Anne-Marie de Parthenay

New France

It had been three months now since Le Vicomte’s ship had laid anchor in the New World, and Anne-Marie had still to find her footing. Just when she thought she understood the way things worked, something would happen to turn everything on its head. Despite their sordid kiss on the front steps, she had not seen hide nor tail of Jeannine since that day two weeks ago. Nor had there been another ball, ballet, opera, or even a soiree. Nothing at all had happened, leaving Anne-Marie confined to her chambers. Oftentimes she had asked Le Vicomte, but whenever he wasn’t off planning something with the other generals, he denied her every request to leave, using the time in a vain attempt to court her. She rebuked all his slimy advances, of course, but he didn’t seem to care. The facts were plain—she was his prisoner, and prisoner by law of marriage soon enough.

His wife, meanwhile, had only grown more manic and intense. She would stalk through the hallways at night armed with a candle, as if she would uncover some sinister affair afoot on the staircase. Sometimes she would barge into Anne-Marie’s room, and torment her until she was satisfied, or until her mania turned into a depression.

“He’s going to kill me,” she would wail. “He’s going to kill me, and it’s your fault!”

Even her usual calmed temper outside the confines of their home seemed to be deteriorating. The staff were now on full alert at all times around her. At night, the doctor Gusteau who tended to her after her fall would stay with her at night, guarding the door. She always thanked him profusely for his kindness, and he always made some excuse to dismiss it, saying he had nothing better to do or he was just looking for a quiet place to read at night. One day, she decided to push that kindness to its limits.

“I was wondering if you could do something for me,” she said.

“Oh?”

“Well, you just seem like you’ve been here a while, and know the ins and outs of this place. And you’re the only person here I can trust.”

“Ask away, then, and I promise to try my best.”

“It’s just that… I haven’t seen my brother since we landed. They say he’s been spirited off to some fort, but it’s been months. I just… I want to see him. I want to make sure he’s alive, and talk to him. I know it’s a lot to ask.”

The old doctor scratched his head, pondering something.

“It is a lot to ask,” he said. “But not from me. It’s a long journey to the fort you speak of, and not something a lady your age should undertake.”

“Please. I won’t mind it, no matter how long or how hard. I’m sure there will be danger, too, but I’ll risk it. I’m going mad in this place, doctor, and the only person who can remind me of my sanity is my brother. I fear what will happen to me if I stay trapped in this room any longer.”

The doctor sighed.

“I cannot deny the hopeful plea of a young lady,” he said. “I promise to look into it. But you will have to muster some excuse for your parents of why you will be gone so long. It will be two weeks there, and two weeks back. If you find some miracle that will explain a month’s disappearance, perhaps I can arrange something.”

That night, she broached the subject to her Le Vicomte.

“Vicomte?” She asked innocently at the dinner table.

The commander stopped eating, looking up at her, surprised. Normally, the three of them ate their dinners in complete silence when they ate together at all. Nowadays, La Madame sequestered herself in her chambers, paranoid that any excursion could lead to her untimely demise. This left Anne-Marie to eat most of her meals alone, or with Le Vicomte whenever he wasn’t busy.

“What is it?” He replied.

“I just… I wanted to ask if you knew about the upcoming trip la Madame de Renees was planning. I figured I ought to ask your permission to go, but… I’m just not sure you’re supposed to know about it.”

“What? What trip? What do you mean?”

Anne-Marie pretended to fidget, like she was hiding some secret.

“Well, Jeannine is the one who invited me. You know, Le Marquis’ daughter? She said that she and the other daughters are all leaving to Acadia until the winter campaign is over.”

“But that’s preposterous. A group of children, traveling to Acadia?”

“We aren’t going alone. Madames Renee and Bacqueville are going with us—they’re to be our chaperones.”

“Why haven’t I heard anything about this? Le Marquis hasn’t mentioned anything of the sort.”

“I… I’m not supposed to tell you,” Anne-Marie said. “You aren’t supposed to even know it’s happening. Please don’t make me tell you more. Everyone was told to keep it a secret.”

“Listen to me, girl,” Le Vicomte snarled, pointing his fork threateningly at her from across the table. “You will not keep secrets from me under my roof. You’re foolish enough to let you think I’d let you go on an excursion like this at all, let alone one I know nothing about.”

“But–”

“But nothing. You will tell me the full details, here and now.”

“Promise you won’t tell. If the other girls learn I was the one to spoil the secret, they’ll make a fool of me.”

“You are a fool. Now tell me.”

Anne-Marie pretended to look hurt. Over the years, she had grown good at forcing her eyes to water—not enough to cry, usually, but enough to look like she was about to.

“It was Madame de Bacqueville’s idea,” she said, wiping the fake tears from her eyes. “She said her husband used to be stationed down there, during the last war. There’s supposed to be a lake that doesn’t freeze over in the winter, and miraculously stays warm. They say there’s something underground that makes it that way—like a thermal vent or a volcano or something. No one really knows, but it’s the perfect place to go when it’s cold out. It was her idea to have a place for the ladies and young girls to go to while the men were fighting your campaign.”

“Well, that seems… rather reasonable. Why on earth keep that a secret?”

