The Meeting Place (8 page)

By the same fever which had robbed Henri of his parents, Jacques Belleveau had been made clan elder. One of his first edicts was to ask for help to save the Robichaud farm and bring in the harvest. The vicar, newly arrived to take the place of the previous pastor, who had not survived the epidemic, had silently joined in alongside Jacques and Louise, clumsy in his efforts but strong in his silent urgings to give aid and comfort to the young lad.

Somehow the community's sharing of this particular hardship had helped to lift the pall of sadness and loss which had settled upon the village. The winter had come and gone, and with spring there was a readiness to face the future once again. That next season of planting and harvesting had found many willing hands to help Henri with his work. And over the years to come, Henri Robichaud had repaid the village a hundred times over. Strong and cheerful, he had grown up ever ready to lend a hand to whoever needed help, free with his gifts of game and fish and fruit and strength. All the village counted him a friend.

Louise's pounding heart returned her attention to the present. The vicar waited just beyond Henri, Bible in hand. His broad-brimmed hat and his best black cassock were in direct contrast to the warm, approving smile. From those hard beginnings Pastor Jean Ricard had grown to be a welcome part of the village, a true man of God with a heart for Acadia.

To the one side of the vicar, the girls holding the traditional marriage pole waited in giggling anticipation. The flowers Louise had gathered from the highland meadow formed a colorful crown at the top of the pole. Long ribbons shivered in the fresh breeze to be gathered after the wedding ceremony in the lilting maidens' dance.

Henri's eyes met hers in a silent message for her alone, and he stepped up beside her. The vicar turned and led the assembly up the hill to the white chapel. The Minas church, in a field of bluebells and buttercups, was the village's oldest building, dating back to the earliest days of their settlement. A low stone wall rose behind the church, marking the boundaries of the village cemetery. Some of the headstones were so old that time and winter winds had erased the names of those who rested there. Louise took in a deep breath of the summer air, and thought there could be no finer wish on this most wonderful day than to live her life among family and friends, to be the wife of Henri Robichaud and raise their children, then die and be buried here in the heart of Acadia.

As Louise trod the familiar path to the chapel entrance, she caught sight of a group of men standing by the cemetery walls, staring northward, up beyond the Minas River to where smoke rose from the English settlement. She felt a flash of irritation. How could they think of disturbing this perfect day with talk of worry and troubles?

Henri must have felt her stiffen at his side, for he moved forward until his face filled her frame of vision. His dark eyes sparkled with joy. Louise looked deep, and she found there a promise that filled her being with answering joy. She was to be married to Henri, the only man she had ever cared for. She would be Louise Robichaud. She turned her attention back to the chapel and its simple lime-washed walls.
Here is safety … here is home
was in the smile she gave to her beloved.

Chapter 6

The birds chattered outside Catherine's window, yet not even their laughing chorus could hold her attention. She was so full of swirling emotions she could not even rise and dress. She could have plucked any emotion under the sun and said, “Here, yes, this describes my heart.” Yet none of the words would have described it fully.

Brilliant summer sunlight streamed through the open window, falling upon her wedding dress where it hung on the wardrobe door. Her father had purchased a bolt of the palest blue satin she had ever seen, the color of a rain-washed sky an hour before dawn. The village dressmaker had spent days and days sewing lace upon the neck and sleeves and fashioning a long lacy train down the back. The shoulders were puffed in the proper fashion of London circles, at least according to the latest journals from England.

Catherine hugged herself with excitement and fear. She hoped Andrew would find her
striking
. She had thus heard an officer describe a visiting English lady. Catherine wanted to be
striking
for Andrew, especially today. She wanted to show that she, a girl raised in the colonies, could be a suitable match for an English officer, and one to the manor born.

Andrew rarely spoke of his past. The little he had said left Catherine certain that he had burned his bridges when he had come to the colonies, and would not be returning to England. There had been a few words about the death of Andrew's much-loved father and an older brother entitled to the family legacy and estate. No, Andrew was no longer welcome in England. Much as she would have liked to have seen the Harrow castle, Catherine was not sad. Acadia was her home, Edward the village where she hoped to live out all her days. And with Andrew by her side.

Even so, a small shiver raced through her. She could not say why she felt so fearful and uncertain. The air was warm and fragrant, the birds were singing, the village beneath her window already filled with festive sounds.

Perhaps it was not fear of this day at all. Perhaps it was of the days to come. A life outside the home she knew and loved. A life with a man she loved, it was true, yet there was so much she did not know.

Another shiver touched her frame. Yes, that was it. She was frightened of all she did not know about the days and years to come. As though even this brilliant day was touched by shadows of a future beyond her ken and control.

Her gaze moved to the Bible resting on the corner table. Catherine could scarcely even reflect on the cover without thinking of her father. John Price was a religious man, in a somewhat cold and rigid manner. He had ordered her since she was a little child to read the Bible and memorize passages. “Know the law of God,” he had often commanded. “Know the law.”

Yet the day's promise of a new chapter in her life granted Catherine a new perspective on her father. Perhaps because she was truly leaving, because this night and all the nights to come she would sleep beneath a different roof, she could look at him in a way she had never known before. Much of her young life had been fashioned by such orders, she now realized. Her father was a rather distant and self-engulfed man. Though he truly cared for her, he had never been able to express those feelings. She tried to remember when he had actually spoken about love for her. And she could not recall a single time.

