Promises to Keep Read online

  My brother Henri, who was one year older than me, was the dark opposite of our oldest brother, André, and in our family he was the most like me. He preferred the Mi’kmaq way of life to the more rigid ways of the Acadian village, and we shared a best friend in Mali. Like Papa had years before, Henri had learned to hunt and fight the Mi’kmaq way, and he knew every one of their legends better than he knew the Bible stories. He had even joined the Mi’kmaq youth in their sweat lodge.

  The Acadians had always been close to the Mi’kmaq. Some even married and raised children of both worlds. The only conflict which ever arose stemmed from some Acadians not approving of how the Mi’kmaq retained their gods even after they had accepted our Christian God. To those Acadians, there was only one God.

  I had never understood their criticisms. Of course our family went to church every week, and the Bible said we should not worship other gods, but in my mind the Mi’kmaq religion was something different. The Christian God was all-powerful, a force never questioned or doubted, and Jesus died for us, to save our souls. If I lived a good, Christian life, I would eventually join God in heaven. But before I died, while I still existed in the world, the Mi’kmaq spirits were all around me, filling my mind and body, keeping me alive. They were a part of my living world. The Christian God would look after me when I died.

  There were discrepancies, though. The Bible taught me that Adam was the first human; however, the Mi’kmaq said Glooscap was the first osgijinew, the first man to stand on wesgit, the earth.

  Papa said it was for me to decide what I believed. He said it was a question of faith. “Do not worry, Amélie. As long as you believe in God and give him your soul after death, I see no problem with believing in Glooscap as well. God is not selfish.”

  Mali’s father, Tumas, was like my second father and just as wise as Papa. He was also more blunt. “The Mi’kmaq lived on this earth before Christianity began. Glooscap was the first god, and he will be the last god.”

  The Mi’kmaq story of Creation was much more vivid than the one in the Book of Genesis. Glooscap had been created from dirt, stones, wood, plants, and feathers; a bolt of lightning had brought him alive. On the day Glooscap declared he wanted to take a bath, Beaver built a dam so the water would cover him. A mighty whale came by and, unhappy to find her path blocked, she knocked the dam down. From their disagreement came the tides that rose and fell twice a day, every day, in our Bay of Fundy. I suppose that was what made it easier for me to believe the Mi’kmaq stories: God was everywhere, but the Mi’kmaq spirits were right here, doing things I could see.

  I dropped one bucket at a time into the well and hauled them up again, then I turned back toward home, the rope handles rough on my fingers. After I brought the water to Maman for her soup, I would do my chores in the barn, return to help with the meal preparations, weed in the garden, then go out to the weirs to bring in the fish. Our days were always full. If only Mali were here to brighten them for me.

  Summer flew by. This year it was made even more busy by the impending wedding of my sister and Guillaume, which would happen in September. Surrounded by my family and Acadian friends, I had less time to wallow in the loneliness which had settled over me since the Mi’kmaq had withdrawn. But there were moments when I was not consumed by work or conversation. I did not bid them to do so, but when they could, my thoughts went to the conversation I had had with Corporal MacDonnell under the trees that day. I told myself that my desire to seek him out and talk with him once more came purely from my lack of companionship now that Mali was gone. I had felt comfortable with him, and his intriguing—though sad—tales of Scotland gave me the opportunity to learn about one of those faraway places beyond the horizon. But even though I visited the camp twice more, I did not see him. Nor could I differentiate him from any of the other redcoats I spied from a distance when the activity by the church drew my eye.

