Anne-Marie de Parthenay

  New France

  It was the morning of Anne-Marie’s seventeenth birthday, and for once, she was looking forward to celebrating it. All her life, her birthday had been a source of dread. When she was younger, it was not a day to celebrate herself, to enjoy leisurely and in peace. It was the day nobles from neighboring duchies would come to visit, and ever since she turned five, had been accompanied by a litany of instructions from her father.

  Even now, they rang out in her muscle memory, repeating themselves over and over again in his voice. Stand up straight. Always smile—no, not that much. Look your equals in the eye. Not like that—you’ll intimidate people. Be soft, but not yielding. Be proud, but not arrogant. More than anything, be ladylike. You are not a common whore, so don’t carry yourself like one. This family outranks us—don’t approach them without an invitation. This family is beneath us—don’t approach them at all. Allow them to pay tribute to you, but don’t think to treat them the same. Don’t put your hand on a boy, not even for a second. And don’t look at the ground where you walk. I don’t care if it’s hard—you practiced for three weeks in those heels. Do better. Settle for nothing that is not exceptional.

  After his passing, her birthday morphed into a new, more hideous form. It became a ticking clock, each year that passed one year closer to marrying age. Le Vicomte watched it like a vulture making ambling circles around a sickly deer. He would spend her birthday lavishing her with gifts, all the while reminding her how mature she was becoming, how she was blossoming into a lady. Ripening, perhaps, would be more accurate for how he saw her. It was no surprise, then, that Anne-Marie began to dread them even more. In fact, they quickly became her least favorite day of the year. But this year would be different. This year, she would spend it with Ezekiel and his family, free and uninhibited by the worries of her past life.

  Even Ezekiel had taken the day off. In the morning, each of them woke, then enjoyed a hearty breakfast of sweet potatoes and ham—a rare delicacy for them. When they were done, Ezekiel led them out of the hut and away from the slums and the city itself. They walked into the forest nearby—no destination in mind. They walked to walk, to clear their minds from the troubles of the everyday, to bask in the beauty of nature, free from the tumult and chaos of the city.

  Anne-Marie’s breath fogged in the air as she went. She walked slowly and methodically, each of her footsteps making a soft crunch on the perfectly even snow. It was a welcome change, to be out here. She realized she had never really been outside, not like this. As a child, she lived confined within the walls of the castle Parthenay. On occasion, before her father truly started to decline, they would take holidays to the beaches of La Vendée, but even then she was kept on a short leash, never allowed to wander out of sight from her many attendants. Now, she roamed free, and she began to realize that this place was something special.

  At first, she had been terrified of the New World—of its strange peoples, its wild frontiers, untamed by the supposed civilization of man. Now, she recognized that civilization for what it was—a machine of sin that tainted the pure world around it. How long before the mighty trees of this forest would be cut down to fuel the French expansion? New walls, new homes, new ships—the colonial project was an insatiable serpent, ever-gorging itself on God’s creations. And though the thought of the future worried and frightened her, she resolved to not dwell on it today, not on a day as nice as this.

  Indeed, there was magic here, nestled between the branches of white aspen, in the boughs of the evergreens, under the boulders covered with white-frosty moss. She crouched at the bank of a frozen stream, looking through the layer of ice. Leaves and twigs stoop trapped in a chilling stasis, forming a strange and delightful tapestry one could only find in the winter. She ran her finger over the surface—it was pristinely smooth, almost unnaturally so. But every few inches, she would find some inevitable bump or crack in the otherwise-perfect sheet. That was the beauty of nature, she realized. Not in the ice itself, but in all its perfect little imperfections, the asymmetries, the ornateness of the leaves and the twigs, despite their haphazard placement within the tapestry. Serenity within chaos, order within disorder, some strange reason within the inherent absurdity of life.

  She felt someone approach from behind, and turned to see Adah smiling at her.

  “Do… you like?” Adah said, fumbling with the French. She pointed at the stream.

  “Oui,” Anne-Marie replied. “You’re getting much better.”

  Adah blushed.

  “Merci,” she replied. She made a beckoning motion with her hand. “Come. I show you.”

  Anne-Marie followed her up the stream. To her right, through the naked treeline, she saw Ezekiel and his wife standing together, talking about something as they looked up to the sky. Anne-Marie smiled. While she couldn’t tell what they were talking about, they didn’t look troubled, at the very least. Ezekiel especially looked at peace, and she was thankful for that, after everything he’d been through.

  North they ambled, side by side, making small talk as they followed the stream. Each girl would point out something they’d see, and say it in their native tongue to help the other.

  “Aguilles de pin,” Anne-Marie said, holding a branch of prickly pine needles.

