Bride of New France (38 page)

She preaches to Laure throughout the day as they tend to the fire, the cooking, the needlework, and the care of the children. The wisdom and preoccupations that govern Madame
Tardif’s daily existence are of a practical nature: What rate are the commanding officers paying this winter to have their uniforms and socks mended? How can firewood be made to last longer by turning in early at night and keeping the door to the cabin closed, the curtains drawn, and the children indoors throughout the day? How much broth can be had from boiling salted meats and fish bones to make a stew nearly as watery as the Salpêtrière broth? Laure appreciates the practical lessons she gets from Madame Tardif on being an efficient and careful colony wife. She can see that a decade or two of such toil could lead to a slightly less encumbered life, but there is certainly no room in Madame Tardif’s mind for dresses made of exquisite materials, for dreams of princes and royal courts, for letter-writing, for dangerous amorous relations with the Savages of this country.

Laure wishes she could trade for Madame Tardif’s simple severity the vain curves of her creamy body, her gleaming eyes, the foolish thoughts in her head, and most of all, the sinful evidence of all her faults that now fills the space beneath her ribs.

“I don’t know why you are spending your time making all those detailed designs,” Madame Tardif says. “A baby is a dirty creature who doesn’t have eyes for things such as embroidered flowers. You would do well enough to make a blanket using that grey wool I gave you.”

Laure cannot imagine wrapping a new baby in such coarse material. She has taken apart one of the dresses she sewed last winter and is using the cotton to create a soft blanket for the baby.

“I don’t know when you will finally understand that we are not in Paris, that Canada is nowhere near to the King’s court,
and that practicality and economy are much more useful here than flower designing and expensive fabrics.”

Laure continues with her embroidering.

“You don’t want to tell your child from the moment they are born that life is easy. What is the point of getting them accustomed to fineries at such a young age when that blanket will be the only luxury they will ever know?”

Better to have known something fine at least, to have tasted even for one moment that life is more than ugly coarse material and back-breaking hard work
, Laure thinks, but she remains quiet. She is, after all, a guest in Madame Tardif’s home, and the winter outside is vicious and cold.

“I do not possess the housekeeping skills that you do. Making fine clothing is all I know how to do.”

When Laure has finished with the blanket for the day, she drapes it over the wooden box Madame Tardif gave her to use as a cradle. Laure cannot help but think that the box looks more like a coffin and that the blanket is like placing flowers on her baby’s grave.

Madame Rouillard has come to the Tardif cabin to see Laure. It is February, and she is visiting Pointe-aux-Trembles as there are three pregnant women in the settlement. The Governor and Intendant are eager to hear her reports of all the pregnancies and births in the region of Ville-Marie so they can send the good news of the colony’s fertility back to France.

Madame Rouillard is covered in furs and looks just like a
coureur de bois
. She removes her hat and overcoat and her cheeks are bright from the cold. She has travelled from Ville-Marie with an Algonquin convert named Louis and a young
Canadien
.

“You aren’t paid very much to come with me, but I appreciate the company in those woods. Go back to the cabin we just came from and I’m sure they’ll empty their brandy stores for you. Leave me to my women’s business here and I’ll get you when I’ve finished.”

The young men close the door behind them, eager to escape the presence of yet another pregnant woman.

“You’re not expecting again, are you?” the midwife asks Madame Tardif.

“No, it’s not for me.”

“That’s a relief. I tell the women that nothing is more dangerous to mother and child than pregnancies spaced too closely together.”

Madame Rouillard turns to look at Laure. She narrows her eyes as if trying to recollect where she has seen the face. “You’re not her sister?”

Laure responds that she isn’t. She tells the midwife that Madame Tardif has simply been kind enough to take her in while her husband is off in search of furs. Madame Tardif is pleased by Laure’s words of praise, as they both know that news of her generosity will now travel to Ville-Marie.

“Now that I hear you speak, I remember you. You’re one of those women who arrived from the Paris hospital. I was in the canoe with you from Québec, I think.”

