The Meeting Place (28 page)

“As do I,” Catherine whispered. “I think of God's teachings, all that we have studied and learned, and I yearn to help, but I feel so helpless to do anything.” Her eyes filled with tears. “I think of Louise and that little baby all the time.”

“I too wish there was something we could do to help them,” he quietly agreed.

“I know you do.” She freed her hand and returned it to his face. “And it is one of the many things I love about you. But now, my beloved husband, you must sleep.”

“Let us pray for the child first,” Andrew replied.

Catherine's gaze flickered over to the quiet form in the cradle. She murmured, “And her mother.”

“And father.” Andrew lowered his head, and as he did so, he felt a growing sense of warmth and power within their little haven against the storm. There was Someone else who also cared.

Chapter 23

Andrew knocked on the door to John Price's office. A muffled voice called from within, and he pushed it open and entered. “Afternoon, sir. You wished to see me?”

“Ah, Andrew, good of you to stop by. Will you take a coffee with me?”

“Thank you, but if you will excuse me, I must soon be on my way.” Andrew hesitated to cross the floor with his boots, muddied almost to the hilt from the trail. “I have spent all day on patrol.”

“Yes, yes, of course.” John Price must have noticed Andrew's hesitation. “Come, come, man, sit yourself down. I am no stranger to the trail myself.”

“Aye, sir, thank you.” It was only when he settled into the chair that he realized how tired he was. His bones still seemed to vibrate from the horse's motion.

But Price appeared too caught up in his own thoughts to notice. “Sure you won't join me? The drover just arrived back from Annapolis Royal this morning, brought two sacks of fresh beans. Might be the last we see for quite a time.”

“It does smell good, I must admit.” Andrew watched him pour the tin mug full. “Much obliged, sir.”

“Think nothing of it.”

Andrew took a first sip, felt the bitter warmth down to his center. “Any word from headquarters?”

“As a matter of fact, there were a few things.” Price's features were even more ruddy than customary. Against the white of his sweeping sideburns, his complexion held to an alarming shade. “Nothing of great importance to you, of course. But I have been called to Halifax.”

Despite his bone-weariness, a faint chime seemed to sound within Andrew's mind. “Indeed, sir?”

“Yes. It seems that the governor himself wishes to discuss the findings of my recent survey.”

Andrew gazed about the cramped office. The wall opposite the door was made up of floor-to-ceiling cubbyholes, almost every one of which was stuffed with papers and invoices and forms. A massive black safe, squat and formidable, sat behind his father-in-law's desk. The two windows were flanked by shelves crammed with more papers and survey scrolls. The air smelled of dust and drying ink. Andrew wondered what it was that he was not seeing, something that seemed just beyond his grasp.

“As you know, I have been busy assessing the surrounding country.”

“Indeed,” Andrew murmured again. “We have all noticed you riding out more than usual.”

“Yes, the orders I had were to survey everything from here to the far boundaries of the Minas River.”

Minas
. Andrew sat upright at the word, as though it prodded him to identify what he was not seeing clearly. “You have been to the French village?”

“Of course not, man, don't be daft. What on earth would I have to do with the Frenchies? No, I surveyed them from a distance. Saw all I needed to.”

Andrew stared at the dark steaming liquid within his cup. No, it was not Minas. Something else, something …

The realization struck him with such force that he jerked to his feet. The coffee splashed over his hand as he reached forward and swiftly set it down on the side of the desk.

“Anything wrong, Harrow?”

“No, not at all, sir. I just recalled …” Andrew knew his hasty departure would cause comment, but he could not tarry. Something this important could not wait another instant. “You must please excuse me.”

But the closer he drew to his home, the slower his steps. The idea which had half formed in his mind there in John Price's office now seemed outlandish as he turned down the lane to his house. How could he suggest such a thing to Catherine? And yet, there was such a sense of rightness, no matter how illogical it might seem. Even now, as he sought reasons not to speak of it, he found himself filled with the sensation that the idea had not come from himself at all.

“Andrew! I wasn't expecting you for hours.”

“Hello, my dear.” He accepted her welcoming hug, then used the iron boot-horn imbedded in the stone by his front door to pry off his muddy boots. Now that he was there and facing his wife's shining eyes, he felt almost reticent. “What have you been doing today?”

“Oh, I've been busy as always. Dinner is far from ready. Will you have a cup of tea?”

“No, I took coffee with your father.” He entered the front room, slipped on the soft old shoes she kept for him by the fire, and bent over to croon at the baby. The sight of the happy young face brought a new light to his eyes. A smile to the drawn lips. But his eyes quickly darkened, and the smile left his mouth to be replaced with a look of deep sadness. He said with resigned firmness, “Your father has been called to Halifax.”

