The Perilous Journey of the Not-So-Innocuous Girl (30 page)

Jacques took her chin in his fingers and tipped her head back up. He looked at her in that strange way only he could. It was torture. What was he thinking? She was such a fool.

He didn’t say a word, just leaned down and kissed her fully, right there in the middle of the street. She stiffened with surprise. Then realization set in as the warmth of his lips spread to her whole body. She leaned into him, wrapping her arms around his waist, returning the kiss with all her heart. She let her mind wander over all the wonderful things he had done for her. From the day they met until a few minutes ago when he was ready to walk willingly away from a job just to ensure her happiness.

This was it. This was who she’d been looking for; someone to challenge her, love her, and share adventures with. Someone who made her feel like flying when he kissed her. Someone who would never leave her, not for all the commissions in New France.

“I knew it!” The shrill cry cut the magic of the moment like a knife through lard.

Pomphart.

“What are
you
doing here?” Marguerite was highly annoyed as she pulled away from Jacques.

“Stopping a
sin
from being committed! Turning in a
criminal
for abducting a young girl!”

Jacques was calm and spoke quietly, “I don’t know what you are implying, madame, but I suggest you put your weapon away before someone gets hurt.”

Marguerite looked down and caught the glint of steel in Pomphart’s hand. She was holding a rather large knife.

“What on earth?” Marguerite was stunned.

“I’m taking her home, Laviolette. The constable is on his way and will arrest you for kidnapping and endangering a minor unless she goes with me quietly right now.” Pomphart’s eyes were wide and wild looking. Marguerite was pretty sure she’d finally cracked for good. “Her father wants her back and I want her father. There’s no other way.”

Yes. Pomphart had officially lost it.

“That’s ridiculous. She volunteered to come here. She signed the paper herself.”

“The papers are all gone!” Pomphart crowed with triumph. “I checked myself, and there’s no one to back up your story. All they will see is a rogue military officer that’s run away with a rich man’s spoiled daughter.”

Marguerite took a step toward Pomphart.

“Wait.” Jacques grabbed her wrist.

“It’s all right.” She nodded to him and pulled her hand free. “I’ll go with her. I owe it to my father. She’s right.”

“Marguerite, what are you doing?” he whispered in earnest.

“I should have gone with them yesterday, Jacques. I’m sure Father will forgive me and take me back. Then he will marry Madame Pomphart as a reward for bringing me home.” Marguerite winked at Jacques and cautiously took a few more steps toward the nanny, signaling discretely for him to stay back.

“She’s right, we don't want to make a scene.” Pomphart was grinning maniacally. “Just come quietly and we’ll all be happy at last.” She took hold of Marguerite’s arm and pulled her into the deserted street, never taking her eyes off of Jacques.

“Which way is the ship?” Marguerite looked around innocently as they came up to the other side of the street and paused against the wall overlooking the river.

Pomphart let go of Marguerite’s arm and flipped her head to the left for just a moment. “It’s that way, we fly with Delacourte on the Lucrecia in one hour.”

It only took that one moment of broken eye contact for Marguerite to act. She grabbed Pomphart’s wrist, pushing the knife to the side, and shoved her into the wall with her shoulder. The governess recovered quickly and stabbed at Marguerite, but they were equally matched.

Pain shot through Marguerite’s body as she rammed Pomphart again with her injured side. The wall was low enough that one more good shove would send them both into the cold murky waters of the St. Lawrence River.

But Jacques was at her side and pulling the knife away from both women. Finally, Pomphart dropped the blade and it clattered on the pavement. Marguerite took a step back. Pomphart rallied and reached for her bandaged arm, but she was too slow. Marguerite was more than ready. She raised her leg quickly and kicked Pomphart square in the face.

The woman grabbed her nose and howled as she stumbled backward and tipped over the wall, wailing all the way down, and landing with a splash in the murky water.

Jacques was at Marguerite’s side in an instant. “Are you hurt?”

“No.” She breathed heavily and rubbed her arm. “I’m fine. I’m more than fine. I feel wonderful!”

“I don’t know who is more insane, you or that nanny of yours.” Jacques chuckled at her merriment.

“I had to live with her. She taught me everything I know.” Marguerite shook a bit but sighed deeply and leaned into Jacques’s arms in pure bliss. “I’ve been waiting a very long time to do that.”

Jacques shook his head and pushed a strand of hair out of her face.

“And I’ll tell you something else.” Marguerite pulled away to look over the wall at the flailing woman crying out below.

“What’s that?” Jacques peered with her.

“I think it’s too dangerous around here to wear a dress.” She motioned to Pomphart barely keeping her head above the icy water, her skirts weighing her down.

“M’lady?” Outil came jogging up behind them followed by Claude.

“What’s going on?” Claude asked. “I thought I heard Pomphart.”

“You did,” Marguerite answered.

“What happened? Where is she?” Claude looked up and down the street. “I thought we shook those two off this morning.”

Jacques put an arm around Marguerite’s waist and pulled her closer. “This amazing specimen of a woman sent her swimming back to France.”

“M’lady?” Outil’s face registered as much alarm as a bot could.

“See for yourself.” He pointed over the wall.

The whole party leaned carefully over just in time to witness a man in a small rowboat trying to haul the thrashing nanny aboard.

“Well, now. That is a sight for sore eyes!” Claude laughed out loud and slapped his side. “Never thought I’d see the day when Pomphart got hers. Well done.”

“I’d have to agree.” Jacques turned to Marguerite and grinned broadly.

