The Beloved Land (30 page)

He turned to the Acadian farmer. “Mr. Laroux, a question, if you please, sir.”

The farmer sat up straighter.

“Cast your mind back to the time of the expulsion. It is true, is it not, that your entire holdings were burned to the ground.”

“That is correct, Monsieur Crowley,” he agreed through the interpreter.

“Your home was destroyed.”

“Utterly, Monsieur.”

“Your barns also went up in flames.”

“I watched the fires light up the sky.”

“Your orchards were also torched.”

“The smoke was a pillar that burns still in my dreams.”

“You were how old at the time?”

“Eleven.”

“This is a terrible tragedy that no one should ever be forced to endure. Most especially not a young child.” Thomas offered his hand. “Sir, on behalf of the British nation at large, I offer you my most sincere apologies. There is nothing I can do or say that will remove the stain of this most awful event. I, with all my countrymen, stand condemned. I humbly beg your forgiveness.”

When the Acadian had finished translating, the farmer rose to his feet and took Thomas’s outstretched hand.

Another tumult filled the church, subsiding only when Thomas watched the farmer seat himself and then turned to the Englishman. “Mr. Reynolds, you have been tilling this soil for how long now?” he asked the Englishman.

“This will be my twelfth planting season.”

“When you arrived on the land, what did you find?”

“It had lain fallow so long the weeds and saplings stood higher than my head.”

“Yet you knew it had been farmed before.”

“Aye, there was no question that sometime in the distant past it had been tilled. The furrows were overgrown, but a farmer knows, sir.” He looked at the Acadian and nodded soberly. “Aye, a farmer knows.”

“How did you come to select this land as your own?”

“Why, it was chosen for me. I landed in Halifax and went to the land office with all the other new arrivals. This was the tract I had purchased. I signed the deed and bought my goods and loaded my family and made my way here. Simple as that.”

“So you did not know if anyone else might lay claim to the land.”

“Far as I knew, it was mine and mine alone. That is …”

“Yes, go on.”

“Well, sir. The neighbors, they came to tell us of the tragedy. And that first planting, we came upon ashes in the topsoil.” He lowered his head and his voice dropped. “Ashes everywhere.”

The Acadian farmer covered his eyes with a work-scarred hand.

“You built a new home for yourself, did you not?”

“Aye, that I did. With the help of many gathered here today, sir.”

“If I recall correctly from what Mr. Guy Robichaud reported, you chose to site your home somewhat away from where the original Laroux homestead was situated.” Thomas waited through a heavy silence, then said more softly, “Was that decision taken because of the ashes as well, sir?”

The English farmer replied in a voice so soft it scarcely carried beyond the front rows. “Aye.”

“You sought to remove your own family from whatever calamity had befallen those who had lived and farmed here before.”

“Aye.”

“You built a
new
home. You planted
new
crops. You watered the earth with your own sweat. You have established a
new
homestead.”

The farmer lifted his head. “Aye, sir. I have. All that and more.”

Thomas moved in a slow circle about the table.

He returned to his place behind the table and lifted a jug of fresh-pressed cider. “At our last gathering someone gave this to us to quench our thirst. Who can say whether the apples were French or English? How many different hands took part in carrying it forward?”

He walked down to the front and placed his hand upon his wife’s shoulder. “My own beloved wife carries this same question each and every day of her existence upon this earth. Is she French? Is she English? Who can lay claim to her heritage?”

He turned back to the Acadian. “Mr. Laroux, it wrenches my heart to have to say this. But there is no escaping the fact. Sir, your farm is no more.”

The Acadian farmer might have nodded. Or it may have simply been the shiver of a man seeking to maintain control. But his dark gaze did not waver from Thomas’s face.

“I cannot order you to place the past behind you. That is your choice. But I can ask you to ponder this question: What inheritance do you seek to pass on to your children, and your children’s children, and all the generations still to come? Is it a land salted with bitterness and gall? Or do you seek to leave them with a peace and security within which they might build their own hopes and aspirations?”