  “Y?nrahta’,” Adah said, pointing to a dead leaf on the ground.

  The girls laughed. Anne-Marie couldn’t remember the last time she had laughed so freely, so unburdened by her own worries. Perhaps she never had.

  Soon, they reached their destination. They broke through a copse of densely-packed evergreens into a wide clearing, all-white in cascading blankets of snow. A steep cliff lined the opposite edge of the clearing, and the stream they followed led to a wide pool that had frozen over as well. But that was not what caught Anne-Marie’s eye. Above that pool of ice, a waterfall stood in suspended animation, frozen from the top of the rocky outcropping. White-blue icicles in various sizes cascaded down in rippling sheets, like a small wave that had stopped just before crashing. The light of the mid-day sun rippled off the icicles, causing the whole clearing to shimmer and shine.

  Anne-Marie stood there, taking it all in. It was literally breathtaking, and she found herself having to remember to exhale.

  “C’est magnifique,” Anne-Marie said under her breath. “It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

  Adah just smiled.

  “Come,” she repeated. “I show you.”

  Anne-Marie followed her, confused. Is this not it? What else could it possibly be? Adah led her around the pond and under the cliff. There, Anne-Marie noticed a small inlet, like a small little cave tucked away behind the waterfall. Inside was a patch of dry ground—cold, but not frozen or snowed on, sheltered from the elements. To her surprise, Delilah was there, laying on a blanket the three had woven together.

  “Ndio, Anne-Marie,” Delilah called, waving to her.

  “Ndio, Delilah,” she replied.

  Delilah patted the blanket next to her.

  “Satienh,” she said. Anne-Marie followed her lead, sitting next to her on the blanket. Delilah pointed upwards.

  “Sakakwah,” she said. Anne-Marie looked up, and gasped at what she saw. Above them, a thousand tiny icicles dangled from the cave ceiling. Through some strange phenomenon, the center of the cave’s ‘roof’ was see-through, a circular hole piercing through it, though it was obscured by the icicles. It was large enough for the sunlight to shine through, however, and the whole room glittered in the cascading light from the icicles.

  “Jésus-Christ,” she muttered. She fell backwards onto the blanket, gazing at the dazzling scene above. The other two girls joined her, laying side-by-side in a quiet reverence. This is a magical place, she thought. It’s like God himself has touched and blessed it. No matter what comes tomorrow, no matter what horrors the future will bear, this place will remain unburdened by them. However far the wicked hand of empire stretches, it cannot reach me here. And for once, Anne-Marie was at peace with it all. This was a birthday gift better than anyone could buy, and she relished every moment in its presence.

  The girls lingered there for a while, then eventually returned to the slums for lunch. They had all worked up an appetite from all that walking and hiking, and by the time they made it back to the hut, Anne-Marie’s stomach growled loudly, which made her blush from embarrassment. But then Ezekiel’s growled even louder, so all she could do was laugh. The girls and their mother went to the square to get some food, and Ezekiel and Anne-Marie went inside the hut to get the place ready.

  As soon as they entered, however, both of them froze. A familiar and unwelcome guest had intruded, sitting at the opposite end on a bench. Ice chilled Anne-Marie’s heart to its core, paralyzing her with fear. Jeannine sat on the bench absent-mindedly, thumbing through a book. She looked up, and saw the two standing in the doorway.

  “There you are!” She exclaimed, shutting the book and standing up. “I’ve been looking all over for you. They said you’re most likely dead, but I know better.”

  “What do you want?” Anne-Marie replied.

  “Tsk, tsk, tsk,” Jeannine tutted disapprovingly. “Is that any way to speak to your dearest friend? Oh, but they’ll be so happy to know you’re alive and well. Your dear old daddy’s returned from the front, you know, and he’s just been so worried about you.”

  With those words, all of the joy from the day came crashing to the floor, and only dread remained. Anne-Marie’s hands started to tremble, but she gripped them together as tight as she could. No, she told herself. I’m not that frightened little girl anymore. I’ve changed.

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  “I’m not going back,” Anne-Marie said firmly, her eyes like daggers pointed towards her so-called ‘friend’.

  “Oh, yes you are,” Jeannine retorted, as if Anne-Marie was insane. Her small, delicate black curls rested neatly on the sides of her head, but they looked to Anne-Marie like the hissing pythons of Medusa.

  “How long did you expect to indulge in this little fantasy of yours, really?” Jeannine continued. “Living among the savages? Did you think your skin and hair would grow dark, too? That your brow would protrude outwards, and your arms would grow thick and manly? That you would start to whoop and shriek like an animal?”

  “You will watch your tongue,” Anne-Marie hissed.

