Marie Gaudrion"s marriage was quite a mystery to Rose. That any one could love such an uncouth fellow as Jules, that a girl could leave the comfortable home and pretty garden, for now the fruit trees had grown and were full of fragrant bloom in the early season, and the ripening fruit later on, and go to that dismal little place under the rocks.
"You see it will be much warmer," Jules had said. It was built against the rock. "This will shield us from the north wind and the heavy snows, and another year we will take a place further down in the allotment. I will lay in a store of things, and we will be as happy as the squirrels in their hollow tree."
Marie and her mother cleared it up a bit. The floor was of rough planks filled in with mortar, and skins were laid down for carpet. There was but one window looking toward the south, and the door was on that side also. Then a few steps and a sort of plateau. Inside there was a box bunk, where the household goods were piled away inside. A few shelves with dishes, a table, and several stools completed the furnishing.
So on Sunday they went up to the unfinished chapel on the St. Charles, where a Ma.s.s was said, and the young couple were united. It was a lovely day, and they rowed down in the canoes to the Gaudrions, where a feast was given and healths drank to the newly-wedded couple, in which they were wished much happiness and many children. The table was spread luxuriously; the Mere had been two days cooking. Roasts and broils, game and fish, and many of the early fruits in preserve and just ripened.
Sunday was a day for gorging in this primitive land, while summer lasted. No one need starve then.
Afterward the young couple were escorted home.
Rose sat out in the moonlight thinking of the strangeness of it all. How could Marie like it? Mere Gaudrion had said, "Jules will make a good husband, if he is clumsy and not handsome. He will never beat Marie, and now he will settle to work again, and make a good living, since courting days are over."
The child wondered what courting days were. Several strange ideas came into her mind. It was as if it grew suddenly and there were things in the world she would like to know about. Perhaps M. Ralph could tell her.
Miladi said she was tiresome when she asked questions, and there was always a headache. Would her head ache when she was grown up? And she stood in curious awe of Madame de Champlain, who would only talk of the saints and martyrs, and repeat prayers. She was very attractive to the children, and gathered them about her, letting them gaze in her little mirror she carried at her belt, as was the fashion in France. They liked the touch of her soft hand on their heads, they were sometimes allowed to press their tawny cheeks against it. Then she would try to instruct them in the Catechism. They learned the sentences by rote, in an eager sort of way, but she could see the real understanding was lacking.
"It seems an almost hopeless task," she said one day to Pere Jamay. "And though the little girls in the convent seemed obtuse, they did understand what devotion was. These children would worship me. When I talk of the blessed Virgin they are fain to press their faces to the hem of my gown, taking it to mean that I am our dear Lady of Sorrows.
Neither do they comprehend penance, they suppose they have offended me personally."
""Tis a curious race that G.o.d has allowed to sink to the lowest ebb, that His laborers should work the harder in the vineyard. I do not despair. There will come a glorious day when every soul shall bow the knee to our blessed Lord. The men seem incapable of any true discernment of holy things. But we must not weary in well-doing. Think what a glorious thing it would be to convert this nation to the true faith."
The lady sighed. Many a day she went to her _prie-dieu_ not seven times, but twice that, to pray for their conversion.
"We must win the children. They will grow up with some knowledge and cast aside their superst.i.tions. We must be filled with holy zeal and never weary doing our Master"s will."
She had tried to win Rose, as well as some of the more intelligent half-breeds. But prayers were wearisome to the child. And why should you ask the same thing over and over again? Even M. Destournier, she had noticed, did not like to be importuned, and why then the great G.o.d, who had all the world to care for, and sent to His creatures what He thought best.
The child looked out on the wide vault so full of stars, and her heart was thrilled with the great mystery. What was the beautiful world beyond that was called heaven? What did they know who had never seen it? The splendor of the great white moon--moving majestically through the blue--touched her with a sort of ecstasy. Was it another world? And how tenderly it seemed to touch the tree tops, silvering the branches and deepening the shadows until they were haunts of darkness. Did not other G.o.ds dwell there, as those old people in the islands on the other side of the world dreamed? Over the river hung trailing clouds of misty sheen, there was a musical lapping of the waves, the curious vibration of countless insects--now the shrill cry of some night bird, then such softness again that the world seemed asleep.
