Bride of New France (17 page)

“‘Well, she does look healthy enough, and young enough to learn. Can you speak, at least?’ He addresses himself to me and I nod in response.

“Maman doesn’t give the priest another chance to turn me away. She takes a few steps back and pushes me toward him. ‘This will be a better life for you, child. You won’t have to worry about men like Ti-Jean, or any man at all,’ she whispers to me.

“‘But I can’t read the Bible, Maman, nor can I do needlepoint, or anything at all such as you have told the priest,’ I whisper as he turns to enter the monastery, leaving us for a moment on the step. I have done nothing with my young life so far other than hide under the table at night and shop for discounts in the market for our evening meal during the day.

“‘You will learn. Those are all much better things than I can teach you.’

“The priest comes back with some water and hard bread and cheese. He breaks some off for me and gives the rest to Maman for her return journey.

“‘Thank you, Father. I am so grateful. My life is one of sin, of the worst possible kind, but knowing that I have spared my child from the same fate is reward enough to keep me happy for the rest of my days.’ Maman packs the supplies into the sack at her side, then turns to me and says, ‘I have tried my best to protect you from the ugliness of this world. I hope you will remember that and nothing else about your mother.’

“Those were her final words to me before she undertook the long journey back to La Rochelle. I have not seen her since that day.”

Laure emerges from behind the curtain of the ship’s sickroom that night and tells the priest, who is always eager to hear news of her health, that Madeleine is doing a little better. He asks if he can see her for a brief moment, but Laure tells him that this is not a good night for visiting with her friend. Afterwards, Laure lies awake on the ship floor, rocking with the gentle waves, thinking about Madeleine’s story. How little
she had known about her best friend. So many times Laure had thought that Madeleine would not be so kind and soft-spoken to everyone if she had encountered misfortune. But could it be that her devotion and simple, gentle heart were formed out of the suffering of her childhood?

    Part Two    

En aucun endroit, apparaissaient de hauts et prodigieux glaçons nageant et flottant, élevés de trente et quarante brasses, gros et larges comme si vous joigniez plusieurs châteaux ensemble, et comme […] si l’église Notre-Dame-de-Paris avec une partie de son île, maisons et palais, allaient flottant dessus l’eau
.

[All around appeared tall and prodigious icebergs swimming and floating, as high as thirty or forty fathoms, as large and wide as if you had joined together several castles, and … as if the Notre-Dame-de-Paris church with a part of its island, homes and palaces, were floating on the water.]

—PIERRE BIARD,

RELATIONS DES JÉSUITES
, 1611

    11    

T
he men bring fresh water from the iceberg back to the ship. The passengers of the
Saint-Jean-Baptiste
have been surviving for weeks on cider after the fresh barrels of water from France became too viscous and filled with larvae to drink. Some of those who had crossed to Canada before knew to lower rowboats into the frigid sea to obtain clean water from the frozen island. The other passengers on deck held their breath as the men descended into the churning sea below and began to row toward the icy hills around them. The icebergs are the nearest thing to land that the passengers have seen in over two months, so Laure can understand the men’s desire to go to them, to be in the presence of something solid. She is grateful for their feat when the men return triumphant with their barrels and she gets to feel, along with the other passengers, the pure icy shards descend into her throat and her stomach. The men say that this water is better for the spirit than the finest brandy, that it is worth the dangers at sea just to taste it. The place they have finally reached is called Terre-Neuve.

But this Terre-Neuve is not what Laure expected. There are no fishermen, no Savages, and no city to behold. The New
World the sailors and some of the indentured servants are cheering for appears to be nothing more than a mountain of ice in the sea. But for the moment, tasting fresh water is reason enough to rejoice, even if the country itself is the loneliest place Laure has ever seen.

After two months at sea, the sailors that lead the vessel have hollow cheeks and dark-bearded faces. Some of the duties of crew members who perished during the journey have been taken over by male passengers. At first Laure attempted to keep track of those who died, trying to determine which man or woman had been thrown into the sea and was no longer among them. But after a dozen or so passengers and crew had perished, and they all grew weakened on their dwindling rations, Laure began to stay below deck, ignoring the sound of the funerary trumpet. It has been a hard crossing, and they are looking for any reason to celebrate.

A sailor opens the hatch to the Sainte-Barbe and Laure descends, balancing the bowl of fresh water in her hand. The sick passengers moan as the light from above reaches them. They are the ones who have not yet succumbed to the stomach illness that killed twelve passengers in three days, including three of the crew. The sailors blamed the disease on the vermin of the
faux-sauniers
prisoners. The insects they brought onboard had so multiplied in the hold that each passenger who came on deck first danced about in the light trying to rid their body of bugs.

Laure calls up to the sailor to close the hatch once she is beside Madeleine. She waits a moment for her eyes to adjust to
the darkness of the hold. Her skin begins to itch in response. “We have arrived in Canada,” Laure says. She reaches to touch Madeleine’s arm.

The ship’s surgeon hasn’t been able to diagnose Madeleine. At the start of the journey he had attributed her illness to seasickness, but unlike the other passengers afflicted by the same malady, Madeleine didn’t gain her footing as the weeks wore on. Other than bites from the fleas and ticks that have afflicted all the passengers of the
Saint-Jean-Baptiste
, Madeleine has no sores or pustules on her skin. There is no visible sign of her illness besides the thinness of her body. All the surgeon can say is that Madeleine has been weakened by the journey. He predicts that she will be fine if she can make it to Québec. He says that the sea doesn’t agree with everybody and that sometimes the only cure for it is dry land. But now that Laure has seen the frozen, desolate place they have been sailing toward, she is less convinced of its curative powers.

Laure can hardly blame Madeleine for giving up on the ship’s food. The Salpêtrière rations had been a sumptuous feast compared to what they have been eating for the past two months. Since leaving Le Havre, the passengers of the
Saint-Jean-Baptiste
have been living on sea biscuits from barrels. These are the usual staple of the sailors’ diet and are so hard that the men crush them with the butts of their muskets so the women can eat them. The biscuits are mixed with a little salted lard and peas to make the cold stew they are served each evening. According to the sailors, this batch of crackers is a good one. They have been well baked and dried, so they don’t have any weevils in them, which is fortunate since their journey has been plagued by insects of every other sort. But the seamen are so accustomed to the insidious worms that they nonetheless
tap the crackers on their bowls before biting into one. Their sea fare is washed down with cider. The jam, like the meat, is reserved for the captain’s table.

Madeleine takes the bowl of fresh water from Laure in her frail fingers and sips from it. “What does Canada look like?” she asks.

Laure helps Madeleine to steady the bowl. “Like a frozen heaven,” she responds. The chill from the icebergs they pass can even be felt below deck. There isn’t a dry spot left onboard the ship. The sea spray and damp air have penetrated their clothing and bedding so that they have long since given up on being warm. Laure doesn’t tell Madeleine that Canada is white and silent and as vast as the sea they have just spent two months crossing. She doesn’t express her fear that although the bright mountains of ice do look like a heaven of sorts, she doubts there are any angels in this heaven.