The Beloved Land (28 page)
Henri ordered the village square readied for the meeting. Torches were lashed to poles and set in a broad circle. Benches were brought for the elders and set upon a raised canopy. Gordon’s crew clustered to one side, just beyond the reach of the torchlight. Even so, as the elders climbed up on the dais, dark looks and suspicious expressions were cast their way.
Henri called to Gordon and Nicole to gather with him and the elders. He gave no indication that he heard the half-uttered protests among the crowd. He directed Gordon to one side of the dais and ushered Nicole to the platform’s only chair. “How is your strength?”
“Adequate.”
“We will not hold you here a moment longer than necessary.” No longer the village headman, he turned to the new leader and asked, “Would you permit me to address the gathering?” The young man seemed rather uncertain of his standing in such a moment. With evident relief he took his place at the front and announced, “Henri Robichaud is going to speak to us first.” He turned and motioned for Henri to begin.
Henri paused till it was totally silent, then demanded, “Who brought the news?”
“It was I!” A lean man in sweat-stained leather riding garb stepped forward.
“You came from Baton Rouge?”
“I saw the fort with my own eyes. The British are gone!”
Henri let the hubbub resound for a moment, then lifted his hands for silence. “You heard that the British are defeated?”
“As well as. They have gone from every fort in the Louisiana territories!”
“Yes or no!” Henri’s voice pounded back the hooray of the crowd. “Is there word of defeat?”
“Well, no, but it has to be true!”
“Does it?” Henri turned to his daughter. Gordon was leaning over her to hear her whispered interpretation of the proceedings. “Ask Gordon if he thinks this is defeat.”
Gordon was already shaking his head before Nicole had finished speaking. “Unlikely. Nigh on impossible.”
A voice from the torchlit night shouted, “You would trust an Englishman?”
“I would trust an American,” Henri countered. “I would trust my son-in-law.”
“He’s been a traitor once. Why not again?”
Henri stiffened but did not respond directly. Instead he said to Nicole, “Ask Gordon why he thinks the English are not defeated.”
“The British forces are enormous,” Gordon began, speaking slowly. The crowd strained to hear Nicole’s softer voice behind him. “I personally don’t know the strength of their Baton Rouge contingent, but I doubt it ever numbered more than five hundred men. My guess is that they are an offshoot of the Georgia battalions. And thus the Baton Rouge outpost is relatively unimportant in the grand scheme of this conflict.”
The crowd seemed to take this as a personal insult and began shouting their protests. Henri raised his voice and called out, “Let him speak!” When they were quiet, he nodded to Gordon to continue.
“I am familiar with the American strength. They cannot win at a direct assault. The British are too strong on the ground. The Americans win by attrition. A battle here, a battle there.”
“Yet the British have left Baton Rouge.”
“Which means the Americans are forcing them to strengthen the main regimental force. This is good news for our side. But not the ultimate good news for which we wait and pray.” If Gordon was aware of the crowd’s sullen hostility, he gave no sign. “My observation is that if they have withdrawn from here, it will be the same in Florida and Georgia as well. They will make their stand in the Carolinas. Or possibly Virginia.”
“So the war is not over?” called someone from the crowd.
“I have no way of speaking for certain. But I think it highly unlikely.”
“What would you guess is the coming course of this conflict?” Henri put in.
“The British will seek out a victory in battle on their terms,” he replied without hesitation. “A massed attack of regimental proportions. And if they win, they will sue for peace. Which the Americans will refuse. Events have gone too far. The war has hardened feelings on both sides. There is only one solution to this conflict. The British must leave the colonies.”
“And this has not yet happened?”
“As I said, I have no certain knowledge. But my guess is, not this summer. And probably not the next.”
The original bearer of the news had held his peace up to now, but he obviously was furious at his loss of face. “But they have left Baton Rouge!” he shouted out.
Henri lifted his voice above the rising clamor. “I have led this village through both good times and bad! This has often meant defying what we would like to believe and preparing with caution. I have heard the news the same as you, and I have heard this American speak. And my heart tells me, this American speaks truth. If this is so, our troubles are not over. More distant, perhaps, and the threat is lessened. But we must proceed with caution.”
He turned to Gordon. “Nicole, please thank your husband for his counsel. Tell him …” Henri’s features seemed to flicker with the torchlight. “Tell him his coming has proven to be a godsend.”
Thomas had taken to long walks, sometimes lasting from after breakfast until the noon meal. He visited outlying farms. He passed through hamlets of six or seven houses clustered on every side of Georgetown. Anne occasionally accompanied him. She saw a new Georgetown, one that had grown so much she found it possible to lose direction in her own childhood hometown. In the afternoons they often took long rides by carriage, touring the surrounding countryside.
Wherever they went, either on foot or by wagon, the instant Thomas appeared, villagers would immediately acknowledge him with quiet courtesy. Anne thought they all probably understood his careful distance from them until he had announced his decision.
On the Sabbath Thomas had arranged for the younger of the two pastors who had accompanied them from England to give the sermon. The church was rather crowded, with some French families gathered among the English.