  On a beautiful night two weeks before Claire and Guillaume were to be married, we gathered to celebrate the anticipation of their wedding. Despite the unfamiliar tension the British had wrapped around our people, we seized the opportunity to remember what it was like to live. We lit the evening with bonfires—though we took care to be frugal with the wood. We had no idea how long the British might keep our axes from us, and we would need firewood once the cool nights arrived. With our cups filled with cider, we danced to fiddles and flutes, kicking up our heels after long, hot days, staying near the fire to keep the hordes of mosquitoes at bay. Claire and Guillaume danced the night away, and I wondered if they even noticed the rest of us. My friend Evangeline Bellefontaine spent the evenings with her beloved, Gabriel Lajeunesse, and while I did miss our time together as friends, I was glad to see the contentment on her sweet face. Though it was true I had no intention of marrying anytime soon, I did long to carry that same light of love in my eyes. Both Claire and Evangeline practically glowed with happiness, as did the men at their sides. I tried not to give in to the sin of envy.

  Maman brought over two more cups of cider as I bent over, laughing at Giselle. Too much spinning had sent her sprawling into the cool grass, and her grin shone in the moonlight.

  “Ah, my silly girls,” Maman said. “Which of these boys will be lucky enough to earn your affection?”

  I hid my annoyance behind my cup, but Giselle was happy to chatter away. “Maman, does Jean Dupuis not look handsome tonight?”

  “He does indeed. He has grown into a man this summer. And look, he is coming this way!”

  “He was already a man, Maman. He is sixteen.”

  “So he is. And you, my beautiful daughter, are only two years younger. Will you dance if he asks?”

  “Of course.” And she did when he appeared before her.

  The fiddles’ notes danced through the air like the sparks leaping from the fire. It was a perfect night, sent to us from God as a reward for our courage through these uncertain times. Maman and I watched Giselle spin around with Jean, and at the speed she was going I hoped she would not tumble again. Then he took her hand and put another on her waist, and she blinked up at him in such a perfect imitation of Claire’s flirtatious expression I could not help but laugh.

  “She is happy,” Maman said warmly. “That is all I have ever wanted for my children.”

  I knew what she meant, what she had not said. “We are all happy. You need not worry for me.”

  “It is my right to worry.” She put an arm around me and pulled me close. “I love you very much, Amélie.”

  I was the same height as she was now, and I wondered when that had happened. We were almost cheek to cheek, so I had only to turn my face to kiss her.

  “I love you too.”

  The next morning arrived before any of us were prepared, and though I had awoken at our rooster’s imperious cry an hour before, I had coaxed myself back to sleep. I could not do the same after a sharp knocking came at our door.

  Claire made a disapproving grunt when I climbed over her and pulled my cloak from the hook on the wall. “Your curiosity will be the death of us all,” she murmured, but I knew she was only teasing.

  “Go back to sleep. I will tell you who it is later.”

  Papa stood at the door with Mathieu at his side. Papa eyed him. “Do not cause trouble, Mathieu. Stand back, out of the way.”

  With a scowl, my brother stepped behind him and toward me.

  “Who is it?” I whispered.

  “Soldiers.”

  The door creaked open, and we saw two red uniforms waiting in the morning mist. Corporal MacDonnell stood just behind his commanding officer, who he had told me was named Sergeant Fitch. Both men’s coats were beaded with rain, and their faces were pale from the chill. I smiled in welcome at MacDonnell, but he kept his eyes averted from mine. The action surprised me, as he had been so friendly before. Was it because of his sergeant? Perhaps he had forgotten this was my house. I cleared my throat to draw his attention, but all he did was frown and stare at the floor. So his rudeness was deliberate. I was surprise
d by how much that hurt. Silly girl, I chided myself. Thinking he was special. He is just one of them after all.

  “Bonne matin,” Fitch said in his terrible French.

  “Bonjour. Puis-je vous aider?” Papa asked.

  Clearly uncomfortable with speaking French, Fitch turned from Papa to me. “We are here with orders from His Majesty.”

  “What orders?” I asked. “We have no more weapons, as you know. We have nothing more your king could want.”

  MacDonnell’s jaw was clenched tight. Memories of our happy afternoon were all I had left of that day, and I pushed them from my mind whenever they showed themselves. I no longer felt any pleasure at the sight of him.

