New France

This is the story of New France and in particular of that region called Canada, the valley of the Mighty St. Lawrence River. It is not only a story of a people from France in the New World but also of the people that where here before their arrival. A people driven north from their own home lands by the English. They are allied in common cause against a common enemy.

Two cultures so different from each other, the French strong in their patriarchal tradition, The Abenaki in the matriarchal. Two peoples coming together from different worlds. And against this back drop comes our little group of adventures. Some from each world, they come with there own pasts, successes and failures. The men stalwart adventures, making a New World, overcoming their faults. The women looking to a new life, families, love and perchance passion. Opposites at first repelled by the other then drawn to each other, in the final realization that it is the differences, overcome that light the passions. A land where faith, family, and friends are the most important things. Not faith in the mere religious sense but faith also in the one you love and friend that you depend on.

How will it all go for them, the warrior and his sister, the seigneur and his son, the "Filles du Roy", one French the other Celtic, finally the young Dutch Naval officer, a lone belonging to a colony lost. Yes they will struggle with their passions and failings. The conflict to discover who they are and what price they will pay for love.

Two groups one starting from the wilderness frontier. The other arriving from an Old World into a land and culture unknown.

The "Filles du Roy":

Captain Bienoit watched as his vessel the "Trois Colombes" cleared the basin entrance, to anchor in the St Charles River, under the guns of the Dauphine Redoubt. He had delivered the dispatches from Paris and the Minister of Marine, to the pilot boat. Now the answer was received.

His was the last vessel of the year before the winter ice and gales closed the river to once again isolate New France form her mother. The voyage had taken longer than expected, two months of gales and deadly calms on the Grand Banks. No rest from the close cramped quarters for the women. No diversions for the men. All would go ashore today. The "Filles du Roy" under the watchful eyes of the Ursulines Mother Superior. The new draft of soldiers to the Place D'Armes. All but three, Corinna Chesney the Irish girl "Filles du Roy", Julien Philipe de Duvenet the young Canadian Ensign of Compagnies franches de la Marine, and Chantral Amelie DuJenes "Filles du Roy" princess royal and threat to the throne. They where to be put ashore at De la Seigneuire Volant the home of Charles Stephan de Duvenet father of Julien.

The French call me "L' Ombre du Bois" the shadow of the woods, the Iroquois and Yankee have other names for me. I am respected by my people, a wise one, so some say, one who the grandmothers listen to in council, a leader of my people in war. For none are bound to follow the warriors path as with the Yankee, or French except by there own choice or by the persuasiveness of my words. It is a heavy burden only made lighter by my sister, Talaz. She has eighteen summers I thirty. Except for her I am alone.

My people were driven from the land the Yankee call New Hampshire by their muskets and their spirit weapons that wastes the little ones and warriors alike. Talaz fights their spirit weapons with our ancient ways and the ways of the franches.

The season of war is coming to a close. Many raids have we made against the Iroquois and the Yankee. The franches fight with us, like us, they live with us, and they marry our women and love their children. Not so the Yankee. We swept down on them by Albany town our "tomawacks" raised. Though that defied us our dead. Those who we overcame now our persons, each warrior with the ones he has taken. I have one still they call Mathilde Haes, not Yankee but honors their mountain across the sea (king). At each village they must run the gauntlet, all their men. Some are given to replace fallen warriors others to appease the grief of loss, to test their strength, and to hear their death song. Yet even then our women can save them by throwing the blanket and claiming tem as husband, father, brother, and all of the fallen rights.

The war canoes are far up the river Hudson. Three to one. The one is lost. I shall lead a party to the shore to search for what the river will give her children.

Talaz

I raise my face to the afternoon sun, feeling the crisp breeze blow gently across my face. Soon, yes soon, the sun will grow cool, the snows will come. Already the animals of the forest begin to search and make their homes for the long cold season.

I sit outside of the long house, sorting through the various herbs and plants that I use in the healing arts of my people. Although young, I am well-schooled in the ways of my people, taught by the ancient one who died just this past spring. My healing arts give me certain status among my people, but it is my family that truly sets me and my brother apart. Although older than I by many summers, I have been his responsibility since our father died 8 winters before. My mother I never knew - she died giving me life.

My brother has been gone longer than usual this time, and all the women in the village are uneasy at the possibility that many men will not return. I pray to the powers of my people that my brother is safe and will return unharmed.

As the sun sinks lower into the sky, I feel the breeze now turn chill. Yes, the snows will be here soon. I bundle up the herbs and plants that I have been working with and walk down to the river. Women of my people don't wander off far from the village - indeed we are not seen by many outside our villages unless the white man is brought to us. My brother has warned me many times, yet still I defy him only in this. The women of my people tell me I must have a strong spirit - one much stronger than a woman should have - but I cannot deny who I am.