Thomas turned back to the congregation. “Here, then, is my decision. Mr. Laroux will have the right to choose whatever land he wishes from any that now lies fallow. He will take his time. He will search out the finest property that awaits him. He will make his selection. And then the entire community will join forces to buy this land for him.”

A stirring ran through the gathering, but Thomas raised his voice to continue, “Not only that!” When the murmurs subsided, he went on, “Not only that, but all will aid him in building as fine a home as can be found here. A home, barns, corrals.
All
will give. None will rest until Mr. Laroux himself declares that he and his family are not merely grateful, but satisfied.”

He then turned to the English farmer. “Mr. Reynolds, will you help?”

“I’ll do more than that, sir.” Joshua Reynolds was rising to his feet. “I will offer him from the best that I have.”

“None here could ask more.” Thomas turned to the Acadian. “Mr. Laroux, I began these proceedings with a declaration that all must abide by my decision. Sir, I hereby free you from this obligation. No one who has suffered as you and your family should have anything this momentous forced upon you. I do not order you, sir. I am simply asking you. Accept this, and with it build a future for yourself, for your family, and for the community at large.”

The Acadian rose to his feet. In heavily accented English he replied, “I accept. And I thank you.”

Chapter 39

Nicole had regained her normal strength and vigor by the time the produce and village wares were purchased and readied for shipment to New Orleans. An elder and a village trader were dispatched to New Orleans to contact a reputable shipowner. With Henri’s assistance, a new plan had been formulated. Everything possible was to be acquired within the bayou villages. The merchants of New Orleans were to be circumvented, except in the case that the villages could not supply the wares. And even here, the village trader and elder would act on Gordon’s behalf. Thus the extra profit would come to the villages and not to the city merchants. The development of these plans had done much for Gordon’s and his men’s full acceptance within the Acadian community.

Gordon and Nicole were sitting in their favorite spots on the front porch, he on the railing to catch any breeze that might happen by and she moving slowly back and forth seated in the hammock.

“Have you told them yet?” Gordon was asking as Louise came through the door with a tray of tea mugs.

“Tell us what?” she said.

Nicole looked at her mother. “I thought you didn’t speak English.”

“I understand as much as I need to. What do you want to tell me?”

“Where is Papa?” Nicole asked.

“Out back.”

“Perhaps you should fetch him.”

When Louise returned with Henri, the three of them sat clustered by the side railing, their backs to the street. It was the common signal to all who passed that they were not welcoming either guests or idle talk. Gordon did not join them, as that would have required translating, and he was only too aware of the topic.

“You are seeking a way to soften ill tidings, yes?” Henri said, his voice gentle.

“How … how did you know?”

Henri shrugged. “It is a headman’s worst duty. Go ahead, child. Speak to us.”

She took a breath. “Father Andrew is ill. Very ill.”

Louise tightened her grip on her apron. “You mean he was when you left Acadia.”

Nicole returned her mother’s gaze without speaking.

“Daughter, what are you saying?”

“It is his heart.”

Henri finally asked, “Is he dying?”

“He may already … have passed over.” Nicole could barely say the last words.

Louise was on her feet. “I must go to Catherine.”

“Louise, please.” Henri reached for her hand and urged her back to her chair.

“But—”

“Wait, my dear. Just one moment further.” Henri called Gordon over, and indicated that he should draw up a chair.

“Daughter, ask your husband how we might travel north in safety,” Henri said.

“We?”
Louise stared at her husband. “You would leave the village?”

“The new headman might actually benefit from having me gone for a season,” Henri replied. “Too often he turns to me for advice. He is a good man. He needs to learn to trust more in his own wisdom. As does the village.”

“You have been planning this?”

“I had thought it would be better to wait until the conflict was over. But, yes, I have been searching for a reason to travel back to Acadia again.”

Louise leaned back in her chair, astonishment in every feature.

Henri said, “Ask Gordon what he thinks.”

When Nicole had finished translating, Gordon replied, “The voyage to Boston is not the problem.”