  “My tongue is not yours to police,” Jeannine returned, with all the same venom. “As much as you’d like it to be. I have allowed you to indulge in this nonsense for all this time—I thought it’d be good for you, you know, to get a different perspective. To be thankful for all the privileges you’ve been afforded. Alas, even my judgment is fallible. It’s clearly warped your brain.”

  “Oui, it has. For the better. I was like you before I came to live with them. Angry, afraid, alone. Endlessly bitter. And now, for the first time in my life, I’m happy, and you would burn it all just so I stay as miserable as you. Well, I’m not going back. You can’t make me.”

  “Are you joking? Of course I can. What exactly do you think will happen to this poor sod if the marines find out you’re here? What do you think is the more likely story? A noble girl running away to live in the mud? Or a savage man kidnapping a high-born child to ransom her?”

  “You wouldn’t.”

  “You don’t think so? Do you really think I’m a girl who makes idle threats?”

  Anne-Marie could say nothing. Her whole body trembled—no longer from fear, but from fury. Jeannine was the devil in porcelain skin and pretty black hair. How could she have ever thought of her as a friend? She was so naive, that poor little girl from Parthenay, fresh off the boat in a strange new world. That naivety had shielded her up until now, a protective veil to soften the constant waves of terror crashing down upon her. But now she was wizened. She knew the truths of the world, the good and the evil and all in between. And she knew that Jeannine was the devil.

  Suddenly, something caught the corner of her eye. All this time, she had spoken back and forth with Jeannine, paying no mind to Ezekiel next to her. His whole body was tense like a loaded spring, and he stared at Jeannine with a cold look in his eye. One glance told Anne-Marie what that look meant. No, she panicked, her heart seizing in horror. God, no. He’s going to do it. He’s going to kill her.

  In an instant, the scene played out in her head. Ezekiel would strangle Jeannine to death, and try to hide the body out in the woods. But the problem wouldn’t go away. With her disappearance, the marines would comb all over the city, including the slums, and it was only a matter of time until they found them here. What would they think, then, with Jeannine missing, and Anne-Marie living here? It would be even worse.

  “Fine,” Anne-Marie said suddenly. She took a step forward, trying to interpose her body between the two.

  “What?” Jeannine asked, somewhat taken aback.

  “I said fine. I’ll go back. But only if you promise to keep all of this a secret. No one can know I was here.”

  “Whatever, sure,” Jeannine shrugged. “My lips are sealed. Now let’s go.”

  “No. Not whatever.” Anne-Marie stepped forward, right in front of Jeannine, poking a finger into her chest. She snarled, and made sure every word hung with a weight and sharpness that could draw blood.

  “If I find you have broken your promise, if any harm comes to these people, I will make sure you regret it,” she hissed. “Mark my words, and heed them well. I don’t make idle threats either. I am not the girl you thought you knew, not anymore. I will hold you to your word, and only God can help you if you falter.”

  Anne-Marie stared her down, and Jeannine returned it. After a few moments, though, she hesitated, just for a moment. Her eyes darted behind them both, towards Ezekiel, and they widened. A thought must have occurred to her, like she had never even considered her own life might be in danger. For the first time, Anne-Marie saw fear flash into Jeannine’s eyes, and the girl took a step backwards, and cleared her throat.

  “Fine,” she said. “Fine. Let’s just go.”

  Within the hour, Anne-Marie had returned to her gilded cage. It felt so unfamiliar to her now: the cramped and narrow halls of the townhome, her awful room she was confined to. It was the strangest thing—Ezekiel’s hut was about the size of her bedroom, a little larger, and yet this house seemed so much smaller, so constraining.

  Le Vicomte, of course, was beside himself. Half joy, half anger.

  “Putain de merde!” He exclaimed upon seeing her. “Where the hell did you find her?”

  “Oh, come now,” Jeannine said. “You know us girls must keep our secrets.”

  Anne-Marie gripped Jeannine’s hand tight enough to heart before stepping forward, a reminder to believe what she had just said.

  “Bonsoir, Vicomte,” Anne-Marie said. “Forgive me for my disappearance. I just—”

  “It doesn’t matter,” he said, waving it away. “Jeannine, my thanks. Please be sure to extend my deepest gratitudes to your father.”

  “Of course,” she replied coyly. As soon as she left, Le Vicomte’s demeanor predictably changed.

  “Now,” he said, towering over her. “I don’t give a single shit about ‘girls’ secrets’. Where on earth have you been?

  Anne-Marie stood there, paralyzed. She started to wrack her brain frantically for some excuse.

  “Well?!” Le Vicomte demanded.