“Promise you won’t tell.”

“I promise nothing. But if it’s in my own best interest to keep the secret, then I will.”

Anne-Marie hesitated.

“Now, Anne-Marie.”

“Le Marquis thinks there’s a mole among the commanding officers,” she burst out. “That’s what Jeannine told me. The trip is supposed to be safe—the only savages in the area aren’t for many miles, and they’re our allies, anyway, and hate the Iroquois. But Jeannine told me her father thinks that one of you has been feeding information to the enemy, and that word might get out of our expedition to Acadia. Think what could happen if the Iroquois learned of our trip—a party of ladies and young girls, all daughters of enemy commanders, with only a handful of guards to protect us.”

She had laid her bait, and now she waited patiently for Le Vicomte to take it.

“A mole?” He said. “He hasn’t said anything to me about such a suspicion.”

“Well, I don’t presume to know whether Jeannine was right about what her father said… but you know how close they are…”

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Anne-Marie lingered on it for a moment, then feigned a sudden epiphany, gasping.

“You don’t think…” she began.

“No,” Le Vicomte replied. “That’s preposterous.”

Anne-Marie had to keep herself from smiling. It was working. The commander’s brow furrowed as he paced back and forth behind his chair.

“I would not be among those suspected,” he continued as he paced. “It would be impossible for me to even contact the savages. I’ve only just arrived here, for God’s sake.”

“Perhaps he has told none of the commanding officers, for safety’s sake,” she said. “Even if he does not suspect you, suppose you told one of the other officers in confidence.”

“But I am scrutinous. I would not relinquish such information to a mole.”

“I agree, Vicomte. But… if you do not know who the mole is, how are you to know who to tell and who not to?”

Her question seemed to trouble him greatly, and from the look in his eyes she knew she had him.

“Please let me go,” she pleaded with him. “And please don't mention any of this to anyone."

"This is all hard for me to believe. When is the trip?"

"We leave in three days."

"Three days? That's far too short notice. No, I won't approve of your going on this trip. You need to stay here, where it's safe."

“I understand, of course I do. It’s just that… all the other daughters have already gotten permission from their mothers. And if I am the only one not in attendance… well, I hate to think of how Le Marquis would take it.”

Le Vicomte’s eyes widened with the realization.

“No,” he said. “No, of course, you must go. It would look strange, to be sure. Fine. You will go, but you will speak nothing but highly of me to Le Marquis’ daughter. I will not have this house put under a spyglass when I have done nothing wrong. Are we clear?”

“But of course! Oh, thank you, Vicomte! You are too kind! I promise you will not regret it!”

Anne-Marie finished her dinner early, leaving Le Vicomte to ponder her ruse alone. She practically skipped down the hallway—it was all going to plan. She would get to see her brother. If there was one thing she was thankful for, it was that Le Vicomte was as gullible as he was wicked.

She departed three days later. The doctor held up his end of the bargain—he told her he had an old friend who knew his way to the fort, and who owed him a favor. Unfortunately, the doctor himself could not accompany her, something that worried her a good deal.

“What do you mean you’re not coming?” She asked him.

“I cannot leave my post, mon chéri,” He said. “And I cannot be seen with you in or outside the city—too much suspicion, too much heat. But you can trust this man as you trust me. His name is Ezekiel—I have described you to him, so he knows what to look for. He’s waiting for you down by the river, at the third small dock from the left. Go straight ahead here until you reach the water—you can’t miss it.”

“Thank you, doctor. For everything. I don’t know how I can repay you.”

“Ah, but as you said, I am a doctor. We do not ask for repayment for helping those in need. Now go, before anyone sees you.”

Anne-Marie hurried off, making her way through the lower city. It was her first time in this place, but she found herself strangely at peace. The crowded marketplace reminded her of the streets of Paris, and though she grew up in the country, it was the most familiar thing to her motherland that she had experienced in months. She pushed through the tumult of traders and peasants and made her way to the river. She counted to the left–one, two, three, but there was nothing there but a canoe, with a savage standing beside it. She looked around, but all of the other docks were empty. That just can’t be, she thought. Slowly, she made her way up to the man.

“Ezekiel?” She asked. The savage looked at her, and nodded, stepping into the canoe and taking a seat. Fear gripped Anne-Marie’s heart. She was completely at the mercy of this stranger, and a savage, no less. She looked around, weighing her options as the man waited impatiently. But what else am I supposed to do? I’m not even safe here, not in the house with La Madame. Whatever could happen to me out there could just as well happen if I stayed, and at least I’ll be free of this place. Resolved, Anne-Marie took one last look at the city, took a deep breath, and stepped onto the canoe.

She struggled to find her footing, but managed to sit opposite the savage man, placing her bag of things between them. As soon as she did so, he began to row. The canoe moved much quicker than she ever could have expected, and before she knew it, Quebéc was getting further and further out of sight. She watched it grow smaller in her view, until it was little more than a dot on the horizon.