I walk swifty to the river, wrapping myself in a blanket as I walk. When I reach the shore, I look in the direction that the canoes will be coming from. My brother has said that he must return for me once the season for war has ended, he has need of me to help him. The wind along the river blows through my long, dark hair as I search the river for any sign.

At 18, I am tall for my people, but slender. My dark eyes have the distinct quality of a doe's eyes. My full lips and high cheekbones, cause many in our village to offer advice as who I should call husband. But so far, none are worthy. I know I must choose soon, and that between my family's standing and my talent as a healing woman, I have my pick of any of the men of my people. Still -

The sun glides down below the trees, sinking softly into the earth, as the sky farthest from it begins to darken. No, the men will not be home this evening. We must keep praying. I turn at the sound of my name, realizing I should not be out after dark - we are vulnerable. I head back to the lodge that I share with my brother, and stoke the fire to produce warmth within. Soon the lodge is comfortable, and food is prepared though I don't have much appetite. When night descends, I crawl beneath the furs and dream the dreams of childhood and summers.

Julien Philipe

"Really Julien why do you stare at that riff raff so.?"
Chantral Amelie laid her tapering fingers on the Ensign's arm and gave him a rap with her fan.
He took her hand and kissed it lightly,
"Because my dear, there are jewels of beauty to be found anywhere, none of course to compare to you."
She blushed most fetchingly.
"But I remind you that very soon you will find youself on the marriage dock along with the rest of our tattered roses."

A shadow fell across them and they turned to face the severe visage of Sister Isabelle the Uruline nun who was the girls protector. She grabbed Chantral roughly by the shoulder and pulled her away.
"I am glad this voyage is over young Julien Philip, I plan to report your conduct to your father the instant we are ashore."

The ship canted wildly to starboard as the gang of native servitors of de Duvenet took hold of the tossed mooring lines and began to pull her snug up to the dock and out of the rivers strong current. Sister Isabelle turned green as another wave of nausea struck her and she rushed below in the wake of the exiled princess.

He laughed. The Nun's chronic seasickness had given him pleanty of time to admire and flirt with her dainty charges including Chantral and the wild haired coleen that he'd been staring at so intently.

He looked up from the activity on the landing to the rambling gray fortress like home he'd left three years ago.
His smile disappeared. The nuns threat be damned. He knew there were much more serious things that he would have to confess to his father when at last they were reunited.
(What will I tell him...what will I say?)

Chantral

"Merde!" I mutter as the good sister roughly grabs me and pushes me towards the stairs leading down into hell. I cannot
help muttering, "Mon dieu...that dried up old bat." I am still
stomping my feet and repeating some of the more colorful curse
words I have heard from these rough sailors. But, I have to stop
and laugh as Sister Isabelle once again heads for the chamber pot. Hmmm..the least she could do is lean over the ship like the
others...the smell is horrid.
I can hardly wait for this leaky boat to dock. I am so very sick
of water. Sick of the sister and her maniacal religion. Sick of the
nasty vermin infested food. I long for...fresh air. Long for a bath.
Long for.........home. It has been a long arduous trip. Does my
good uncle know what these voyages are like?!! My punishment
for him would to hog tie him to this tub and let Sister have at him.

I spend a few minutes enlarging that lovely fantasy.....sigh. It
takes so little to make me happy. Ok...I know this is not true.
It takes more than envisioning my Uncle Jean being tortured on this .... ship...to make me happy. Maybe seeing his head on the
pike...or... boiling him in oil. Weak, weak man! Just because the
Court fears my presence I am stuck here in this..swamp! But..I
will show him and Grandmere!

I have honestly tried to forgive him. Tried to understand that
he thinks he is saving me from the intrigues of the court. But
still I will not forgive him. The Brute. I will make him pay for
abandoning me. After I get off this......ship (and I use the term
loosely) I will find a way to have my dreams. And to make sure
that both he and Grandmere know that I have done so.

I know that I will find a husband. And it won't be a fellow french
man.. though God only knows that from what I've heard...every
other man is just a ...a...a savage! But surely....that can't be so.

Can it?

My name is Johannes van der Valk

Ten years before the mast and now, finally, a Captain with fifty two guns under my command. Until this morning. This unholy morning off the coast of New Amsterdam. Alone in a light wind with too much loot and not enough sail we were beset by three British vessels. One, we would surely have sunk. Two, we could hold our own, at least for a time. Three sent us to the bottom with a loss of all hands.