Catherine was caught halfway back to the kitchen. “Halifax?”

“Yes. Something to do with survey work he was assigned.” And there he stopped. He simply did not know how to continue.

It was then Catherine said, “Andrew, there is a doctor in Halifax.”

Still he could not lift his eyes from the crib. “I know.”

But when she did not say anything more, her silence forced him to turn and face her. The instant he looked into her eyes, he knew that she was thinking the same thing as he. “It could be dangerous, Catherine.”

“Not,” she said slowly, “if I take Antoinette as my own daughter.”

Andrew exhaled and released the tension he had been holding ever since the possibility had struck him there in his father-in-law's office. Catherine's quiet yet assured words could not have been a clearer indication to him that the idea had come from beyond his own mind. “Yes,” he quietly agreed. “That way, we should all be safe.”

Henri carried a shovel and the pair of burlap sacks up the winding trail, feeling as though they were the heaviest burdens of his entire life.

The bundles clanked together as he climbed. It was not the weight of the load which tired him, but all the premonitions which he carried along as well. All the responsibilities. All the questions without answers.

That morning Jacques had insisted that Henri, the head of the clan, take control of the clan's secret wealth. Each family contributed a small share of the farm's income in every good year, and there had been many good years since the last time of hard need. Many years indeed. The resulting accumulation of coins was what he carried, an amount that had shocked him when Jacques had tallied it all up that morning. Enough to buy the entire village's land and have some left over.

Jacques had explained how he never spoke of the amounts. Only to take it in and save it, and have the others trust him and his good name. He and one other elder kept the books, honest and accounted for to the last farthing, nothing ever spent on themselves. All for the clan, just in case. Jacques had refused to accept Henri's protest that his health would improve. He had simply repeated those three dread words:
Just in case
.

Henri arrived at the last thicket before the meadow and dropped his burden to the ground. The afternoon was hot, feeling warmer still in contrast to how cold and wet the previous days had been. But even without much of a summer, just an occasional warm day, the crops were doing well. As though they had decided to ignore the weather and help prepare for uncertain times ahead.

The boughs of the surrounding firs leaned in close about him, sheltering him and his secret. Henri cleared the ground of its blanket of needles, the perfect disguise for his diggings. He looked carefully around to give anchoring points for the location, then his shovel bit deep into the soft earth. Soon he was standing inside the sodden hole in order to make it deeper still. His breath came in steady grunts of effort, for the soil was heavy with the dampness.

When the hole was waist deep, he stepped free and dropped the bags inside, one on top of the other. He covered in the hole, tramped down the earth, then scattered the pine needles back into place. He walked carefully around the spot, until he was certain that not even he could tell exactly where the hole had been dug without his sight markers.

Now he stepped into the meadow itself and took a deep breath of the sweet-scented air. The rain-drenched firs and the bright new wild flowers filled the meadow with honeyed perfume. Wiping his brow, Henri seated himself on the log Louise had described as their bench. His heart ached anew for her anguish and for their little girl. He would do anything, give all he had, to see Antoinette be well and strong. Anything at all. Yes, even his beloved land.

He found himself dropping to his knees, the action coming as naturally here as it did when he knelt beside his wife before entering their bed at night. He clasped his hands together and bowed his head. Such hard, powerful hands. His wrists were thicker than Louise's ankles. His fingers were black from digging, the shirt sticking to his chest from the recent effort. He closed his eyes, and he prayed. “My God, my God, I am such a simple, ignorant fellow. The world is so full of things I do not understand, and filling with more every day. Show me what to do. Give me the words. Give me the wisdom. Give me the strength.” He paused, then added with a catch in his voice, “I give our little Antoinette into your hands.”

As he knelt there, Henri remembered a passage Louise had read with him the previous winter, back before the times had become so confusing. And suddenly the peace he had known through those long winter evenings, when the fire in their hearth was enough to keep the night and the world at bay, such a peace was there with him now. A peace that filled his soul so completely that there was no longer room for worry, only for the final words to his prayer, ones from the passage and from the memory,
Give me a light for the darkness, a lamp for my path. Show me the way I am to go
.

Henri opened his eyes and grinned sheepishly at the little bird which had come to settle on the other end of the log bench. He noticed then that the small branch on which the bird had settled had begun to bud. A surprising occurrence, for the tree had lain there for several years. Even so, part of the roots had taken hold once more, and the branches were sprouting leaves. For some reason this gave him a great sense of confirming hope.

As he rose to his feet, he noticed the oilskin packet tucked there beneath the branch and its new green leaves.