Her eyes then turned to the savage man, sneaking peeks at him as he rowed. He did not look at her, but rather past her, to the river beyond. She could not shake the feeling that he looked familiar, and then it suddenly hit her. He looked just like the man she and Jeannine had kicked on the floor of that hut. Anne-Marie panicked, gripping the side of the canoe. She couldn’t be sure it was him—she never really got the best look at him, and she had not seen enough savages to be able to tell them apart, but what if he was? What if he recognized her? Anne-Marie sat still as she could, frozen in fear, as if breathing would somehow cause him to remember her.

“You don’t have to be afraid,” the savage man said to her. She was taken by complete surprise—he spoke in French. He was not fluent, and he stumbled through the words somewhat, but he was easy enough to understand. Needless to say, she had no idea how to respond.

“W-what?”

“You don’t have to be afraid,” he repeated. “If I wanted to take my revenge on you, I would have done so. I bear no ill will for your transgressions towards me.”

So it is the same man. Despite his words, fear and dread ran like a cold current through Anne-Marie’s veins. She had no idea how the doctor knew him, but he couldn’t have known he was signing her death sentence. God. Oh, God. I’m going to die.

“I—” Anne-Marie’s brain scrambled to say something that would save her. “I’m really sorry—

“Like I said. If I wanted to kill you, you would be dead. But I owe the doctor a favor, and so I will ferry you to your destination.”

“But really, I feel just terrible about the whole situation.” Anne-Marie found herself talking in frantic, rapid gasps, like every word she spoke somehow brought him closer to forgiving her. “And I want you to know I never wanted to do anything like that in the first place. It was the other girl’s idea, the whole thing. I—”

The man raised his hand to stop her.

“That’s not true,” he said. “She set you on the path to violence, but you were the one who took the first step. Take some responsibility for your own actions.”

Again, Anne-Marie was at a loss for words. The man was so calm—there was no animosity in his eyes. He still did not even look at her, keeping his eyes focused on the waters in front of him. He meant what he said—he cared only about bringing her to the fort. This filled her with a shame even greater than she felt after kicking him in the first place.

“I…” she began, trying to find the words. “You’re right. She was the one who told me to do it, but I could have refused. I wanted to hurt something, and I took it out on you. I’m sorry.”

“I forgive you. You are not evil like the other girl. If she were the one sitting in front of me instead of you, things would be very different. But even then, I would not want to harm her, I think.”

“But why?”

Anne-Marie was surprised she even asked such a question, but the words left her lips subconsciously, a gut reaction to the man’s nonchalance. Why would he not care? In her mind he should want to hurt Jeannine for what she had done, maybe even hurt her.

“Out of all my neighbors, I am the richest,” the man said. “I can buy fine clothes that last, feed my wife and daughters, and help the poor in my community, all because I submit myself to some injury and shame. I cannot say it’s a good living, but I have endured worse in my life.”

“Then again,” he pondered, leaning backwards a bit. “That girl is wicked—she hurts people because she enjoys the pain, and the world would be better without her. Perhaps I would kill her then, if not for my own vengeance, then for the world that would be relieved of her absence.”

The man’s frankness astounded her. In the French court, no one ever spoke their true intentions—every word was wrapped in some lie, every goal and thought masked behind a pleasant veneer. This man, in contrast, spoke of everything as it came to him, with a plain honesty she had never heard from anyone.

“Can I ask you something?” She said, finding some courage.

“Yes.”

“Why is your name Ezekiel?”

The man reached into his shirt, and pulled out a necklace with a wooden cross.

“I am Christian,” he said. “And my mother was Christian. Your people came to her village when she was younger, and taught her the story of the man Jesus Christ. One day, the ones you call Iroquois came, and burned the village and the Jesuit mission. We fled to the island Gahoendoe to escape the carnage—your people named it after the Saint Joseph. The winter was harsh that year, and there was not enough food on the island. But the people could not leave—they were afraid of being attacked. Many people starved and died. My father, my older brother and sister, all while my mother was still pregnant with me. When she gave birth to me, she gave me the name Ezekiel.

“She read in the Bible that God spoke to Ezekiel, and told him that the wicked nations around Judea would fall and perish. Ezekiel foresaw the doom of five nations: Ammon, Moab, Edom, Philistia, and Tyre. She gave me his name, then, that I would see the doom of another five nations: in your tongue you call them Maqui, Oneida, Onondaga, Cayuga, and Sonountouans. Five Nations of Iroquois.”

The man continued to row, but his face fell, a somberness growing in his eyes.

“I have not lived up to my name,” he said. “My people are gone now, scattered to the wind, and the Five Nations are larger now than ever. And they will all survive, I think, long after I am dead. It pains me to think about. I am done talking now—don’t ask me any more questions.”

The rest of the journey was quiet, long, and arduous. Thankfully, the river was rapid enough to not freeze over from the cold, but there were still chunks of ice in the water that Ezekiel had to avoid. Often small waves would crash into the canoe, dowsing Anne-Marie with a deluge of sheer cold. At night, the cold became nearly unbearable, even sitting right by the fire Ezekiel lit to keep them warm. Anne-Marie found no sleep—not only from the cold, but from a lingering fear of what he could still do to her. Even though those fears were never realized, even though he did not even speak a word to her for the remainder of the journey, she did not feel at peace until she could see the walls of the fort in the distance.