The late evening finds me washed ashore with only a small sack of gold guilders, the tattered uniform on my back and the weapon in my hand. Exhausted, I manage to find a shallow cave and crawl inside to sleep.
I will survive. I will find a new ship even if I have to steal it. I will avenge my crew. I will honor my King. The British may take our colony and destroy the trade we have built up so painstakingly, but they will never take our pride.

Before I sleep I use what's left of my doublett to bandage my thigh where a very rash and now dead, young British officer managed to slip past my guard long enough to leave a deep gash. Sleep - Deal with it in the morning. With luck I'll remain out of their hands long enough to manage a disguise. My french is passable and my english fairly well flawless from years in London as a child. I'll make do.

Corinna Corday listened to the syrupy language of the Continentals. She hated the French. They were so luscivious in speech and in manner. She drew her shawl around her shoulders, trying to protect herself from more than the cold. She could not afford to attract notice, to appear inappropriate. Corinna was desperate to follow the rules of the Mother Superior.

In doing so, she had spent most of the voyage staring out over the billowing waves of the sea. The effect was lost on her, but her eyes had exactly reflecting the blue gray of the ocean. Unfortunatley she had also spent a great deal of time trying to avoid Julien Philip. He had seemed determined to force his company onto every woman on board save the holy sister. Corinna had not been spared.

She looked towards the shore as she waited. The girl saw not the manmade features but looked towards the land. Such a wild place. Green. Not like the emerald beauty of her home, but a darker, more mysterious hue. Her spirits rose at the thought of taking long walks in the wood. She missed the quiet solitude of her walks in the forests of Ulster. It had very near broken her heart to flee the place of her birth.

War Party "L' Ombre du Bois"

Along the banks of the river we search for what she might offer to her children. I freeze. A track, no made by one who knows the woods. It is foreign. Silently swiftly I follow this mark. It is burned into my mind in a flash. I, and the two warriors that follow, dart through the forest shadows between light and dark. Quite as those shadows. Often we check our back trail. We are far from home and nothing but enemies will be found here. We must find them before they find us.

He is there resting upon a tree, seated on mother earth. His weapons at hand. He is out numbered. Yet there is no fear in his eyes. I see the wound upon his thigh. He is weak and quickly we over come him. The capture rope around his neck and wrists. He is pushed before us to join the rest. I have taken him. His fate is in my hands.

We leave the river the Yankee call Hudson. We head north to Canada, "where the people live". Many times we cry the call of the warrior to let those ahead know the number of Yankee we have, and of theses that now walk in the spirit world. When we enter the villages of our people and allies he runs the gauntlet. Always head held high with the spirit of the warrior. He is strong, he survives. Not all are so lucky.

We come at last to my town where my sister waits. Talaz meets me to smug away the evil spirits of our dead enemies that hang about, waiting to take their revenge. The smoke of the sweet grass drives them away. Talza is strong in the ways of peace.

Only two captives remain with us. The woman called "Mathilde Haes" and him, the one called " Johannes van der Valk?

Talaz

The dawn is cool, and the smell of the cooking fires is comforting. There is expectancy within the village - canoes have been spotted on the river. Preparations are made to welcome home those who go to fight for survival of the people. I sit in our lodge, preparing the necessary herbs and plants that will cleanse those who return with the blood of war upon them. The evil spirits must be sated and not allowed to dwell within the village.

Suddenly, there is a roar within the village. Children running back and forth, women alternating between laughing and crying. I hurry out of the lodge, my healing pouch with me. It is not hard to pick out my brother from among the warriors. He is naturally a leader and stands beyond the rest.

I stand at the perimeter of the village, preparing the sweet grass that will give comfort to the spirits and cause them to depart before he enters the village. Our meeting is silent - there will be time for talking later, in privacy. I light the sweet grass, and intone the cantations of our people. Sweeping over the warriors of the village, cleansing them until all are acceptable to enter the village, I notice that there is one who has been brought back who is wounded. I also notice the young woman, obviously a captive.

I look at my brother searchingly - they are his captives, he is responsible for their well-being.

"Talaz, tend the man, then food for both. We shall talk later."

I nod, as I indicate the captives are to be brought to the lodge. The girl is apprehensive and fearful, the man in quite a bit of pain. I notice the wound is deep and has bled freely. He has obviously run the gauntlet, and must have done well. He is somewhat weak, and there is no fear of him running.

At the lodge, I strip away the cloth covering the man's leg and look at his wound. Deep, yes, but the evil spirits have not yet entered his body. Cleaning the wound, I apply the remedies of our people and wrap his wound, assured his healing would be quick. Throughout the ordeal he watches me, yet not one sound escapes his lips. Ah, brave indeed. A lesser man would cry out because of such a wound. I look into his eyes, not sure if he will understand me. I speak the white man's language only sparingly.

Pointing to the wound, and looking at him, I state, "It heal soon." I can only hope my words in the language of the French will be understood.

