Chapter Thirteen
Filled with guilt and remorse, Isabelle lay on her cot, the blanket pulled up to her chin. The small table beside the bed held Guy’s rose and the box with Pierre’s ring. She’d placed her baptismal certificate in the wooden chest with the other birthday gifts, all the joy of the day sucked out of her by the reality of the night.
Shame ate at her. Six weeks had passed since she’d cried for Pierre or Papa. Tears threatened now, but they weren’t tears of sorrow. These were tears for herself—tears of mortification, self-reproach, and regret. What was wrong with her?
She hadn’t given a thought to her husband, her father, or the injustice and fear that had precipitated her flight from France. Instead, without a thought to the danger in which she’d placed everyone, she’d buried her reasons for being aboard this ship deep within her, living for the moment and enjoying her new life, content to let the days blend one into the other, pretending she was someone she wasn’t.
Tonight, she’d committed a grave error in judgement by giving in to her wayward emotions. How could she have let her body betray her like that? In her heart she knew she still loved Pierre, but it wasn’t, nor had it ever been, the all-consuming passion she felt for Guy now.
Had she been wrong to marry him? Would he still be alive if she hadn’t? The day Pierre had placed that ring on her finger, she’d been happy, and its simplicity had underscored the love and respect she’d had for him, but there had been no passion—never any passion.
Guy was such a gentleman he’d forgiven her for throwing herself at him, forgiven her for desecrating the memory of the man she’d married. He’d blamed himself, but the sin was hers and hers alone. As he’d said, he was only a man. What man wouldn’t take what a woman freely offered?
She sat up, reached for the box, and took out her wedding band. Pierre didn’t deserve such a fickle woman, one who could so easily thrust his memory aside to enjoy the kisses of another. In her haste to embrace her new life, she’d set aside all of her vows and responsibilities. No more! If her heart couldn’t remain true to the man she’d married, the least she could do was remain true to her vow she’d made at his graveside.
She reached for the rose Guy had given her, and with it in one hand and Pierre’s ring in the other, she prayed God would show her the way. He’d endorsed her flight from Caen by smoothing the obstacles in her path, now she needed His help to know what to do next.
There was no denying her yearning for Guy, and his response to her proved he wasn’t immune to her, but was this what God wanted? Wasn’t lust the devil’s weapon? Until she knew what to do, despite how much she would miss being with him, she wouldn’t put either of them in that position again.
Placing the ring back in its box, she put it on the table next to the rose. Her past and her present. Where would her future lie?
Please God, send me a sign. Show me the way.
Slipping back under the covers, she turned to face the wall, closed her eyes, and drifted off to sleep.
* * *
Guy stood on the deck, gazing at the silvered water, replaying the events of the past half-hour in his head.
You’re an ass, Guy Poirier, possibly the biggest ass in the entire world. How could you behave like such a scoundrel? Are you really any better than the chevalier? All she wanted to do was give you a simple thank you kiss, and you had to ravish her out on the deck where anyone could have seen you ... did see you, and instead of accepting the consequences of your ungentlemanly behavior, you blame her by saying you’re just a man and she’s desirable?
He slammed his fist into the top of the gunwale and cursed at the sharp pain.
He could still feel the heat of her body pressed against his, taste the honey of her mouth, and feel the throbbing in his loins. Six weeks he’d worked to earn her friendship, trust, and admiration, and he’d thrown it all away because he couldn’t control himself long enough to accept a simple kiss. No, he’d wanted more, and now, he had nothing, not even the easy-going friendship they’d shared. How could he have been such a fool?
The sound of his mother’s voice brought him down to the main deck. Stepping into the companionway, he nodded at his mother and the cook, Henri Rigaud.
“Good evening, Monsieur Rigaud,” he said. “Did you enjoy your card games?”
“My lord. It was a pleasant evening as always,” Henri replied. “Your mother beat me at Bone Ace again. Her presence has made this crossing a memorable one. Aline, I’ll leave you to your son.”
“Bonsoir, Henri,” she said. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
The cook nodded and returned below decks.
Guy noted the shrewd look on his mother’s face as she examined his. Did nothing get by her?
“What is it, Guy?” she asked, reaching for his arm. “Something’s wrong. Don’t deny it.”
Why should he? She would see through any lie he concocted.
“I kissed Izzy tonight.”
“Finally,” she exclaimed. “It’s about time. We’re almost at the end of our journey, but why are you so glum?”