  Fitch’s narrow gaze slid past Papa and paused on Claire, who could not resist her own curiosity, it appeared. At sight of her his nostrils flared slightly, and he smiled in a way I can only describe as carnivorous. The man made my skin crawl. Claire made a small noise of disgust in her throat and turned away, hugging herself, but Fitch was undeterred. His repugnant gaze came my way next, and I glared back, though I know not why I was so foolish. I should not have baited him; I did not know what power he might wield. Fortunately, he said nothing, though his thin lips pursed with annoyance.

  All this happened in the space of a few seconds. While Fitch had been ogling Claire and me, André and Henri had melted into the walls, staying out of sight. Papa had told them they should, for we all knew my brothers would not hesitate to raise their fists if they felt we were in danger. They could not win against well-armed soldiers, and Papa feared the soldiers would try to antagonize them to that point.

  Fitch cleared his throat. “I have been directed to inform you that all men, including lads over the age of ten, are to attend a meeting at the church this Friday, the fifth of September at three o’clock in the afternoon.”

  Three days from now. My father squinted at Fitch, and I could tell the officer’s words had been too quick. I lifted to my toes and whispered the translation into Papa’s ear, unpleasantly aware of Fitch’s attention on me.

  “Why we come to church?” Papa asked.

  “Colonel Winslow will address all the men in the village.” Fitch rubbed a wet sleeve over his face, mopping rainwater from his skin. He looked irritated, as if he had expected to be invited in.

  He waited for me to translate, then Papa crossed his arms. “Yes? You call and we come like dogs? Maybe we do not.”

  “Then you forfeit your home and all goods to His Majesty.”

  “What?” I cried. “How—”

  Papa seethed. “His Majesty already take almost all.”

  Fitch’s smile was cruel. “Almost.”

  How dare he speak this way? I stepped closer to the door, but my father held out an arm to restrain me.

  “But, Papa—”

  His lips narrowed. “Hush, Amélie. Remember what I said before,” he said in French. “Think first.” His attention returned to Fitch, and he jabbed a thumb at his own chest. “You tell me more.”

  Fitch merely shrugged. “I don’t speak your foul language.”

  In his most cordial voice, Papa unleashed a string of French that made us all blanch.

  “Excuse me, Sergeant,” came another voice. MacDonnell stepped into the doorway, and I remembered his fluent French. He would certainly have understood every one of Papa’s expletives.

  “I do not require your assistance, Corporal.”

  “I can speak their language, sir. That will make it easier for you.”

  Sergeant Fitch grudgingly stepped to the side, giving MacDonnell a dark look as he did so. Water dripped from MacDonnell’s tricorne as he gave Papa a quick, respectful nod. “I apologize for this intrusion,” he said. “My name is Corporal Connor MacDonnell of His Majesty’s army. Sergeant Fitch and I have been tasked with delivering this message, but I am afraid we were given no other information.”

  Papa was—and rightfully so—still annoyed by the demand no matter in which language it was made. But it is easier to be plain-spoken to a rude person than it is to take out anger on someone with manners. Some of the bluster left his sails.

  “Bien,” he said. “We will be there.” He narrowed his eyes at Fitch. “But it is highly irregular to be summoned in this way.”

  “Yes, sir. Merci bien,” MacDonnell said. “Again, I apologize.” He angled his body slightly and gave my sisters and me the same sort of bow. “Good day, madame, mademoiselles, monsieur.”

  When he straightened, his eyes flickered quickly around the house, and I worried he saw my hidden brothers. He said nothing. If he had spotted them, he showed no sign. He simply turned and left.

  Maman clutched Papa’s sleeve before he’d even turned from the closed door.

  “What is this now?”

  “Perhaps it is a good thing that they want to address us all,” he suggested. “Maybe this time we really will learn what is happening.”

