Perilous Journey of the Much-Too-Spontaneous Girl (23 page)

In the morning, Outil woke Marguerite early, and they set to work in the kitchen. Marguerite hadn’t grown up cooking or cleaning, but she wasn’t completely oblivious. She’d picked up enough working her few days in the kitchens of the Henrietta that she could make a decent meat pie. Plus, Outil had been programmed to serve in many different capacities.

Once they got going, they realized that the kitchen, although organized, was in need of a deep cleaning. Outil scrubbed and Marguerite cooked, which allowed Claude more time to work in his shop. Eventually, he came in for breakfast. “This place looks amazing. You two have been working hard. And what is that I smell?” Claude looked pleased, and this made Marguerite glow with pride.

“I made a meat pie and two loaves of bread, and I’ve got a pot of stew going for tonight,” she said. “Outil has been cleaning like her life depended on it.”

“Well I can’t thank you enough,” he said as he sat down at the table and Marguerite joined him.

“We’ve tried to be quiet for Louisa. Was she well this morning?” Outil asked as she served breakfast. “Yes, she was well. I told her not to leave the room today. She can enjoy some quiet time in there while you two are here to help.” Claude took a bite. “This is delicious. Really. Excellent work, Marguerite. I’m seriously blown away. Who knew the Princess of La Rochelle would ever learn how to cook?” Marguerite slugged him in the arm and took a bite from her own plate, savoring her success.

“Why don’t you have a bot, Claude? I thought you’d have an army of Outils running this place by now,” Marguerite asked.

“Well, it’s been a tricky situation with the Indian wars and government work. I have to report occasionally to the field office to do repairs, but since Louisa has been in bed, they have graciously agreed to bring most work to me.”

Marguerite lowered her voice as far as she dared. “Louisa said that you are in debt to the Iroquois. How is that possible? What do you owe them?”

Claude was in the middle of chewing a much too large bite, but her questions made him set his fork down and rub his forehead. “It’s not so much that we are in debt, as we are in an alliance. They came ‘round during the skirmishes last year and Otetiani and I struck up a friendship. His braves protected our land and home during the worst of the battles and helped me bring in the harvest; I supplied them with all the mechanical supplies and repairs they needed.”

“The steam cycles?” Marguerite raised her eyebrows in question.

“Yes, I thought those up last winter when I was dealing with a pile of autocart parts. They needed to get through the forest trails more quickly, and I figured two wheels could be balanced like a horse if you were going quickly enough.”

“They are really brilliant, Claude. You know that, right?” Marguerite ate a few more bites then added. “You really should be patenting these ideas and selling them. You could be a very wealthy man in no time, my friend.”

“I know, Marguerite, but I haven’t quite decided if I want to be a very wealthy man. The first thing the Royal Corps of Engineers will do is ship me back to Paris, and I just don’t want that. Neither does Louisa. We love it here. We love our land. It’s our own land and our own home that we built. Otetiani is a good friend, and I trust his people with my life. ”

“Why can’t you just go out on your own? Have your own shop away from the Royal Corps?”

“Because we need the money. We only produce enough food here to feed ourselves. I don’t have time to farm the entire property and keep up with the demands of the King and the Iroquois. You’ve seen my shop. It’s ridiculous how hard it is to get parts out here. But maybe now that there is a peace treaty, supply ships will be more inclined to venture away from Montreal.” He shook his head and continued eating. Marguerite let the matter drop and finished her meal, watching Outil finish the cleaning. Even if her father didn’t come through, they would, at least, leave this place cleaner than they’d found it and full of fresh food.

“Thank you for the meal and the help. I’m going to take a bit into Louisa and see if she’s up to eating.” Claude stood from the table and patted Marguerite on the shoulder.

Outil handed him a plate and waited for him to leave before she sat next to Marguerite and whispered, “There is a lot you could do to help them, m’lady.”

“I know, Outil. And I’m going to help them. I just need to get to Jacques first. Why don’t you go look for Hector?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Outil rose from the chair and opened the door, just as they heard voices in the back bedroom.