"_Ma fille, ma fille_," and the half-inquiring accent of Wanamee"s voice fell on her ear.
"I am here. It is so beautiful. Wanamee, did you ever feel that you must float away to some other world and learn things that seem to hover all about you, and yet you cannot grasp?"
"You cannot, child, until you are admitted to the company of the saints.
And this life is very comfortable, to some at least. Thou hast no trouble, little one. But it is time for the bed."
"Why can I not sleep out here? The Indians sleep under the tree. So has M"sieu Ralph, and the Governor. Oh, I should like to and have just that great blue sky and the stars over me."
"They would not show under the tree branches. And there are wolves and strollers that it would not be safe to see at this time of the year, when there are so many drunken traders. So come in, child."
She rose slowly. A little room in the end of the Giffard house was devoted to her and Wanamee. Two small pallets raised a little above the floor, a stand with a crucifix, that the Governor"s wife insisted was necessary, a box, in which winter bedding was stored, and that served for a seat, completed the simple furniture.
Rose knelt before the stand. There were two or three Latin prayers she often said aloud, but to-night her lips did not move. This figure on the cross filled her with a kind of horror just now.
"Mam"selle," said the waiting Wanamee.
The child rose. "You must pray for yourself to-night," she said in a soft voice, throwing her pliant body on the pallet. "I do not understand anything about G.o.d any more. I do not see why He should send His Son to die for the thousands of people who do not care for Him. The great Manitou of the Indians did not do it."
"_Ma fille_, ask the priest. But then is it necessary to ask G.o.d when we have only to believe?"
"I am afraid I don"t even believe," was the hesitating reply.
"Surely thou art wicked. There will be penance for thee."
"I will not do penance either. You are cruel if you torture dumb animals, and it is said they have not the keen feeling of humans. I am not sure. But where one thinks of the pain or punishment he is bearing it is more bitter. And what right has another to inflict it upon you?"
Wanamee was silent. She would ask the good priest. But ah, could she have her darling punished?
CHAPTER X
MILADI AND M. DESTOURNIER
"But what are you to do with this nice house? Why, the Governor"s is hardly better. Will you live here and not at the post? And how pretty the furnishings are?"
Rose"s face was wreathed in smiles, and the dimples played hide-and-seek in a most entrancing manner.
"Yes, I am to live here. And you, and Wanamee, and Nugava, and----"
She clapped her hands and jumped up and down, she pirouetted around with grace and lightness that would have enchanted the King of La Belle France. Where did she get this wonderful harmony of movement. His eyes followed her in admiration. She paused. "And what part is to be given to me?"
"This. And Wanamee will have the room between, to be within call."
His cheek flushed. How was he to get his secret told?
"And this will be yours, M"sieu. I know it on account of the books. And I can come in here and you shall teach me to read some of the new things. I have been very naughty and lazy, have I not. But in the winter one cannot roam about. Oh, how delightful it will be!"
She looked up out of such clear, happy eyes. How could he destroy her delight--he knew it would.
"There will be some one else here," he began.
"Not Pere Jamay. He is with Madame a good deal. I do not like his sour face when he frowns upon me. And--oh, you will not have me sent to France and put in a convent. I would kill myself first."
"No, no. It is not the priest. I am not over in love with him myself. It is some one sweet and pretty, and that you love----"
"That I love"--wonderingly.
He took both her hands in his.
"Rose," with tender gravity, "I am going to marry Madame Giffard."
She stiffened up and looked straight at him, the glow on her cheek fading to marble paleness.
"_Pet.i.te_, you did love her dearly. You will love her again for my sake.
No, you shall not go away in this angry mood. Do you not wish me to be happy?"