Beyond the Cliffs of Kerry (45 page)

On Sunday the entire community would walk up to the mission for Mass with Father Cesaire, and although he remained aloof, he allowed Darcy to receive the sacrament of Holy Communion. She would visit with Faith when church was over, and they would sit together on the grass and exchange news.

"How have your lessons in the Catholic faith been going with Father Cesaire?" asked Darcy one sunny day as they sat on the bank of the Chaudière.

"Quite well," the young woman said, as she brushed back a lock of her chestnut hair. "But many things are different in your church, Darcy, and to be honest, I don't always agree."

"That's all right, Faith. If you believed everything
he
said then you would think me a harlot."

"Never!" gasped Faith. "But I fear for our visits. I don't think he will allow me to see you much longer. The only reason Father lets me speak with you now is to help me with my homesickness."

"Are you terribly homesick, Faith?"

"Yes,” and large tears began to roll down her cheeks.
 
She brushed them off and said, "I miss my family so much, and I pray every night that Catherine is safe and happy living somewhere with Mr. Tinker."

Darcy took her hand. "He will take good care of Catherine. Moses is a good man and needs someone to take care of. In a way this has been a blessing for him. What of Isaiah? How does he fare?"

"I believe he adjusts better than us. He is truly loved by his new Abenaki family, and one day he will forget that he was born in the English Colonies."

Raoul approached the women, signaling that it was time to go home. Faith caught Darcy by the wrist and said, "Does your husband know that you love another?"

Darcy frowned. "What are you talking about?"

"It is written all over you. Any woman could see it."

Darcy felt a lump in her throat and said nothing. It was a beautiful autumn day, and when they reached their cabin, Raoul said, "Come, Darcy, pack a basket, and I will take you in the canoe to enjoy this beautiful afternoon."

Darcy's heart leaped.
Bless Raoul for knowing that she needed a diversion.
She ran into the house, gathered up some food and rushed back out to the canoe. They spent the entire day lazily exploring the river, and walking in the woods. At one point, they paddled down some rapids and shortly thereafter passed a wooden cross driven into the ground. When the water calmed, Raoul removed his cap, saying a prayer to St. Anne, the patron saint of voyageurs.

"Why is the cross there?" Darcy asked.

"That is where a voyageur lost his life. We always mark the spot, so all that pass will pray for his soul."

  
Shortly after that they chose a spot on the riverbank to stop and eat their lunch. Darcy lay back and gazed up at the clear cloudless sky, relishing the aroma of the pines.

Raoul kissed her and said, "You have made me the happiest man alive. I cannot believe that you are my wife."

They returned home late in the day, and even though Darcy was grateful for the outing, the loneliness continued. She would stare up at the night sky, trying to find the constellations Jean Michel had told her about, but Sagittarius and Scorpio were lost in the vast multitude of the heavens. It mattered little, she told herself; Jean Michel was lost to her as well.

The wind began to turn cold on All Hallows Eve; Darcy decided to warm the cabin doing her baking for the week. Early in the morning she lit a fire in the oven, allowing it to burn until the stones became hot. After sweeping out the coals, she put her bare arm inside to test the temperature. Picking up her peel, Darcy slid a crock of baked beans to the back of the oven, knowing that they would take all day, and then added her bread and rolls. Raoul had taught her many new ways to bake bread in the French fashion, and she found the experimentation amusing. Today she was trying baguettes.

After she had completed her baking, Darcy walked outside and sat down by a sapling to make cornmeal. A large rock hung from a rope which was tied to a young tree, and with this rock she pounded the corn down to a coarse meal, using the flexible sapling to do the work for her on the upswing. Many of these chores had been new to Darcy when she first came to the
New World
, but now they had become second nature to her. Her days were full from beginning to end, but her heart remained empty. Nothing seemed to matter anymore, and she felt herself sliding into despondency.

To amuse herself and observe All Hallows Eve, she lit a bonfire to ward off ghosts and wandering souls. It was twilight, and the wind sighed sadly as it passed through the pines, and the sky was a steely gray.

Darcy shivered as she looked up at the ceiling of clouds. It was indeed an eerie evening, and back in
Ireland
they would have spoken of the Banshee walking. Raoul was late tonight, and Darcy knew that the conversation and tobacco must be entertaining.

The bonfire crackled and popped on the banks of the Chaudière sending sparks flying high into the night sky. She gazed into the flames, thinking of the ghost stories she heard as a child and smiled to herself.

A movement caught her eye, and she saw a figure coming toward her along the banks of the river. Many travelers came down from
Quebec
, following the river, and Darcy looked back at the fire, unconcerned. As the traveler came closer, she looked once more, and she could see in the twilight that it was a white man, but he was not in the dress of a voyageur. His clothing appeared to be that of a settler. Something was familiar about the figure, and it gave Darcy pause. She stood motionless and stared at him. The closer the man came, the more anxious Darcy felt, and fear began to wash over her. She thought perhaps it was a ghost. Suddenly, the specter dropped his pack and began to run. In an instant he was upon her, kissing her face and her hair. It was Jean Michel.