Anne’s and Catherine’s progress to the front pew was slowed by greetings in both French and English. Anne noticed how everything their family did was carefully observed. John Price leaned heavily upon Thomas’s arm and his own cane until their little group took their places, kneeling first to pray, then seating themselves in a row.
The young English pastor, with members of his own community present as well, used his sermon as a call for peace. And the congregation became his example of God’s hand at work.
Here we are,
he said,
French and English alike, newcomer and longtime settler. Together in God’s house. Bound in peace
. It was a miracle, he declared, a picture of what could be if individuals and families, neighbors and acquaintances, countries and nations, put aside differences and did unto others as they would have done to them.
When the last hymn had been sung and the benediction pronounced, no one moved.
Finally Thomas stood and nodded to Anne. He helped John Price to his feet, then stepped from the pew.
The entire congregation stood with them. All waited as Thomas led his family from the church.
On the second Thursday market, Anne and Thomas walked through the village and came upon the Catholic priest who served many of the French communities. He was based in the village where Guy Robichaud lived, but traveled the distance from Truro to Georgetown, serving French parishes up and down the length of Cobequid Bay.
With the entire market frozen and watchful, Thomas doffed his hat. Through Anne he offered his greetings and asked, “You are aware of the situation we face, Father Phillipe?”
“The province speaks of nothing else,” the priest replied directly. His English was heavily accented but precise. “From one end of my parish to the other, no other topic is discussed save what the magistrate will decide.”
“I am not a magistrate or justice of the peace, Father.”
“On the contrary,” the priest replied. A slender man in his fifties, he stood a half-foot taller than Thomas. He possessed the voice of one used to addressing a congregation in the open, at times competing against the wind. The villagers around the square would easily have heard him reply, “I could think of no one who wears the title more deservedly.”
Thomas fumbled with his hat for a moment, then nodded his thanks. “I am wondering if I would be able to sit down with you sometime soon—” “Oh my, yes, I would be delighted,” Father Phillipe responded quickly. “Would you care to join me for a meal?”
“Why, thank you,” Thomas said, “and where should we come?”
“To the village of your wife’s uncle.” He smiled in Anne’s direction. “The village where I believe you were born, is that not correct, Madame?”
“It is indeed, Father.”
“This coming Sunday afternoon, perhaps?”
The warm handshake between the two men caused a ripple of quiet conversation around the square, Anne noticed.
The afternoon journey on the Truro road was a pleasure all its own. Sunlight fell like petals through the branches and leaves intertwined overhead. The horses clip-clopped in peaceful cadence over a largely empty road. The occupants of the few wagons they passed offered solemn Sabbath greetings. Otherwise Thomas and Anne were left alone to enjoy the warm summer afternoon, the birdsong, and the road ahead.
“I would like to ask you about something,” Anne said.
Thomas took a long breath. “I’m sure you have wondered about my recent reserve, my long periods of time alone—”
“I understand, Thomas.”
He turned in his seat. “You do?”
“I know you, Thomas. You seek to remind the community in their daily activities of your message. You intend for them to see you and remember. You want them to carry your warning and your demand with them. Wherever they go, whatever they do.” Anne turned to look into his face. “I am your wife, Thomas. Of course I understand.”
“My dear Anne.” He seemed to have difficulty finding words.
“But that is not the matter I wish to discuss.” Now that she had begun, her words tumbled over themselves. “I have tried twice to bring this up with Catherine. Both times she made clear, more by what she did not say than by what she said, that she simply could not discuss the subject. I cannot fault her for this. Of course I can’t. How can I speak of something that divides her two daughters?”
Thomas instantly said, “Nicole’s letter.”
Her response was a single nod. “I have found it more distressing than I can say.”
“Please try, Anne. Tell me,” Thomas encouraged her.
Anne drew out the letter she had carried with her all week, yet had not been able to bring herself to read again. “I think it will be best if you hear what she has written.”
Thomas listened to the entire missive without speaking. With him at her side, and knowing of his care and concern, Anne was able to complete the reading with a steady tone.
When she was finished, she refolded the letter and stowed it away. The carriage plodded on, and they traversed a small valley before Thomas finally said, “Tell me what you are wanting from me.”
“I need your wisdom.”
“Are you certain?”
“What can you say that will increase my distress? My sister has wed a man who was an officer in the British merchant service. He captained a ship lined with cannon and filled with swords and muskets and pistols. …” She stopped and swallowed hard. “I had thought he would be giving up this life as a soldier. But now I find he has elected to follow the exact same course but for the other side!”
“And he has brought Nicole with him into this new field of conflict,” Thomas finished for her.
“How could he do such a thing? How could Nicole have allowed it to happen?”
Thomas spoke very slowly. “That is not all that disturbs you, is it?”
“No.” She took a slow breath. “I know my sister. Nicole would not do such a thing unless she agreed with him. Unless she felt this was the right course of action. To involve herself personally in the revolution.”
“That is not all, Anne,” Thomas continued to prod.
“Excuse me?”
“What distresses you is that your sister has changed.”
Suddenly Anne found herself choking back sobs. She clasped her hands tightly together to help regain control.