“I hadn’t planned to...” Guy explained what had happened, hanging his head in shame. “... and I’ve ruined everything,” he finished. “Now, she thinks I’m some randy fool who can’t control his impulses. All she wanted to do was thank me, and I managed to humiliate her in front of Sophie. Maman, what am I going to do?”
Aline kissed his cheek.
“Pauvre enfant. You’re too hard on yourself, Guy. I don’t believe Izzy is unaffected by you. From what you’ve described, she wasn’t fighting you off. I’ve seen her observing you when you aren’t watching. There’s a hunger on her face she can’t quite hide. She’s more than grateful to you, but that being said, I believe she’s conflicted because she feels guilty for being here, for being happy, for being alive.” She moved closer and dropped her voice to a whisper. “She took a dangerous risk, one that could impact everyone on this vessel, and she knows it. Who knows how long it’ll be before we know the repercussions of her behavior? We’ve yet to figure out how to get rid of Isabelle de Caen, and we’re almost at the end of our journey. You have to believe in yourself. Don’t give up the war because you’ve lost the first battle.”
He kissed her on the cheek and opened his cabin door, escorting her inside.
“As always, you’re right, but I’ve still been an ass, and I need to apologize.”
Aline bid him goodnight and moved through the connecting doorway, closing the door behind her. He reached for the brandy bottle on his dresser and poured a glass. He lifted it to his lips and stopped when the door opened again.
“Where did this come from?” his mother whispered, holding up the small box Sophie had given Izzy.
“It’s her wedding ring,” he answered keeping his voice as low as his mother’s. “Sophie found it in the bottom of her trunk. She gave it to her when she interrupted us. Not exactly the best timing considering how I’d behaved.”
Aline shook her head. “Do you have any idea how dangerous this is? It’s engraved—Pierre to Isabelle and their wedding date.”
Damn. If anyone saw that...
“This could ruin everything,” his mother continued and shook her head, her mouth tight. “You’ll both have to bury this ghost before you can get on with your lives, starting with this ring. Pierre was your friend, and you know how much he loved her, but he would never have wanted her to suffer and be alone. As long as guilt and his shadow lie between you, you can’t hope for a future with her.”
She turned and went into her own room, taking the ring with her, and closing the door behind her once more.
Guy sat at the table with his brandy. Telling Isabelle she would have to throw the ring away would break her heart. Hadn’t he hurt her enough?
* * *
Izzy sat across the table from Aline, the breakfast tray the cabin boy had brought lying untouched between them. Next to the tray sat the small box containing her wedding ring. She swallowed and licked her dry lips. How could such a small item cause so much trouble?
“I realize it has great sentimental value for you, but it’s just too dangerous. Perhaps if it weren’t engraved, but those small letters could ruin us all.” Aline shook her head, lips pursed, eyes filled with sympathy. “While it’s true most people can’t read, we can’t be sure the chevalier won’t send someone to search for you—someone who can.”
“I know,” Isabelle said, nodding her head, her heart heavy.
She lifted the band from its velvet nest, allowing a tear to roll down her cheek. Was this what God wanted?
“I thought I’d already lost it,” she admitted, putting it back into the small box and closing the lid. “The chevalier took it from my finger the night of Papa’s funeral. I’d forgotten about the lettering inside. I’ll dispose of it after dark.”
“It’s for the best, child,” Aline said. “Now, let’s eat. We have a busy day ahead of us.”
Isabelle spent the rest of the day working with the women and avoiding Guy without seeming to. She didn’t want to attract attention, but from the way Sophie watched her, it was unlikely she could avoid questions for too long. When night fell, she went up on deck, but not alone. She’d asked Sophie to join her.
“Murielle must’ve meant it to be a comfort to me,” she murmured lest they be overheard, “but engraved as it is, it’s far too dangerous to keep. Pierre would understand what must be done.” Tears trickled down her cheeks.
Sophie hugged her. “He would never want you in danger. Do what you must do.”
Staring down at the shimmering black water silvered by the glowing half-moon, Isabelle took the ring out of the box, brought it to her lips, kissed it, and closed her fist over it.
With Sophie’s hand in hers for strength, she dropped the tiny ring into the depths. It didn’t even plop when it entered the water. The last symbol of her past was gone, but it would never be forgotten.
With her empty hand, she swiped at her tears before handing Sophie the box.
“Keep this. It’s well made and can still be of use. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll go below. I need to be alone.”
“Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer quiet conversation?” Sophie asked, indicating Guy who’d just stepped onto the deck.
Isabelle wanted to go to him, wanted to feel his lips on hers, and have him hold her in his arms, but those were selfish, sinful desires. Maybe, after she cleared Pierre’s name, she could, God willing, find comfort and happiness for herself.
“Not tonight, Sophie. Sleep well.”
She turned, acknowledged Guy with a nod of her head, and left Sophie standing with him in the moonlight.
For the next few days, true to the promise she’d made to herself, Isabelle managed to avoid being alone with Guy. Unlike the previous weeks when she’d wanted to sit alone with him, she encouraged Sophie and the other women to join them in the evening on the stern deck. The temperature had risen, and the evening breezes often brought relief from the hot, humid days.
Isabelle urged Guy to tell the women the stories he’d told her, regaling them with myths and folktales about everything from the Mohawk creation stories to voyageurs who’d given their souls to the devil for a flying canoe. She enjoyed listening to his voice and could bask in her guilty pleasure. Gerard Giroux, the gunsmith, seemed to be quite interested in Sophie and had joined the women tonight as Guy explained some of the more common Mohawk customs, some of which Isabelle thought rather noble.
“No two living Mohawk tribe members can have the same name. When a child is named, a task not undertaken lightly, the chosen name is theirs alone. Those names become part of their character and honor. When a member of the tribe dies, the closest relative must give permission for the name to be used again. If permission is given, it’s a great sign of respect on their part. Unfortunately, the priests and missionaries don’t understand this, and continue to bestow French names on the Mohawk when they’re baptized. Our culture doesn’t value identities in the same way, but to the Mohawk, names are sacred and powerful.”
“You sound as if you admire the savages,” Gerard said, standing near Sophie. “I say they can’t be trusted. Look at the way the Huron turned on Étienne Brûlé. He was a coureur de bois who lived with them for years. After he was captured by the Seneca and escaped, they didn’t believe him and killed him in cold blood. I won’t tell you what they did with his body save to say he didn’t have a Christian burial.”
Isabelle glanced at him. His voice, filled with contempt, clearly indicated he didn’t care for the native people of New France, and the scowl on his face confirmed it.
“I’m sure things are more complicated than we imagine,” Sophie said, huffing out a deep breath. “On the one hand, their culture seems very sophisticated, and yet on the other, they’re barbaric, blood-thirsty, and cruel.”
“As any man can be regardless of race or religion, given the right circumstances. People tend to judge harshly what they don’t understand,” Guy admitted. “There’ve been mistakes made on both sides. Now, we’re at peace. Perhaps we can get to know, accept, and understand one another better.”
“Let’s hope we keep our scalps long enough to do so,” Gerard said. “If you’ll excuse me, ladies. I promised Father Samuel a game of chess. Goodnight.”
One by one, the women drifted back to their cabins, forcing Isabelle to do the same or break her own oath. Saying goodnight, she returned to her cabin. Aline was still below with Henry, enjoying another evening of cards.
Alone, lonelier than she’d been in months, Isabelle undressed and crawled into bed. How long would she have to suffer this way? Perhaps, if she apologized for her wanton behavior, she and Guy could go back to the easy camaraderie she missed. Turning her back to the room, she curled up on her cot, and cried herself to sleep.
* * *
“Look at that one,” Isabelle cried, indicating the breaching whale. “It’s magnificent.”
This morning, she and a few women had set aside their mending to watch the antics of a pod of whales. Guy walked over, stood behind her, but didn’t say a word, yet she knew he was there even though he hadn’t touched her. Her body yearned to lean back against his, but she forced herself to remain upright and stiff.
“Good morning, Guy,” Sophie said, acknowledging him when she didn’t. “Have you come to watch the entertainment? They aren’t dangerous to the ship, are they?”
“No, we’re quite safe at this distance,” he answered. “If we come too close to their calves, they’ll dive down into the depths. As large as they are, they’re gentle creatures. These don’t even have teeth. Instead they filter small creatures through their baleen. The smaller black and white ones we saw yesterday are far more dangerous. Those are the wolves of the ocean, attacking as a pack, crippling their victim, and then moving in for the kill.”
Isabelle shivered. Wolves and killer whales weren’t the only predators who attacked by cornering their victims.
Once the whales were out of sight, the ladies returned to their mending. Instead of sitting, Isabelle followed Guy up to the stern deck. She needed to make peace with him, if only for the sake of Pierre. They would land in Saint Pierre tomorrow and time was running out.