“What are you staring at?” She cocked her head to one side, but couldn’t help giggling a bit.

“My future.”

“Oh, really?” Her eyebrows arched.

“Most definitely.”

THE END

Pomphart had been right about one thing: the constable was there in no time and took a report. Several passersby had watched the madwoman with a knife accosting the strange girl wearing trousers. A local fisherman pulled the wailing wretch from the deep and took her to shore where she was arrested and, incidentally, missed her passage back to France.

Jacques was reinstated as an instructor at Montreal’s Flight Academy for Ladies, and Marguerite proved to be an exemplary student, catching up and surpassing her fellow classmates with ease. Although they had to keep their relationship quiet for the time being, Jacques made his intentions clear on a regular basis, and Marguerite made hers known just as regularly.

“Why won’t you just marry me? We could have our own tract of land in a godforsaken corner of New France and raise goats to our hearts’ content.” He made his eyes large and pleading, almost undeniable.

She knew he was teasing about the goats, but not the marriage.

Her reply was always the same. “I will not marry you until I outrank you.”

But on this particular night, as they stole a moment together in the dark of a community garden, gazing at the stars and whispering silly things to each other as Outil acted as chaperone, Jacques had a new rebuttal: “Silly woman. Don't you know by now you have always outranked me?”

“What are you talking about?”

“I may be a captain but you are my commander in chief.”

She laughed out loud and kissed him lightly on the cheek. “We shall see.”

In the late 1600’s, Louis the XIV of France - the Sun King, instituted a program to encourage settlement in Canada. Britain had great success defending their territories and supporting their colonists, largely because of the families settled there, creating permanent cities and farms. Canada, on the other hand, was still an unsettled land populated mainly with soldiers and fur trappers.

The king actively recruited women of noble birth and good standing to travel by ship to Canada where they would be matched with a soldier and given a plot of land as a wedding gift. Each woman was formally adopted by the king and therefore called a Daughter of the King - Filles du Roi. She was given a dowry, a trousseau filled with the things needed for setting up a basic household, and passage to the new world. But the most beautiful and brilliant part of this scheme, and the reason I wanted to write about it, was that the brave women taking on this adoption were given freedom to choose whom they wanted to marry. They lodged with nuns and other religious houses where men were presented to them as options and the women were the ones to chose who they wanted to spend their lives with.

This book is based on the true story of my ancestor, Marguerite Sauviot, born in 1641 in St. Marguerite de LaRochelle, France. While we are unsure on the specific details of her life in France or in Canada, we do know that she was brave enough to travel alone to Canada, pick a husband, Jacques Mousseau dit Laviolette, and raise a family there.

If you are interested in learning more about your own family tree, I highly recommend the free website:
http://www.familysearch.org

Who knows? You may find your own remarkable ancestral story there.

If you would like to learn more about the Daughters of the King, I suggest the following publications:

•
King's Daughters and Founding Mothers: The Filles du Roi, 1663-1673,
Peter J. Gagné, 2 volumes, Quintin, 2000)

• King's Daughters, The
, Joy Reisinger and Elmer Courteau (Sparta, 1988)

•
Alone in an Untamed Land: The Filles du Roi Diary of Hélène St.Onge,
Maxine Trottier

• Marie Grandin: Sent by the King
Elise Dallemagne-Cookson

• City on the Ocean Sea: La Rochelle, 1530-1650: Urban Society, Religion, and Politics on the French Atlantic Frontier (Studies in Medieval and Reformation Traditions) [Hardcover]
Kevin C. Robbins

Every time I picked up a book in the past, the first thing I did was skip through the pages and pages of acknowledgements, extremely annoyed. Then I wrote a book, and I sold that book, and I had a huge panic attack. How was I going to remember all the people who helped me make it a reality? I should have been keeping a spreadsheet for the past three years, but I wasn't confident enough to dream I’d ever actually sell
anything
.

And yet, here we are. So, even though my friends dared me to leave it at a one liner (Nod to the peeps, yo), I’m going to attempt to dig into my very addled brain and pull up the names of all the wonderful people that helped me make this book a reality.

First, forever and always, thank you to my wonderful husband Dan. He watched children, bought laptops, sent me to conferences, brought home dinner, trouble shot the hell out of my plot holes, and stayed up late reading my rough drafts - which are totally not his preferred genre. I am so grateful I waited for the right man.

Many thanks to my critique partners, Katie Teller, Heather Raglin, Mara Valderan, Carole Rummage, and Taryn Albright. Never underestimate your power when a good woman’s got your back.

I’d be an ungrateful Gnomie if I didn’t mention the original staff of Quantum Fairy Tales - Eric Ehlers, Chris Corray, Allie Hansen, and Sarah Baird. I would also like to give a nod to the Southern Scribblers, Straitjacket Writers, and Aussie Owned and Read - all wonderful groups of supportive, creative, and kind people.

Also, thank you to Stacy Nash for taking a chance on me, Georgia McBride for teaching me so many valuable “first book” lessons, Erin Isgett for miles and miles before we rest, Andrea Chisek, John Claude Bemis, Stephen Messer, and Gabrielle Charbonnet for their wisdom and friendship - this book would be lost somewhere in cyberspace if not for your help.

Thank you spell check, Google, my crazy-brave ancestors on whom this book is based, and Fifth Avenue Coffee for free wifi and amazing homemade chocolate cake.

And last, but certainly not least, thank you to my agent, Amy Jameson, for friendship, patience, guidance, and everything in between.

Great … now I’ve got the feels.