Rising, I walk to the cooking fire, and spoon out a serving of food for each and serve both the man and the woman. As I look up, I see my brother approach, and set about preparing his food.

I slept fitfully that night

and in the morning dragged myself out of the cave and into the morning sun.
The thigh wound was deep but when I checked the bandage I knew it to be a clean cut which would heal well. Still, I needed food and water and clothes more suitable for this new world in which I found myself.

It was ungodly quiet in this place. so quiet I could hear the sound of water running over rocks somewhere nearby. Using my sabre for a crutch, I followed my ears to a small creek where I washed my wound and quenched my thirst. In doing so I realized I was weaker than I had first thought but the water revived me - I would live - of that I was cetain.

Minutes later I sat resting under a great tree facing a remarkable young savage. They had come upon me like shadows, so swiftly I had no time even to consider defending myself. I am, however the son of the Falcon and was wise enough not to struggle as the rope went around my throat and my hands were bound before me. The one who appeared to be leader immediately took my sabre into his hands and drew the heavily stained blade from its scabbard. His eyes recognized fresh blood on the steel and turned to me with knowledge in them.

He grunted and motioned to the others that I should be joined with the other captives huddled together surrounded by savages. They appeared a pitiful lot except for one young woman who managed to keep her dignity in spite of having been subjected to obvious abuse. All of them were covered with bruises and open sores. I would soon discover the ritual behind the pain.

At the first encampment we came to there was some commotion at our arrival and then the entire population of women and children formed a double line facing each other. At first there was laughter and much noise. Then the first of the captives was herded between the lines and the mood turned hostile. With his hands tied, the man began to run and as he did so the villagers beat him with sticks, tripped him, spat on him, cut him with sharp flint and pushed him from side to side until he reached the other end of the line bloodied and bruised but alive.

One by one the captives ran screaming and crying through the gauntlet. Two of them did not reach the far end and died in a horrid pool of blood. Swifter than eagles strike a warrier decended upon each of them and in a single movement cut the scalp and hair of the victim to hold it over his head dripping red as he screamed gibberish to the sky.

When it came my turn, I chose not to run at all but walked as evenly as I could with my head up and my eyes forward. The first blows came and went. With each step it seemed they came slower and with less force until, by the time I reached the end, there was silence. Before me stood my captor holding my sabre in one hand and a crudely fashioned flint hatchet in the other. For one long moment I expected to die there, far from home and very much alone but it seemed our captor had other plans for me for he turned and spoke rapidly to the others in his native tounge, whereupon I was roughly taken to the clearing where the others huddled and given some strange food to eat.

It went like that from village to village and after a time only myself and the girl remained alive. And then, one morning some weeks after my capture we arrived at a large village where it seemed the war party had originated. On entering the camp, a single female savage went directly to the leader of our group and, after a brief conversation, collected myself and the girl and took us away to one of the long lodges where she cleaned and dressed my leg. Finished, she looked into my eyes and said in halting French "it heal soon".

While she was busy with her task I took pains to observe her closely and concluded she was a younger sister to the man who had captured me. She was as beautiful as he was handsome. Lustrous black hair, braided and coiled upon her head; soft leather tunic covering a strong and shapely form and an astonishingly lovely face. Silently she gave us food and drink and motioned us to sit in a corner of the lodge. Shortly after, her brother arrived and she seemed to forget us completely as she went about caring for his needs. He too ignored us and so I took the opportunity to sleep. In the morning I could consider my chances to escape.

Mathilde Haes

It had been twenty-one days since my capture. I could not complain overly about my treatment; I had been treated with much more leniance than the captured men of our band, and even though I was treated sometimes roughly or knocked back into my place, I was never made to run the "Schreckliche Straße" (or the 'Terrible Road'), as I had come to call it.

The savages moved like a flood over the lands, quickly and as easily as water washes over the shore. I had discovered new muscles in my claves, ankles and feet that I did not know existed, trying to keep up with my captors- but I dare not stumble and fall back, for fear of the treatment should I try such a thing.

I am not the same woman as I was twenty-one days ago. The dust of the road and the moss under my head as I slept on the forest floors, has done some to change this. Just as animals lose their protective layer of fat from infancy, so have I also lost mine. I have long since felt even the slightest bit as the dainty woman which I was accustomed to being. In my treatment, and the physical exhertion of my body, I know that I would never be such an innocent again.

Several weeks into our journey, the traveling band captured another man. I was greatful that he spoke a germanic language, as the other members in the party did not, and my French was limited, my vocabulary only encompassing words that would be useful during the trading of furs. In fact, I knew more of the native tongue, than that of the French language, and too late I wished that I had listened to my Grandmother when she spoke that it was neccesary to learn.