“But from there?”

“If there have been American victories on land, my guess is the same is happening at sea. The British are determined to hold on to the northern colonies. The occupants there have always been more strongly loyalist. If the British withdraw, it will be to form a protective shield around the Nova Scotia coastline.”

“This is not good,” Henri mused. “Not good at all.”

“There is one possibility,” Gordon ventured. He turned to his wife. “Forgive me, I should have spoken with you about this in advance.”

“You intend to take the ship back to her British owners.”

“You knew this?”

“You have made no secret of your hopes.” Nicole sighed. “To do this, you will have to purchase the vessel and request a safe passage.”

Louise put in, “What are you two saying?”

Nicole did not turn from her husband. “Gordon, there is too much risk of the British imprisoning you.”

Gordon began shaking his head, then stopped. “Much as I would like to return the vessel myself, I confess that you are right.”

Nicole was filled with relief and leaned back in her chair.

“That leaves us, of course, with the problem of where to find a British skipper and crew.”

“I have every confidence you will think of the proper course.” Nicole turned back to her parents and announced in French, “We may have the beginnings of a plan.”

Chapter 40

It was decided that Gordon and some of his crew would go ahead to New Orleans with two of the longboats, stuffed to the gunwales with produce, planning to use the accompanying village trader to acquire what must be bought and ready the vessel for departure. Nicole, with Henri and Louise, would travel downriver in the third longboat, accompanied by several more of the village’s own flat-bottomed craft. The town threw a feast on the evening of Gordon’s departure. By then the majority of the community had found reason to feel grateful for the American crew.

Two days after Gordon left, the entire village turned out to see Henri and Louise off. There were tears and a crowd of excited children who followed the boats on land far beyond the outskirts of the town. Gordon had split his crew, leaving Carter in charge of the men to guard and pilot Nicole and her parents.

Each bend in the bayou took them into swifter waters as they aimed directly for the Mississippi. The closer they came to the new nation’s great artery, the stronger grew the currents. On the afternoon of the second day, with their rivulet swooping and curling around the prow, Nicole gripped the gunwale with one hand and her mother with the other, sure no one had ever traveled any faster than she did at that moment.

Though a dry summer had reduced the river by a third and more, according to the Acadian pilot guiding their craft, Nicole was amazed by the river’s girth and power. The banks were two miles apart, and with each passing hour they grew broader still. By the time the river emptied into the bay fronting New Orleans, the waters had calmed to a steady, gentle flow. When the tide changed against them, the rowers had to pull hard to progress out to where the big sailing ships lay at anchor.

They saw Gordon’s vessel just as the sun was setting. Eventually he spotted them and leaned over the quarterdeck’s railing to call, “Your arrival could not be more providential! The customs officers have just left!” He waved to where Carter sat amidships. “Draw all the vessels around to the side away from the dock. We must make all haste in off-loading your supplies!”

As Nicole was helped onto the deck, her husband clasped her hands warmly, the promise of a more intimate embrace in his eyes.

They all worked at a feverish pace through the gathering dusk. Nicole and Louise took charge of the supplies destined for the ship’s own larder, as these had to be stowed where they could easily be found. Henri remained on the river craft and supervised the Acadians. Even the pilots were enlisted to help. All had experience with the customs officials of New Orleans and counted them from the same tribe as the merchants.

After the final daylight had vanished, Gordon insisted they continue working on by moonlight. He called Nicole over and through her asked of Henri, “How much is left?”

“The last third of this skiff and another.” Henri wiped the sweat streaming from his face. “With a bit more light, we could be done in another hour or two.”

“We must complete the loading before dawn,” Gordon said.

Henri nodded agreement, then turned to the men and called, “We must make all haste!”

Torches were lit and positioned alongside the human chain hauling the produce and wares up and over the gunwales, then stowing them in the lower holds. A second winch was fashioned and anchored farther along the railing. Even the bosun’s chair was called into use, hauling up the largest of the items.