“Princess of La Rochelle? Really Claude? I’ve cooked pies and bread for you for the past year, and you never dote on me that way.”

“Louisa it’s not like that at all. You are being ridiculous. She’s trying her best to help. Taste it, it’s nowhere near as good as yours, but I can’t be rude. She spent all morning cleaning and cooking. You have no idea what a feat it is to get her out of bed before noon on any given day.”

Marguerite stood from the table and straightened her blue cotton skirt. “I think I’ll join you.” Outside another fine spring morning was under way. She and Outil walked to the barn and stopped to pet the horse.

“I suppose I will just have to accept the fact that she hates me,” Marguerite eventually said.

“It could be a side effect of her miserable state,” Outil offered.

“I never, ever want to have children, Outil. I can’t imagine being that huge and miserable.”

As she pronounced this, Claude came running out of the house. “Marguerite, I need you two to sit with Louisa. I think she’s going into labor. I need to run to the fort and get the midwife.”

“But I don’t know anything about labor! What on earth do we do?” Marguerite wailed.

“Just sit with her and do whatever she says you should do. I shouldn’t be more than an hour.” He pulled open the gate and threw a lead around the horse’s neck. “I’m so sorry. There is a bit of a mess in there, too. Just keep her comfortable and I’ll be back as soon as possible.” Claude jogged away from the pen, the horse in tow, and Outil shut the gate, trapping the goat.

“A mess? Why aren’t you driving the autocart? Do you even know how to ride a horse?”

“Cart isn’t trustworthy enough. I ride just fine.” He pulled a bridle off the wall and put it on the gentle mare, then swung up on her bareback like he’d been doing it his whole life. “I’ll be back. Just make sure she’s comfortable.” He kicked the horse, and it bolted off down the road.

Marguerite looked at Outil, “Please tell me you have some sort of training for childbirth?”

“I do not, m’lady. However, I do know that we should boil water.”

“What for?” Marguerite was aghast at the thought of baby soup.

“I have no idea.”

The two trotted off to help the woman who hated them and found her lying in a very wet bed looking very miserable.

“Oh, my!” Marguerite exclaimed, hand to heart.

“I will get clean blankets,” Outil answered and left the room. “What on earth is all this … damp?” Marguerite asked as she took a careful step forward.

“My water broke, you ninny.” Louisa was in no mood for patience.

“But, it’s not time yet, right? What do you want me to do?”

Louisa groaned. “Get your hands scrubbed and fold up a quilt for me on the floor.”

“Yes, clean hands. Of course.” Marguerite ran to the kitchen and rolled up her sleeves, then scrubbed at her hands furiously in the bucket of left over water.

Outil came down the ladder from the loft with a clean quilt. “She wants it folded on the floor for some reason?” Marguerite told her.

“Yes, m’lady,” Outil said.

Just for good measure, Marguerite filled a pot with water and set it to boil on the fire next to the stew, then she joined Outil in the bedroom. Louisa was kneeling on the quilt by the side of her bed. Outil was gathering up the soiled linens and asking in her calm automaton voice, “Do you require anything to drink?”

“No,” Louisa groaned. “My back hurts horribly. It feels like I’m on fire. Can you just push on it, please?”

Marguerite looked at Outil who shrugged her silvery shoulders in confusion. “Of course,” Marguerite said. And she got down on the floor behind the laboring woman and put two hands on her shoulder blades.

“No, lower, at my waist,” Louisa commanded. Marguerite moved her hands lower and pushed gently. “Push hard. Please,” she groaned again. “Oh, Lord have mercy on us all. Lord save us. My mother died giving birth to my baby sister. I don’t want to leave Claude alone. I can’t leave this baby alone. Save me, Lord.”

Marguerite’s chest tightened, and she felt tears involuntarily well up in her eyes at overhearing this private prayer.

“I’m so sorry,” she offered.

“Save it for someone else and just push!” Louisa snapped back.