I was with this man now, seemingly at the end of our journey, and I could do little to communicate with anyone else but him. I longed for companionship, a kindred spirit, but there was a wall between us that prevented much communication- My companion was sick, feverish. The wound in his leg was bad.

I was relieved when we were sent to a young native woman, who attended to him. I sat in silence, watching as the dressing were changed, the stench of the wound cleaned from his thigh and a poultice applied. The woman spoke something that I did not understand, but I saw a hint of recognition in my companions eyes, and saw that he was glad.

And here we were. I smiled at the woman, knowing that I must appear dishevelled and ugly to her. I might as well be polite, after all, I certainly must appear more a savage at this point.

I had ceased to be frightened of my predicament, and only wished that I knew what was in store for me. Death? Or was it something else? I yearned to know my fate, with an intensity that gnawed at my mind.

Amalie

I can hardly believe that the trip across the ocean is finally over. I had heard that the passage could be difficult, but had no way of knowing what to expect. My previous experience was limited to crossing the Channel...

Best not to think about that. That part of my life is over, I hope. So here I am, in a new world, about to start a new life. And I am all alone. The rules and expectations of the world I have just left would not stand for that, a young woman all by herself. I hope this world has different expectations for that.

Looking around the small cabin once more, I think of all of the things I no longer have. My beloved parents, gone. If I know no other thing, I know that they would understand why I had to flee. I hope they are looking down from heaven, and see that I have managed to escape the hell I had found myself in. To return home would mean a hell even worse.

Since there is no going back, the only course open to me is to go forward, and make the best I can out of the situation. It could be worse. I didn't come out of the situation without funds. Though in shock I may have been, I thanked the angels watching over me that I had had the presence of mind to take all the money I could find as I fled into the night. What is one more crime, after all, after so many?

Sighing, and shaking my head, I walk toward the door, heading to the deck for a breath of air.

Jules deDuvenet

"Jules!...JULES!"
He recognized the stocky figure of his father on the pier and waved back to him.
"Papa!" he called, "How are you? How's mama?"
A dark cloud suddenly seemed to descend over Charles deDuvenet.
"I will tell you when you come ashore."

There was trouble, Jules had no doubt. The letter he'd recieved just before he left mentioned that she'd been sick and that was written in the spring,it was now October. Soon the terrible winter would set in.
Forgetting for a moment his flirtations and the gambling debts he owed to half the ships officers, Jules rushed through the 'filles du Roi' gathered above the gangway, stepping on one young woman's foot which got him a blow in the back with her canvas bag.
He turned to confront the wild haired beauty of Corinna Corday with whom he'd had more than a few friendly chats.
He was about to strike back, when he heard his Father call him once again.
He smiled,
"Miss Corday, of course...I apologise, perhaps later..."

"Jules!"

He bowed,
"Later then. I have to go."

Captain Bienoit blocks young Julien Philip way.

"Monsieur, I am afraid I can not let you are these young ladies debark here in Quebec."......"I have my orders, and they are quite clear."......."Besides there is a matter of a debt of honor. Is there Not?"...."Which must be settled.

"Monsieur Charles Stephan de Duvenet, your father may board."


A military guard was posted at the foot of the brow.

Chantral

Finally, we are docked. I heard "Land-Ho" and was packed and
ready within mere moments! I practically elbow my way thru my fellow filles du roi and I did elbow the matronly wicked sister (a good one, I might add.) I sped past quickly (can't catch me) and headed towards the rail. Ah.....the smell of land, green and lush.
I feel like a prisoner who has finally been released. I swear when
we disembark, I will get down on all fours and kiss the ground.
I never thought I'd be happy to be here....but after that long
miserable trip, even New France looks like paradise. Actually it
is quite beautiful, though I will deny ever even thinking it.

Why are we not leaving this wretched watery prison? As I am very tiny, I have forgotten all my lady-in-waiting training and am
practically jumping trying to see over my fellow weary travellers.
"Sacre Bleu", I swear as I once again begin my elbow trek thru
thru the crowds. I finally get close enough to see the Captain
halting Julien...what? I can see a soldier standing at the ramp.
"What is going on?" , I wonder aloud. A quiet woman in front of
me, I think her name is Amalie, turns to look at me and says, "Miss
DuJenes, I hope I am wrong, but I think we are not leaving this
noble ship anytime soon." She turns back to watch and I am
utterly defeated. But, not for long. Now I am furious! I refuse
to go back into that cramped little room. Stamping my feet once
again, I mutter "I am going to kill whoever is responisble for
this. Who do they think they are dealing with? I am a royal
princess!" And pushing my way towards the captain, I can hear
myself mutter..."Heads will roll, I can promise you!"