Since the death of his wife, John Price had probably not even realized that he should try to tell Catherine he loved her. The acknowledgment of this brought a soft knell of sorrow to her heart, but just a little. In this newfound understanding was also a growing ability to forgive. Catherine's gaze rested upon the Book. Her father had always insisted that she be morally upright, that she be a good daughter and a good member of their church. But because of his rigidity, she had not found any personal relationship to his legalistic religion.

She reached out and drew the Book into her lap. As she opened the leather-bound cover, she wondered if in truth she had not kept herself from something precious. Her new discovery about her father, about herself, seemed to be urging her not just to look at things differently, but to grow beyond what was comfortable.

She had viewed God in terms of her father and his coldness. She realized that now. The Bible had been a source only of rules, of warning.

But she needed something more than that now. She needed timeless wisdom, direction, yes, even comfort. She was facing marriage without a mother to turn to. Her father was caught up in the habits and the focus of his life, and she needed a place she could turn with all her fears and her doubts. Scraps of phrases she had heard from the Book all her life, yet not really listened to, now seemed to take on a life of their own. “Ask, and it will be given. …” “Come unto me. …” Catherine felt a burning come to her eyes. She had not missed her mother so much since she had been a little child.

And yet just glancing at the pages seemed to whisper to her a quiet promise. One she had never been able to hear before. One which invited her to grow beyond herself and see the Book anew. Perhaps here in these pages she might find what she so longed for, guidance to help her through all the mysteries and unknown experiences to come.

The church bell began to ring. Catherine sat upright as though awakening. The bells were ringing for her, and she was not even dressed! She rose to her feet and put the Bible in the tapestry bag she would be carrying with her this night. As she reached for her wedding dress, a warm sense of comfort grew in her heart. She felt as though she had done something very right, very good, in that simple action of recognizing that the Book would be a part of her future life.

Andrew had warned her about it, explaining in his patient way that it was a tradition for British officers and a necessary part of the ceremony. Even so, when Catherine passed through the gates to the Anglican chapel and saw them for the first time, she hesitated midstride.

The soldiers of Andrew's company were formed into two long lines flanking the walkway. Their red-jacketed uniforms and parade hats made them appear almost as tall as the trees that shadowed them. Their muskets, held aloft with pikes fixed upon the end, sparkled in deadly brightness in the noon sun—an unnerving limbless forest through which Catherine must walk in order for her long-awaited day to begin.

Andrew had been at his gentlest when he had explained the rite as old as the regiment itself. An officer's new wife was granted a salute by the men. Much as he knew she would prefer otherwise, they were obliged to carry through this military custom of long standing. After listening in resigned silence, Catherine offered but one objection: “It feels as though I'm being forced to marry the regiment as well as you.” To her dismay, Andrew had not contradicted her.

But there he stood, the love of her life, tall and slender and handsome in his gold-bedecked uniform. His hat was tucked under one arm. His eyes locked with hers, and though a smile would be appropriate in front of his regiment, Catherine saw the warmth that could not be hidden in his pleased and eager gaze.

Out of the corner of her eye she caught sight of Captain Randolf Stevenage and his wife, Priscilla. Another harsh vision for her marriage day. Andrew had said that the governor in Halifax was doing them both great honor by sending his own adjutant to add an official blessing to the day's events. But her husband-to-be had not sounded as though he believed his own words as he had spoken. Priscilla stood there in the sunlight, watching Catherine with an expression as unreadable as stone.

Catherine turned from the silent couple, straightened her shoulders, took a deep breath, and proceeded toward the military passage. Her legs felt as though they could scarcely support her. She focused every shred of her attention upon the man she loved with all her heart.

Two young girls walked before her, scattering petals of wild flowers Catherine had brought back from the highland meadow. As they started the procession between the ranks of soldiers, a man with a bristling mustache and chestful of medals whipped out his saber and swung it to within a hairsbreadth of his nose. He shouted, “Troop, present
arms
!”

The soldiers stamped in forceful unison and slapped their muskets out before them. The flag bearers lowered their staffs so that the regimental colors and the symbol of the British sovereign formed a brightly colored canopy under which Catherine would walk.

One of the flower girls whimpered at the strange noise and the towering men. Catherine offered her a comforting smile.
For Andrew. I will do this for him
.

Next to Andrew stood the Anglican vicar, and next to the vicar was her father. John Price's normally stern expression softened as Catherine's eyes locked for a moment with his.

The glorious July sunlight dappled through the soldiers and muskets and pikes and flags as it would through tree branches. Catherine took a firm grip upon her flowers and her smile and willed herself forward. And her Andrew was standing there, becoming nearer with every step.

Finally she was there and Andrew touched her arm, filling her with renewed strength and purpose. Then her father tucked her arm through his, and they stood and waited until Andrew and the vicar and the villagers all had entered the chapel. She barely noticed the sergeant major's shouted orders and the sharp rapping of boots and arms as the soldiers paraded away. Catherine focused her attention upon the lovely young faces of the flower maidens, seeing there the hope and the excitement she had always dreamed this day would hold.

Then her father spoke words she heard but did not truly understand, and Catherine knew it was time. She turned her face to the sun and accepted its light and warmth and beauty. This day was her dream come true.

As she entered through the church doors on the arm of her father, trumpets sounded. Andrew had told her of this as well. Two silver trumpets flanked the church entrance, so long their bells crossed overhead, and their long, colorful tassels framed her entrance. The chapel received the sound and shouted it back, so that the entire sanctuary reverberated with clarity and joyous power.