Claude arrived with the midwife one hour later. A frantic Outil met them at the gate carrying cleaning supplies from the wash house. “There is a baby, Master Claude! You have a baby!” The trio entered the house and was greeted by the screams of a newborn infant. Claude looked worried, but the midwife, an old Iroquois woman, assured him. “This is good! Strong lungs means a strong baby.” Marguerite heard them enter and stuck her head out of the bedroom door. She was grinning from ear to ear and had a mess of blood and who knows what else smeared all over her dress.

“It’s a baby!” she beamed.

“I should hope so.” Claude raced past her. “How is Louisa?”

“She’s much, much better.” Marguerite jumped out of the way and watched as Claude knelt by his wife’s bedside. He kissed her hand, then the baby’s head. The old midwife pushed her way past Marguerite and joined the little family at the bedside.

“This is a very healthy baby,” she pronounced smiling.

“It’s a girl.” Louisa smiled and cuddled the baby to her chest.

“Well, it is a hungry girl. Let’s take care of this cord and get her eating,” the midwife said with authority, shoving Claude out of the way.

Marguerite took that as her cue to leave. She looked one last time at the happy group and the tiny little miracle in Louisa’s arms. She knew that she would never forget this day. Something inside of her had come loose, something she didn’t know existed. Claude smiling at Louisa, the tiny wailing infant in her arms, was the perfect picture of happiness, and for the first time, she ached for that kind of happiness. She scrubbed herself as best she could in the washbasin and joined Outil outside.

“You did a fine job, m’lady,” Outil said.

“Thank you. You weren’t so bad yourself,” Marguerite replied. They watched the birds fly in great throngs around the tops of the budding trees. The fresh spring air danced around them carrying the smell of fresh, green life, and Marguerite thought about how strange life could be.

“I want to make sure Jacques has a ride home if he wants it. There is a good chance that he may not want it after the way I behaved, but I need to know that as well. Do you think I will ever learn to slow down and be wise, Outil?” Marguerite kicked at a stone in the ground.

“There is a chance that you might,” Outil said. “However, I suspect you will be in the grave by then.”

“Outil! Are you teasing me?” Marguerite laughed at the bot, incredulous at the unexpected humor.

“Possibly,” Outil turned and patted her mistress on the shoulder. It was a very human gesture for a bot, and seemed to fit the magic of the afternoon perfectly.

An engine roared in the distance. Marguerite stood from the spot where she’d leaned on the fence and walked to the lane, trying to see who might be approaching. As soon as she saw the single front wheel and the long black hair flowing behind a goggled face, she took a step back and wondered what she should do with herself.

“Who is coming?” Outil asked as she joined her.

“It’s Otetiani,” she answered. They both stepped back as not one, but four men on three steam cycles rolled into the yard. All of them were striking to behold. They were the very embodiment of power and pride in their leather clothing, which in the daylight, Marguerite could now see was decorated with beads of all colors. They propped up their cycles, removed their goggles and retrieved parcels from the backs of their rides.

“Lady Marguerite,” Otetiani walked up to her and gave a short bow. “It is good to see you with both feet on the ground, although I do not wish to know whose blood is on your dress. Have you killed a bear this day?”

Marguerite blushed as she looked at her mess of an outfit. Was this very serious man actually teasing her? She decided to pretend like she was wearing her best ball gown and held her head high as she nodded back at him. “I happen to have delivered my first baby today, thank you very much, Monsieur Otetiani.”

“I did not realize you were a midwife as well as a pirate and a Lady of France.” His face did not break a smile, but he was definitely teasing her.

“I most certainly am
not
a midwife, nor a pirate, but I would like to know how I can help you. Monsieur Claude is busy attending to his wife at the moment.”

The other men gathered around with their paper-wrapped parcels, a few of them grinning at her, another looking confused at this high speaking woman covered in blood questioning their leader. “Forgive me, Lady Vadnay, these are my brothers. We have only come bearing gifts for the baby.” He motioned to the men and their packages.“That is quite lovely of you. Let me send Outil to see if they can receive you yet.” The whole group followed the bot to the front of the house, but Otetiani reached out and put a hand on Marguerite’s shoulder.