I stand on deck, looking down at the scene on the docks, my heart pounding so hard that I look around to see if anyone else can hear it. They don't seem to notice, which is amazing to me. I must not show my fear, whatever I do. There was every chance that this hold-up had nothing at all to do with me. I hoped. Could it? Must stay calm. News could not have reached here so quickly. This was the first ship to leave, and there had been none after it scheduled for at least a week. We could not have been passed...

The crowd around me begins to shift and a young girl pushes her way to the front, standing next to me, demanding to know what what was going on. The trip had been exceptionally hard for her to endure. She wanted off the ship as much as all of the others. As for myself, I was regretting the end of the journey. The ship had been a safe-haven for me for such a brief time. I turn to her and say, in what I hope is a sympathetic tone, free of the terrible fear that is almost overwhelming me:

"Miss DuJenes, I hope I am wrong, but I think we are not leaving this noble ship anytime soon."

Then, to hide the fear from her, and those around me, I again turn to look toward the docks, and across to the land beyond. Such a large, beautiful land, so different than anything I have ever seen before. Surely this land is big enough to lose yourself in. If those guards aren't meant for me, that is...

Charles

I was angery when I arrived to await my son, his words dashed my anger breifly with a cold rain of loss. Taking a deep breath I tried to refuel my anger, but at this time it would not truly come. It was, of course, my rapscallion son's mother as well as my wife who had passed. I ran a hefty hand through my salt and peppered hair as I argued with myself with what to say to Julien.

My thoughts were interupted by news that the passangers were not to disembark, I however, could board. I thanked the young man who had relayed this to me and allowed him to show to the ship. As I closed the distance between the dock and my son, I noticed that Julien was probably guessing the truth about his mother. Not that it was written all over my sleeve, but my furrowed brow left traces of the loss in my heart in my eyes. Upon reaching him I spoke, dry throated and softly, "Julien," I coughed, "Julien, your mother has passed," I could not help mysef but to clutch my son and pull him tight to me for one brief grapple of shared sorrow.

I broke the hug as quickly as I could and stepped back a half step, "Julien, we must speak," I began, forcing the perterbed fatherly tone back into my voice, "privately I should think." Clasping my hands behind my back and looking him in the eye, "Your cabin, Sir?" I suggested with a forced disdainful air.

In the flood of emotions of the moment I had not even thought to ask about the guards, or the non-disembarkment of passengers. It was far too trivial to even consider at the moment.

Corinna felt grateful when Philip was called away before he could bother her greatly. She felt her nerves go on edge every time he came near. The last she needed was an entanglement with another rogue.

With quiet calm, she watched the passengers trying to get off the ship. Corinna sighed as she watched the two women, Amelie and Chantal. No doubt upset that she could not disembark, Chantal stamped off in a huff. Amelie looked stricken and Corinna's heart went out to her. The fear in the girl's eyes echoed the terror in her own. She crossed the deck and laid a gentle hand on Amelie's shoulder.

In a soothing voice, she said, "It appears we will be aboard this ship for awhile longer. Why don't we go find a quiet spot below deck where we can talk."

Ship

The hand on my shoulder startles me. My nerves over the past several weeks have been so stretched that the slightest thing sends me to panic. Then I hear the soft voice of Corinna in my ear.

"It appears we will be aboard this ship for awhile longer. Why don't we go find a quiet spot below deck where we can talk."

Smiling at the woman whose friendship had meant so much, I nod and walk at her side, to a more private place. I sensed that she, too, had secrets that she was holding close. In unspoken agreement, we had never asked the other to tell our stories. I would have hated to have had to lie. Friends are a rare thing, even short friendships such as this one.

" The journey is all but over now. It will be a sad thing to leave. This ship has come to feel like a home to me."

Talaz

As my brother ate the food served to him, it was obvious that he was weary from his travels. As soon as he finished, he crawled beneath the furs and slept soundly, dreaming only the dreams that warriors do. The meeting with the elders of the village would wait until he was rested.

I looked over at the man who appeared to be asleep as well. It was best - his body had been brutalized repeatedly from village to village and sleep would be the best of all healers.

As I picked up the the eating things, I glanced at the girl. I had expected her to sleep as well. The journey had to have been rough for all but those experienced at traveling in the wilderness. This woman's clothes suggested otherwise. I was surprised to find her awake and watching me, a slight, hesitant smile playing across her lips.

I had seen many foreigners come and go - some taken to other villages, others ransomed by the their families. Sometimes it was best not to get too involved. Still the smile was engaging. I looked at her, her hair dirty and ratted, her dress ripped and torn from the journey. She didn't appear injured, just hungry if her appetite was any judge. Sensing a bit of the fearful about her, I left her in the lodge while I cleaned the eating things and put them away.

