“Stay here,” Shaw-nee-awk-kee muttered to her at the doorway. The rough tavern door stood open to the muggy night air. Still she hurried to close the gap between her and Shaw-nee-awk-kee. She ignored them with the cool reserve her mother had taught her. She heard soft appreciative exclamations in French, “La belle, la jeune fille.” Many of them followed her, murmuring to each other. Their heads turned and they nudged each other in the ribs. Staring at the flimsy stockade of slender tree trunks bound together, she walked inside.Īfter living a few months among the Algonquin, she was startled that white men now looked strange to her with their beards, knit caps, buckskin breeches, and colorful plaid cotton shirts. She climbed out of the canoe and heard the squish of the wet sand under her worn-thin soles.
The two Algonquin beached the canoe and without a glance backward, headed toward the crude fort.Ĭhristiane took a deep breath, reciting a half-remembered prayer to herself. When they reached the trading post on the western shore, the bronze summer sun gleamed low through black tree trunks. She pressed her face harder against her knees. She fought her way to the surface of this feeling, gasping for air, pushing down panic. The thought brought fear, a rush of sensation-as if the bottom of the canoe, her protection, parted, and she was plunged into the cool water. But she’d fled France with her father, here to Canada and then… She thrust all thoughts of the past year aside. But instead, the river, shimmering with molten sunlight, gave her glimmers of the past-candlelight on silver, soft lace against skin, frosting on the tip of the tongue. She glanced sideways into the remorseless current, wishing for time, for control. In the cramped space, she hugged her knees to herself and pressed her forehead against her tattered skirt. To the rhythm of the dipping paddles, they were gliding farther down the Ottawa River.
She sat between her Algonquin father Shaw-nee-awk-kee and his son in a birch bark canoe. Once again she had embarked on another journey that would change her life. Christiane blinked away the bright morning sunlight but could not blink away the dread. Tonight, I’ll lie beside some stranger as his wife. This book is dedicated to my faithful readers for their support.
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