Guy turned to look at her, a smile blooming on his face.
“Did you need something, Izzy?” he asked.
You!
Isabelle’s cheeks burned, and she chewed her lip, gazing fixedly at her feet.
“Guy, about what happened the other night—”
“Stop, Izzy, please.” He reached for her hands. “If you’re going to apologize, you have nothing to be sorry for. What happened was entirely my fault, and I truly regret my behavior. If I could, I would blame my boorish manners on night magic or the wine, but I’m responsible for my actions and I deeply regret them.” He smiled sadly. “I’ve missed you and our time together.”
“I’ve missed that, too,” she admitted, warmth seeping into her cold heart again. “Can we forget it ever happened? Your friendship is important to me, and I’ll need it more than ever when we arrive in Ville-Marie.”
Regret flashed across his face, but it was gone so quickly she assumed she’d imagined it.
“Of course, we can,” he answered. “As you know, tomorrow we sail into Saint Pierre where Father Samuel, twenty soldiers, and the ‘Ettes’ leave us. We’ll most likely be in port three or four days taking on water and fresh provisions. It’ll be good to eat soft bread again instead of stale, wormy hardtack.”
Isabelle laughed for the first time in days.
“Henri says the worms are a treat, fresh meat, but I agree. I can barely swallow it, and then, only after I’ve assured myself the piece is relatively worm-free.”
Guy frowned, his eyes sad, his mouth turned down.
“Life has been so unkind to you. You’ve lost everything, and yet you laugh about it.”
“I laugh because I’ve cried too many tears, and there’s nothing to be done to change what’s happened. But you’re wrong. I haven’t lost everything. In many ways, I’ve found more than I could ever hope for. Once I’ve cleared Pierre’s name, I’ll look to the future. We both know I can’t return to France. My life will be here, in New France, and I intend to succeed at it. Like Sophie and the others, I’ll marry and make the best life I can for myself with friends such as you and your mother, the other women, and Murielle if she can ever find her way here. I’ll be content.”
Guy nodded. “Tonight, we have matters to discuss we can’t avoid any longer,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “You aren’t alone in your search for the truth. I’ve got powerful friends in the colony who’ll be devastated by what happened. He was my friend, too. I loved him like a brother. It’s my duty to help you, to protect you, and to clear his name.”
Isabelle nodded, the pain of his words twisting knife-like in her stomach. That’s all she was to him—a duty, a debt owed to a dead man—and her errant heart would do well to remember it.
“I need to go below and help your mother,” she said. “There’s going to be a storm, and it’ll be a bad one. The air’s been heavy for days now. As long as it’s just wind and rain again, I’ll be fine. We can meet in your cabin later this evening.”
“You could be right about the weather. The wind has picked up, and yet brings no relief. I promised Sergeant Leblanc. I would help the men with their cannon drill. These soldiers should be a great help to Governor Denys. Nicolas and I are old friends. I’ll see you tonight. Adieu.”
Guy tuned toward the steps, and Isabelle’s gaze followed him off the deck. He might only see her as a responsibility now, but perhaps, in time, after Pierre’s name was cleared, that could change. For now, she would focus on the task at hand.
By late afternoon, the skies had darkened to pitch. The winds were almost gale force and Isabelle shivered. As much as she hated to admit it, lightening and thunder storms paralyzed her. Tonight, amidst the distant rumbles, the ship bobbed on the water like a child’s toy boat. All she could do was pray it wouldn’t get worse.
As they neared the coast, additional watches were set, the men strapping themselves to the masts or the ship’s wheel. None of the ladies were allowed on the open decks, and for those who hadn’t taken to their beds, the first mate had brought hardtack and cold chicken broth.
Isabelle was convinced there was something else going on, as if the captain anticipated something other than the storm and icebergs since the men watched both behind the vessel and ahead of it. Father Samuel was in the grips of nausea and even Aline had succumbed this time, although she, Guy, and Sophie were fine. Sophie tended to the women in the forecastle and Henri had brought Aline a warm drink he promised would help her.
Isabelle was positive the two were courting, but until Aline said something, she would mind her own business. Within minutes of drinking the draught Henri had given her, Aline had dropped off to sleep.
Isabelle knocked on the connecting door and entered at guy’s request. She left the door ajar in case Aline called for her.
Darkness had fallen early tonight, and Guy had lit the lamp above the table.