Laure nods. Madame Rouillard seems about to say more but instead reaches for the bag she’s brought with her. Laure
starts to tremble as Madame Rouillard walks toward her. She will be discovered in front of Madame Tardif when the midwife easily discerns that Laure is actually six, rather than four, months into her pregnancy. Laure can feel the midwife’s eyes scrutinizing her face and body as if she knows her secret even before she touches her.

Madame Rouillard is silent as she kneels next to Laure and brings the candle near. She asks Laure to come and lie down on a pelt she has unrolled onto the floor. Laure stiffens as the midwife’s hands slide over her belly. The older woman’s eyes remain focused on a point in the distance as she feels for the limbs of the child through Laure’s flesh. Laure fears that this woman will know so much about her just by touching her abdomen for a few moments. Finally Madame Rouillard puts an ear to Laure’s stomach and listens for the baby’s heart.

“Your baby is strong, Madame—?”

Laure tells her Mathurin’s surname.

Madame Rouillard then asks Madame Tardif to fetch the boys at the neighbours’.

The midwife sits quietly for a few moments. They are enveloped in the silence, the deep slumber, of winter. Only Laure is wide awake, alert and ready to hear what Madame Rouillard has to say.

“You would be surprised to learn how many women have committed sins worse than your own.”

Laure’s eyes widen. Madame Rouillard does remember her leaving the inn to be with Deskaheh.

The midwife grows silent again.

Laure wishes she could tell her that she feels true regret for her actions. Of course her life would be much simpler if she were pregnant with Mathurin’s child, or if there were no baby at all. But what could Laure hope for with such a life? She would grow swarthy and worn by work like Madame Tardif just the same. Only there would be no secret memories of Deskaheh, no Savage child within her. Laure would have tepid feelings, maybe even revulsion, toward her husband, her children, and her cabin in the woods of this rude country. How then can she feel any remorse for what she has done?

“The problem is that you were not sent across the sea at the King’s expense to befriend Savage men.”

“But the French men, including my own husband, are free to have relations with any woman they want.”

“Yes, and that has only produced more Savage children and not a single French one. Only the women sent from France can give the King the French colony he wants to see in Canada. Besides, thinking about what the men do here isn’t going to help you any.”

Madame Rouillard appears pensive. “They cannot know what you have done. You need the respect of women like Madame Tardif if you are to survive in Ville-Marie. You are lucky because everyone is trying to believe good things about the women in Canada. As you know, it is a different story in Old France. Even though you spend your days imprisoned and watched over every minute in the General Hospital, lies will circulate about the lascivious things you are doing. Here women are worth much more.”

Laure hears Madame Tardif outside the cabin. Her eyes grow wide.

“I will visit again soon with a plan for the baby. In the
meantime, take care of yourself. I am not looking to please people like Madame Tardif and your husband. I do this work to make sure that mothers and their babies survive. God knows I already face enough challenges from nature.”

As the weeks go on, Laure cannot think of anything but the child growing within her. She is so exhausted that she can hardly remember when she was one person. The pregnancy is consuming her thoughts like a fire destroying all that came before. As she weakens, growing heavier and more tired each day, Laure can feel the baby’s movements getting more powerful. Sometimes, lying awake at night, she can make out a hand or a knee protruding from her abdomen as if fighting against the containment. It is God’s punishment to have filled her with such a healthy baby. The creature with no destiny has a strong will to live. But, worse than this, Laure has started to sing to the baby. She remembers her father and the safety she felt in his arms. Of course he had nothing to give her except those songs.

Before long, Madame Rouillard is back to examine Laure once again.

“Just remember that this child doesn’t belong to you,” she whispers to her this time.

Laure is entering her eighth month of pregnancy and is amazed that Madame Rouillard can say such a thing to her. After all, the baby is enveloped in the stretched flesh of her
abdomen. There is no separating their two bodies from each other.