responsibilities of marriage, the chickens were as much in each other’s company as they ever had been. And still they strained to assimilate Elisabeth into their sorority. It baffled her and stirred her also, their refusal to be rebuffed. She thought now that perhaps it was her anger that drew them to her, the hope that its sharp edges might be pressed into the service of their dissatisfactions, of which there were many. Perrine had made it clear that they thought Elisabeth’s indifference to their poor circumstances a betrayal of their guild. By consenting to survive on bread made from savage corn or, worse still, sagamity, a kind of savage porridge made from the same coarse grain, Elisabeth made it easier for the commandant to order the rest of them to follow suit.
‘But what is it you object to so?’ Elisabeth protested. ‘The savage bread is not what we are accustomed to, but then what here is?’
Her answer had provoked Perrine, but Elisabeth knew that it was not really about the bread. It was the pleasure she took in her husband that truly offended them and her refusal to conceal it. They considered the extravagance of her delight not only ill-suited to the harshness of their situation but an affront to the rest of them. They frowned when they saw her with him, and whispered among themselves. It was some time before Elisabeth understood that they were frightened of her. She unbalanced things. The narrow slice of swamp that lay between them and the precipice of the world was already treacherous enough.
Of course they grew accustomed to it in time. There was little else they could do. As for marriage, there were only two girls that remained to be accounted for. Just yesterday Elisabeth had seen Marie-Françoise by the garrison, pale as paper after her illness, the lines around her mouth scratched on in black ink. The dark hair of which she had been vain had clung to her scalp, coarse and provisional, and she had walked tentatively, as though afraid of the ground.
Still, she lived. The man to whom she had, to her great satisfaction, contrived to become engaged had not proved so fortunate. Late in September, with their marriage less than seven days away, he had succumbed to delirium. His decline was rapid. Two days later Marie-Françoise had stood pale and bewildered as his household effects were sold at auction, the proceeds shared between his mother in Quebec and his brother at Versailles. The other girls had made sure to visit her, taking with them trifles to lift her spirits, but Elisabeth had declined to accompany them. She knew they thought her heartless and she was sorry for it, but still she would not go. Her bliss was new and fragile and she was afraid. Misfortune was contagious. These days when she saw Marie-Françoise in the settlement, she had to fight the impulse to cover her eyes. Misery swarmed about the Governess’s shoulders like a cloud of flies.
Elisabeth sighed and, stretching, pushed herself up to sit. The morning was almost gone. His good boots stood by the door, their heels worn down at the backs, and his laced hat hung on a peg, its brim ghost-marked with dried sweat. We are all waiting , she thought, for you to come back and occupy us . Perhaps even at this very moment he was climbing out of the tilting pirogue, his boots sliding on the rush-slippy mud of the dock. The pirogues would be laden with food for the colony, and he would have to stay a while with the other officers to oversee the unloading of the provisions into the warehouse. Left alone, the men were careless and inclined to steal. She could see the two notches between his eyebrows that deepened when he was conducting business. It was the only time he was solemn. She wanted to reach out and smooth the furrows away with her finger, to place her lips lightly upon that place so that she might feel his breath hot against her chin, and then, slowly, very slowly, to draw her lips down the bridge of his nose and across the unshaved
‘But what is it you object to so?’ Elisabeth protested. ‘The savage bread is not what we are accustomed to, but then what here is?’
Her answer had provoked Perrine, but Elisabeth knew that it was not really about the bread. It was the pleasure she took in her husband that truly offended them and her refusal to conceal it. They considered the extravagance of her delight not only ill-suited to the harshness of their situation but an affront to the rest of them. They frowned when they saw her with him, and whispered among themselves. It was some time before Elisabeth understood that they were frightened of her. She unbalanced things. The narrow slice of swamp that lay between them and the precipice of the world was already treacherous enough.
Of course they grew accustomed to it in time. There was little else they could do. As for marriage, there were only two girls that remained to be accounted for. Just yesterday Elisabeth had seen Marie-Françoise by the garrison, pale as paper after her illness, the lines around her mouth scratched on in black ink. The dark hair of which she had been vain had clung to her scalp, coarse and provisional, and she had walked tentatively, as though afraid of the ground.
Still, she lived. The man to whom she had, to her great satisfaction, contrived to become engaged had not proved so fortunate. Late in September, with their marriage less than seven days away, he had succumbed to delirium. His decline was rapid. Two days later Marie-Françoise had stood pale and bewildered as his household effects were sold at auction, the proceeds shared between his mother in Quebec and his brother at Versailles. The other girls had made sure to visit her, taking with them trifles to lift her spirits, but Elisabeth had declined to accompany them. She knew they thought her heartless and she was sorry for it, but still she would not go. Her bliss was new and fragile and she was afraid. Misfortune was contagious. These days when she saw Marie-Françoise in the settlement, she had to fight the impulse to cover her eyes. Misery swarmed about the Governess’s shoulders like a cloud of flies.
Elisabeth sighed and, stretching, pushed herself up to sit. The morning was almost gone. His good boots stood by the door, their heels worn down at the backs, and his laced hat hung on a peg, its brim ghost-marked with dried sweat. We are all waiting , she thought, for you to come back and occupy us . Perhaps even at this very moment he was climbing out of the tilting pirogue, his boots sliding on the rush-slippy mud of the dock. The pirogues would be laden with food for the colony, and he would have to stay a while with the other officers to oversee the unloading of the provisions into the warehouse. Left alone, the men were careless and inclined to steal. She could see the two notches between his eyebrows that deepened when he was conducting business. It was the only time he was solemn. She wanted to reach out and smooth the furrows away with her finger, to place her lips lightly upon that place so that she might feel his breath hot against her chin, and then, slowly, very slowly, to draw her lips down the bridge of his nose and across the unshaved
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