  The soft tan of her brow wrinkled. “Oh, if they would only leave us alone!”

  “And yet they will not, ma chérie.” He drew her against his chest and looked over her head at my brothers, who had reappeared. “Do not worry, Sylvie. The Lord will see us through this. We have three days. Then we will know more.”

  “I say we should not go,” Henri declared. “This is our land—”

  “It is not our land,” Papa reminded him. “We are on His Majesty’s land.”

  Even Giselle joined the conversation. “We were here first!”

  Maman’s attention switched from Papa to Giselle, and she laid one hand against my sister’s blond curls. “Hush now, ma petite. Papa will take care of everything.”

  My doubts were reflected in my brother André’s eyes, and I wondered why he kept them to himself.

  Henri didn’t hesitate. “I will not go,” he decided, folding his arms and looking like a younger version of our father at his most defiant. Of course Henri would bluster at this, ready to declare war. This kind of battle cry appealed to him. “They cannot tell me what to do. I will stand up for our rights!”

  I heard again the advice Papa had given me and remembered the wisdom of keeping my emotions hidden, yet I saw a hint of concern in my father’s expression.

  “You will do no such thing. We will all go,” Papa said after a moment, laying an arm over Maman’s shoulder. “For your mother’s sake.”

  “They cannot—”

  Papa raised his voice, though it was was not quite a shout. “They can indeed, Henri, and I do not believe it is an empty threat. Tell me, my brave son, what would your mother do if they burned our house to the ground?”

  “They wouldn’t!”

  “They would.”

  Henri closed his lips, but I could imagine the thoughts roaring through his head.

  The following day, Papa left the house before the sun had risen. September was Wikumkewiku’s, and evenings were lit by the moose-calling moon, but the darkness would not bother him. I was sleeping when he left, and he was still gone when I awoke. When I asked Maman where he had gone, she wouldn’t say.

  “Don’t worry,” she assured me, trying to put a stop to my questions. “Your papa is fine. He will probably come home with a nice venison meal for us all.”

  But I could not imagine how this was possible, since he could not hunt without weapons. When Maman left the house as well, heading to the garden, I pondered what she had said. I was aware my father often found solace with his old family just as I did with Mali’s. Papa had no weapons, but Tumas did. Papa had hunted with the Mi’kmaq before; maybe he hunted with them today. What kind of conversations might they have in the cool, silent refuge of the forest?

  SIX

  Henri remained emphatic that he would not attend the meeting, and I could not blame him. The soldiers had not seen him—unless Corporal MacDonnell had caught a glimpse the last time he’d been at our house. I secretly encouraged my brother to do what his heart told him. I even suggested I might run to the forest with him, but André overheard and forbade it. When Andr�
� spoke, everyone knew he’d deliberated over every word. I would never purposefully disappoint him. Still, I urged Henri to run.

  An hour before the men were required to go to the church, we could find no evidence of Henri. His clothes were gone as well. In truth, I was relieved. I wanted him to stay as far from trouble as possible. But I was astonished to discover that Henri was not the only one who was missing. André was nowhere to be found.

  Oddly, neither of my parents seemed concerned about their absent sons. All Papa said was, “Eh bien. If they are not at the meeting, they can at least watch over the house from wherever they are.”

  Something in his tone made me wonder if he too wished he could flee the unknown. If he’d been young and without responsibilities, he might have gone as well. But he was not a twenty-year-old blond Mi’kmaq warrior anymore. He was my papa and a leader in our community. He knew his responsibilities, and he would never shirk them.

  Claire, however, was frantic. “How could they do this? They cannot just have disappeared! Oh, Amélie. Do you know where they are? Do you know what has happened?”

  Though my face raged with heat, I answered with all honesty that I did not. I prayed they were with Mali and her family. I even wondered if that could have been the motive for my father’s disappearance the other morning. All I knew for sure was that my brothers were safer with the Mi’kmaq than they were with the men in red coats.