“How’s Maman?” he asked, handing her a wine-filled pewter goblet.
“She’s asleep. Whatever Henri gave her seems to have settled her nicely. He should offer some to everyone.”
“I believe he has. The cabin boy went off with a kettle of steaming liquid a little while ago.”
Thunder roared, and the ship creaked as it pitched, slamming Isabelle into the edge of the table.
“Sit before you fall,” Guy said, reaching to steady her. “The chairs are anchored to the floor. I saw to it myself earlier. While it’s so noisy, let’s take advantage of the din to go over what we already know of Pierre’s death. I have a few ideas to share afterwards.”
Isabelle reiterated everything she knew, including the contents of Papa’s letter she’d memorized before burning it.
Guy sat across from her. He rubbed his chin.
“I was able to confirm most of that when I was in Paris a few days before we sailed. Anyone directly involved in the altercation is missing, and the tavern where it’s supposed to have happened doesn’t exist. There are shopkeepers in the building who’ve been there for some time. It’s all very suspicious to me. I tried to speak with the president of the French West India Company, but apparently, the entire board was out of town. The man is a close associate of the Chevalier d’Angrignon and your brother-in-law. I agree Pierre had to have been murdered but still it makes no sense. Did he say anything unusual to you?”
“No. We didn’t have much time alone, even though he was home six weeks. He described the land, some of the people in Ville-Marie and the strange animals, but nothing he told me was worth killing him for.” Isabelle sighed deeply. “He loved it there. Whenever he talked about it, his eyes lit up just as yours do.” She looked down at her wine. “Do you realize although we were married three years, we spent less than two months living as man and wife? Most of my memories of him are those from our childhood.” A tear trickled down her cheek. “I can’t recall his face any more, but I still owe him his name.”
Guy reached across the table and took her hand in his.
“Izzy, you mustn’t torture yourself like this. Pierre wouldn’t want you to. Maybe we need to look at this with fresh eyes. Did Pierre have any enemies in France itself? Who stood to gain from his death?”
“No one that I can think of. He had friends, but everyone liked him, and as for benefitting from his death—my widowhood allowed the chevalier to ask the king for my hand in marriage, but that’s it, and as far as the treason goes, I can’t see how even he gains there.”
Guy continued to hold her hand, his thumb massaging the back of it.
“I’ve had ample time to think on the voyage, and I’ve begun to put things together in ways I hadn’t considered before. There have been problems in the colony—none that have to do directly with Pierre—but things could all be related somehow. I didn’t want to speak of it earlier because I don’t want to frighten Sophie and the others.
“Last spring, we’d heard rumors of renegades, braves who refused to follow their chiefs, who’d returned to the area and were raiding isolated farms as well as the villages belonging to our native allies. Pierre was supposed to lead the patrol, but Talon called him back and so he joined us a day or so later. I took the lead. We’d set out to resupply Fort Saint Anne on the Richelieu River when we were caught by surprise.” His face darkened at the memory. “I was badly injured and didn’t get a good look at our attackers.” His fingers traced the scar on his face. “Because of my injuries, I stayed at the fort, but Pierre went after them. When he returned, he came to see me, but I was in and out of fever, and don’t remember.”
Isabelle nodded, but her heart skipped a beat. Pierre should’ve led that patrol. Instead, Guy had, and he could’ve died from his injury.
“Pierre left me since I couldn’t be moved and went to Quebec to see de Courcelle and Jean Talon. By the time I returned to Ville-Marie, he’d left for France with instructions that I join him as soon as I could and bring the trunk I gave you with me. I went to see de Courcelle and Talon before I left, but neither man would discuss the matter with me. They simply asked me to wait until I saw Pierre to allow him to explain it himself. In the meantime, I was to keep my eyes and ears open. Now that Pierre’s dead, they’ll have to tell me the truth.”
Isabelle sipped her wine. “That trunk you brought me ... There were documents at the bottom of it. They’re in a language I couldn’t decipher.”
“What did you do with them?” he asked. His thumb stopped moving, and he released her hand.
“I brought them with me. They’re in Sophie’s trunk in the hold. I smuggled some of my things aboard with hers before we left Caen. I’ll show them to you as soon as I unpack. Maybe you’ll recognize the language. If Pierre asked you to bring the trunk to him, they must be important.”
Guy nodded. “They must be at that.”
Isabelle stared into her wine glass. She’d lost Papa and Pierre. How would she ever survive losing Guy, too?