  “It’s… it’s your own fault,” Anne-Marie began. “You just went off to war, abandoning me here.” She spun the yarn as she thought of it, trying to play to his weaknesses. “Do you know how many times La Madame has made an attempt on my life? And you think simple chamber-maids are enough to keep me safe? Without you here to protect me, I almost died more than once. I had to flee for my own well-being. Jeannine helped me—she said she knew of a place I could stay in hiding until you returned.”

  Le Vicomte stood there for a moment, scratching his chin. If he suspected her of lying, it didn’t show—her excuse seemed to resonate with him. “I see, and I understand. I know these past months have been hard between you, but I didn’t know the full extent. But don’t fret—you won’t have to worry about La Madame any longer.”

  Anne-Marie’s heart filled with fear once again. What? Did something happen?

  “W-what do you mean?” She asked.

  Le Vicomte smiled eerily.

  “Come,” he said. “I will show you.”

  Gripped with terror, Anne-Marie followed Le Vicomte into the dining room. A wave of relief washed over her to see La Madame sitting at the table, enjoying some tea. It was a strange thing to feel relieved to see a woman who had tormented her so, but it was better than her being dead. At the very least, Le Vicomte’s machinations were always delayed by her existence, and he had to watch himself somewhat while she was around.

  “Ma chérie,” Le Vicomte called. “Anne-Marie has come home!”

  La Madame looked up from her tea, and smiled at Anne-Marie.

  “Oh, Anne-Marie!” She exclaimed. She stood, rushing over to the girl and embracing her in a hug. Anne-Marie stood there awkwardly, completely taken aback by the sudden change.

  “Where on earth have you been?” She asked.

  “Forgive me, Madame,” Anne-Marie began. “I… I got lost.”

  It was a horrible excuse, but the woman was still not lucid, clearly, and didn’t seem to mind. Her eyes were glassy, like she was seeing past Anne-Marie, and not looking at her.

  “Oh, my poor girl,” La Madame said. She took her hands, clasping Anne-Marie’s cheeks. “Listen to me. I know I haven’t acted like a proper mother should. I’ve been downright awful to you. But it’s not my fault, you see. Le Vicomte had a priest visit, you know. And did you know what he said? I was possessed, Anne-Marie. By Satan. He was playing tricks with my mind, convincing me that you were some harlot trying to steal my husband from me, and that he would abandon me for you. But that just isn’t the case, is it? It’s ridiculous, honestly—I don’t know what came over me. But the priest exorcised me, and the new doctor has prescribed me some fantastic medication. It’s made all these delusions and fancies just… disappear. And I feel wonderful now.”

  “I… I see.” Anne-Marie watched her adoptive mother. Though she wasn’t screaming at her or trying to kill her, watching her in this state filled Anne-Marie’s heart with sadness. It was like watching half a person—the medication no doubt dulled her already-limited faculties. She had been turned into exactly what Le Vicomte desired her to be—docile, pleasant, and a little coquettish. A mannequin to shape to his wishes, one that stood in display in the background, not bothering anything or anyone. In a strange way, Anne-Marie wished that her old, mad self would return, because at least she was herself, in her own deranged way.

  “Oh, but it is so wonderful to have both of you back!” La Madame cried, clapping her hands. “I was so lonely here all by myself. And mon beau Jean-Pierre has been so kind to me, Anne-Marie. He’s the greatest husband a woman could ask for. Come, look at the gifts he’s given me!”

  La Madame walked briskly out of the room.

  “You see?” Le Vicomte said, his smile sickening to her. “Nothing to worry about. Well, I’ll leave you ladies to it.”

  He sauntered off, a spring in his step knowing that both his precious trophies were here now, newly polished for him. La Madame quickly returned, holding a blanket in her arms.

  “Look at this,” she boasted. “Jean-Pierre got it for me in the savage town. Isn’t the pattern so beautiful? He tells me this is their written language. It’s an awfully rudimentary thing, of course, given their simple nature—just the most basic words and ideas. He says they don’t even think the way we do—they think in colors and patterns instead, which makes them so good at weaving these things. Isn’t that just fascinating?”

  But Anne-Marie did not process a word from La Madame’s mouth. All she could think of was the blanket. It was not just any blanket—it was hers. She had woven it herself, with Adah and Delilah, to sell at the market. Le Vicomte must have bought it as some oddity or trinket, never knowing the truth of where it came from. She sat there, paralyzed, as her eyes ran over the intricate pattern. It was a beautiful brown rug, with interlaced lines of indigo and red. It had taken them three whole days to make it. It was the first one she made—Adah and Delilah had finally acquiesced to teaching her, holding her hand through each of the motions. She knew this blanket so intimately, like it was her own child. She knew every shape, every color, every stitch. And try as she did to maintain her composure, she felt her strength finally falter, and she began to weep.