"My God, you're alive! You're alive!" he kept repeating as he held her face and kissed her lips and her cheeks over and over again.

Darcy was stunned. With her arms at her side she stared at him as if he were not real.
This cannot be happening; Jean Michel would never be standing on the banks of the Chaudière, holding her. This is a cruel trick played on her by fairies.

The brilliant light of the bonfire flooded them as Jean Michel brushed the hair away from her face. "I have come to take you back. You are safe now."

At last, she put her arms around him, feeling the warmth of his body, realizing that he was indeed flesh and blood. "How did you find me?" she asked, breathlessly.

"The Abenaki told me that you had been taken to
Quebec
, and after searching there for months, I gave up and was returning to the English Colonies. It is purely by the grace of God that I find you now."

He pulled her close to him and held her so tightly that she could barely breathe. "Tell me that you still love me, Darcy."

She felt his strong legs against her. He bent her head back and kissed her deeply. Instantly she was drowning in desire. It had been so long since she had felt passion, and now, as he lavished his affection on her, she lost her head. His lips moved down her neck, as his fingers pressed into her back, and they embraced in the firelight until Darcy pushed him away and gasped, "No, you must not, Jean Michel!"

“Why?" he said as he stepped back.

"Because I am a married woman."

He looked incredulous and searched her eyes for answers. Just as she was about to explain, a voice shouted, "Bon Soir!" They turned and saw Raoul walking down the hill with a smile on his face.

"Welcome, wayfarer!" he said to Jean Michel in French. "I am Raoul LaRoche, and this is my wife, Madame LaRoche. May we help you?"

Jean Michel turned and looked at Darcy, hurt in his eyes. She looked down at the ground. He swallowed hard then said politely, "Thank you, Monsieur LaRoche. I am an acquaintance of your wife. We had just been reminiscing when you arrived."

Darcy was unsure how much Raoul had seen, but judging from his solicitous attitude, he had witnessed nothing. Her heart was thumping against her chest, and she knew that she appeared agitated. Her French had improved greatly since coming to
New France
, and she heard Raoul exclaim, "You know each other? What a surprise. Are you too, from
Ireland
, Monsieur?"

“No, I am from the Colony of
Massachusetts
."

"You are very brave to be up here during wartime."

"My business here was of great importance," Jean Michel said, looking at Darcy.

"As you can imagine, we are not fond of the British here, but since you are a friend of my wife, I will make an allowance. Please, will you join us for supper?"

"No, thank you, I must be on my way," returned Jean Michel feeling his stomach tie up in knots.

"Please, Monsieur."

Reluctantly Jean Michel walked up to the cabin by Raoul. Fighting back tears of outrage and sorrow Darcy made supper while the men smoked at the table. Just a few months ago, she had been dreaming of keeping house for Jean Michel, and here she was the wife of a retired French voyageur, cooking for her lover as if he were a stranger.

Darcy watched Jean Michel closely, committing to memory every detail of his appearance. He was dressed in a white linen shirt of the highest quality, and he had on dark, brown britches with expensive leather boots. She realized what a fool she had been not to have guessed that he was a man of wealth and breeding. Nathan Lawrence was right. She would never fit into his life.

Darcy looked away, but inevitably her eyes went back to him unable to resist drinking in every detail. She had never forgotten how appealing he was with his dark skin and long black hair tied back with a leather thong. There was only a shadow of a beard on his face. She watched his icy, blue eyes appraise Raoul. Suddenly, as if he knew she had been watching him, he turned in his chair and looked directly at her. Darcy jumped and moved back to the hearth, saying nothing.

The men continued to make small talk. They found common ground in the Lupe' trading post of the past. Darcy knew Raoul could go on forever once the voyageur stories started, and she was relieved that she did not have to contribute anything to the conversation.

Jean Michel pretended to be listening, but he was distracted by Darcy.
How could she have married this squat, little man?
How dare this old voyageur call Darcy his wife and take her to his bed. She was not his wife. She could never be his wife. From the moment she was born, she had been meant for him-and him alone.

Jean Michel decided at that moment to tell them his reason for coming. “It is no coincidence I have found your wife, Monsieur LaRoche. I have been in fact searching for her.”

Darcy stood up from the hearth, holding her breath. Her eyes were on Jean Michel.

“The man who held Madame LaRoche’s servitude has changed his mind. I was to pay the ransom and take her back to
New England
, but I see that I am too late."

Darcy was aghast. He was merely running an errand for Nathan Lawrence. She remained motionless trying to absorb the blow.

After a few moments, she bent down to stir the bubbling stew, choking back hurt and rage.

“Oh Mon Dieu!” declared Raoul. “I am glad that I found her first. She would have been lost to me forever.”

Raoul asked Jean Michel if he had a wife and children. “No. There is no one,” he replied.

Darcy stood up from the hearth and said, "Oh come now, Monsieur Lupe‘. It is common knowledge that you will marry the refined and elegant Elizabeth Campbell of Picscataqua then take a woman on the side."

Jean Michel stopped smoking and stared at Darcy. He was stunned by her words.