not long ago, the army came to me. They told me they had a ship with a broken mast. After I had made a new mast for them, they said they would not pay for it.”

  “What? That’s criminal!”

  He shrugged. “It wasn’t a problem. I told them that was fine. I would cut the mast into firewood.”

  I could imagine him standing up to them, bold and unafraid, and the idea both thrilled and frightened me. “Papa!”

  “Oh yes, Amélie. I told them that, and I would have done it. But you know what happened t
hen? A funny thing. They paid me exactly what I asked for, and not a penny less.” He looked up at the bulging sails, obviously proud. “I made this mast.”

  I followed his gaze. “This one?”

  “The Lord works in mysterious ways, ma chérie!”

  Once we were on our way back north, all the Acadians moved from the hold to the more hospitable lower deck. We were grateful for what small comforts we had, like sleeping in shared hammocks instead of on the slippery wood floor of the hold. We ate better and we slept better, though no one could claim to be happy with the situation. Still, no one was forcing us to do anything, and the air we breathed was clean and fresh.

  Although life had improved, many had fallen ill since we’d been on board, and their condition declined a little more each day. Families clustered around loved ones who were stricken, quietly encouraging them to sip water, to swallow bits of food, but most were too weak. Many suffered feverish hallucinations, ranting and recognizing no one. We thanked God none had died, but I did not think we could celebrate even that small miracle for much longer.

  The captives had been dropped into our dismal former living area. I tried not to think of Connor’s discomfort and hoped his wounds would heal cleanly, but when I asked if I could check on them, Papa shook his head.

  One night, after he had passed the wheel to the next man in charge, he pulled me aside. “We are leaving the English prisoners on shore tomorrow.”

  I couldn’t speak. The ring on my finger seemed suddenly too tight.

  “They will be fine, Amélie. Their injuries are healing, they are fed, and they will be landing at an English port. They will find their way back.”

  “I want to go with him,” I whispered, tears filling my eyes.

  “No good could come of that. I am sorry, ma chérie. Truly I am. He was a brave man to do what he did, but now it is time for you to forget about him. He would want to know you are all right, that you can start again without him, because he must do the same. Our lives are changing every day, and we must do what we can to make them the best they can be. The Lord will guide him home, and he will guide you as well.”