Coming back to the lodge, I found my brother still asleep and the man as well. The girl had dozed but awoke when I entered. I motioned to her to follow me, and she caught on quickly. With one of the other warriors from the village we walked to the edge of the river, where the warrior turned his back and leaned against a tree. I motioned to the girl to go into the river, to ride herself of the dirt that covered her skin. She looked at the warrior, until I took her hand and walked her down to the river's edge. Pushing her in slightly, she waded in the rest of the way, and I motioned to her to give me her clothing. Her eyes grew wide with fear, but I managed to stare her down. Slowly, she removed the multiple layers that white women were fond of wearing. As she tossed them to the shore, I handed her the herbs necessary to cleanse her body and she soon caught on.

After she had bathed, I gave her an old tunic, leggings, and moccasins that had been one of the women's, and she quickly put them on against the chill air. Working her hair quickly, I placed it in a long braid down her back, which was much more practical than how it had been.

When we returned to the lodge, I noticed my brother was gone and a warrior sitting outside our lodge. I knew he was there to watch the man, who I noticed upon entering had awakened and seemed to have a rather sour expression. The girl curled up on one of the furs and fell asleep, as I took unwrapped the man's injured leg and changed the dressing. He would bear a scar, but he would heal well. As I finished dressing his wound, I felt his eyes upon me, and when I looked up, I stared directly into his. He was handsome, if fair, and I couldn't help but notice the line of his jaw and the shape of his eyes.

Suddenly, my brother entered the lodge, cursing lightly under his breathe. Keeping my eyes on the man, I moved towards my brother, and speaking in our native tongue asked what was wrong.

"We must leave tomorrow to trade with the white man, and we are to take these two with us. I have barely arrived back, and I am to be gone again!"

"But the snows will come soon, and travel will be difficult. Especially with these two."

"Yes, I know, I know. But what are we to do? And you, you are to come with me this time, Talaz."

My eyes grew wide. It was common for a woman to go with the men to trade, but normally it was a woman of many years, and a respected elder in the village. I had not yet attained that status.

"Me? Why me?"

"It is what the council has decided. Go. Prepare what is necessary. We leave tomorrow at dawn."

Quickly, I go about make preparations - packing up sleeping bundles and extra moccasins. Preparing my healing pouch, and collecting food to take on the journey. Although confused as to why I should be chosen to go, I was also happy in my heart as I had never travelled that far before - and into the very heart of the white man's territory. My brother had always been too protective of me to allow me to go farther than needed to collect the plants and herbs that I needed for healing.

I awaited the dawn with special anticipation.

Captain Bienoit

There was a flurry of activity as "Monsieur Charles Stephan de Duvenet, boarded the little Caravel. All but our steward band were allowed ashore in the Capital City, all but them.

I took a week for them to beat their way up the river to the estate of Jueles's father. The Captian told the remaining passengers that they would be leaving the Ship here.

The small landing was a bustling with activity as the vessel was moored. and our party departed.

The last to leave where the Duvenet's.

Captain Bienoit handed Monsieur Charles Stephan de Duvenet a sealed packet that bore the Governor General personal seal.

The Manor house set on a high bluff over looking the river. next to it the windmill, spread around it the homes of the settlers. A church was rising on a small knoll back from the river.

war party

I am weary from the path of the warrior; the need to see all is well for the journey. Women and children, dogs and lodges, scouts to keep them safe. These things pull me from my loge, from she that calls me brother.

Talza is both sister and wife to me. She has all the burdens and none of the pleasures of that role. I see the sorrow in her eyes as the women advise her on the choice of husband. Then chide her for delaying. It has always been the way of our people for the women to chose. Her spirit is troubled and that turns the food to dust in my mouth.

Talza I draw her near to me as when she was a child. Her head rests upon my chest and her form is draped across my lap. I feel a tear wet my chest. Soft sighs of sorrow reach my ears. I stroke her hair I sing the song of spring and hope to her.

My feelings are not those of a brother. She does not know the past. For her mother carried her still when I first came to this lodge. A captive as the like Dutchman to be made son for one lost. To be condemned to brother of one I love. I sing the song of spring and wish that things where different.

Could she but know my feelings? To sing the song of courting.

Alas I sing the song of spring the song of hope yet born.


Talaz Mother.

Chantral

It was another week before we were allowed to FINALLY disembark at the Duvenet's estate. A long miserable week.
I have been dying all these 7 days to know what happened to Julien. I watched the missive delivered to Monsieur Duvenet after
he boarded. I could have wept at hearing that we could not
get off this miserable tub. Traveling inlets and rivers, it took us
a week to arrive here and a slow laborious trek it was.
I swear, I will rot here in this rustic wilderness before I ever
step foot on another ship.
I have tried to be optimistic but merde! Who could with the Sister
constantly praying and bemoaning her miserable existance?
Even St Geneviev would be hard pressed to keep from stanguling her! I was so grateful to hear that she would only be staying
at the manor for a few days before she is to leave for her new
order. (Mon dieu, there is a God!)
There has been no one to talk to. Not really. The other filles
du roi, I think do not like me. Surely, it can't be that. But, they
like most of us, have their own little secrets. I don't care! (well
not much anyway...) But I am a little lonely. Mayhaps, it is just
homesickness that leaves this little ache in my heart. Not
that anyone will ever know that! I have been schooled to be
aloof. My Grandmere would kill me if I ever slipped and let my
human frailities be publicly seen. Ha! She can no longer see
me, I can do what I want now! I am alone and in a new country!
But my courtly training may serve me well in this rustic unbelievable wilderness. How could the King think there would
be anyone here in this.......New France that would make good
husbands for us? What was he thinking?? I wish I could lay
my head down and just cry. I wish ...I wish ...I wish I could get
my hands around Uncle Jean's throat!
The manor is lovely. Of course, right now after so long, on
this leaky beast, a log cabin would appeal to me. (Though, probably not for long.) The grounds are beautiful and it
looks prosperous enough. Stepping off the ramp, my legs a little
rubbery, I finally stood on terra firma. I tried to maintain my
dignity, but I (for one small second) leaned towards the ground
with my lips pursed. If it hadn't been for the Monsieur Duvenet's
hand at my elbow, I may have done just that. At the smile of
a very black steward, I wanted to smile but thought better of
it. Sometimes it is very tedious being a french princess. sigh....

War party

.The next morning with the rising of the sun we are on the move. Dogs with travois pulled to the river's edge. The canoes are loaded. The people ready, the journey begun. The prisoners keep to themselves. The coughing speech assaults my ears. Not is it the tongue of Abenaki, the franches' , nor even the yankee. They are watched more carefully guarded then they think.

Often my sister wanders on her quest for knowledge. I worry for her gentle spirit, and for her safety.

This thought trouble me, but now is not the time. It is the time of the people to move, and so we do, for many long portages and days. North to the mother ST-Lawrent.

Mathilde Haes

The night had descended quickly, and by the crackling light of the central fire pit, I watched the 'little mother' attend to my companion, glancing at and watching over all who slept here. She was as mother to all, it seemed her role by choice rather than by duty.

I was not suprised when she motioned me to follow her, though I was curious behind the purpose. Soon, the answers were revealed as I was lead to a slow river, alongside the woman and a stout warrior, who turned his back as the woman motioned with a graceful hand to the water.

I must not have moved quickly enough, for she took my hand, pulling me to the waters edge, then pushing me firmly but gently calf-deep into the water. Taking the hint, I waded the rest of the way in, and she tugged slightly on my skirt, motioning for me to remove my clothing.

This was certainly something that no proper woman would do! But her gaze was intent and persistant, and I was beginning to feel less-than-human in my current state, matted with dirt, and sweat, and grime. A bath would do me good.

One by one I removed the tattered clothing, tossing it to the riverbank. Naked, and feeling more than a bit vulnerable, I was given herbs, which had a clean, if slightly medicanal smell, and these I used to remove the dust of travel. Humming softly, I began to enjoy my bath, a luxury that I had not had in some time, and I sang an old tune that my mother had often sang to me when I was a little girl.

"My paddle's keen and bright
Flashing like silver
Follow the wild goose flight
Dip, dip, and swing

Dip, dip, and swing em' back,
Flashing like silver
Follow the wild goose flight
Dip, dip, and swing.."

The woman made a noise in the back of her throat, and I knew that she was growing impatient with me. I climbed out of the water, shivering in the chill night air, and glancing nervously to the warrior, who still had his back turned.

Blushing softly under the woman's observation, I crossed my arms over my chest, and tried to preserve my modesty as much as possible, with my lack of clothes. Reaching down to grab my clothing, I found them quickly snatched away from me. The indian maid tossed my torn and bloodied clothing into the river and sent them floating downstream. I only blinked at her in disbelief.

"You would have me go nude then?" I asked outloud, but was handed a tunic, leggings, and a pair of strange indian shoes. They were clean and sturdy, and I gladly put them on. Then she worked at my hair, brushing it with a dry cow tongue, and plaiting it into a long braid down my back. I had the urge to embrace her, but resisted.

When I was led back to the sleeping furs, this time I knew that I could sleep. I glanced to my wounded companion, adjusted the furs up to his neck, and then settled down beside him, falling quickly asleep.