Blue Eyes Crying in the Rain
by Tanya Reed
Most Nova Scotians and fans of Longfellow will recognize the date of the next piece. It takes place in Canada, and is quite a well known bit of our history. Thanks again to everyone who has taken the time to review.
Disclaimer: Due South is not mine, but I did come up with the story idea.
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July 28, 1755
Marguerite d'Entremont wiped a stray strand of dark hair from her brow with the back of her hand as she turned from the fireplace. Her gaze wandered to the faces around her. Happy, happy faces.
Little Marie was carefully cutting carrots, even the smallest knife looking huge in her tiny white hands. Claire, though only three, was proudly placing the dishes on the table. She loved it when Papa hugged her and told her what a big girl she was. On the floor in the corner, Helene played with Etienne, keeping the baby out from under foot. Watching them, joy and love filled Marguerite. They were hers and his. Together, the two of them had made something so wonderful that at times it brought tears to her eyes.
"There, Maman," Marie said proudly. "I chopped them all myself."
"That's my girl. Come put them in the stew. You know, if there is enough rabbit left, we will have a treat for tomorrow."
"Rappie pie!" Claire squealed in delight, almost dropping her plates.
Marguerite grinned at her, getting a grin in return. "Just don't drop Papa's plate. He'll be mad if he has to eat off of the floor."
This caused a chorus of giggles from the girls. Papa never got angry. It was into this merriment that a small boy came charging through the door. It banged loudly on its wooden casing, making the baby jump and start to cry.
Marguerite scooped up Etienne, scolding, "Marc, how many times have I told you not to bang open that door?"
"Sorry, Maman. What's for supper? It smells great."
He threw his mother a disarming grin and moved to the supper table.
"No, Marc, I get to sit by Papa!" Claire cried in protest as she saw which chair he was taking.
"You can each take a side," their mother said, striving to keep peace, as she bounced Etienne gently on her hip.
"Marc, did you leave the door open again?" came a soft voice as a man entered the small house.
There was a general scream of 'Papa!' as Marguerite watched her three daughters swarm the tall man in the doorway. The same look of surprised amusement he wore every day went over his face, a smile dancing in his blue eyes.
Not for the first time in their eight years of marriage, Marguerite found herself studying Benton. His honest, handsome face showed a kindness and patience that most of her brothers had lacked. His dark curly hair was soft and perfect to run her fingers through. After all of these years, the sight of him still made her heart beat faster. Every time she saw him with the children, it made her love grow stronger.
Flipping one of the girls onto his back and letting the other two drag him to the table, Benton gave an appreciative sniff.
"Something smells wonderful."
"I helped cook, Papa," Marie told him proudly.
"I'm glad. You're a great cook," he replied, tousling her dark hair.
"Maman said I could sit by you tonight, Papa," This was Claire.
Helene, the quiet one, didn't say anything. She just buried her face in her father's shoulder, hugging him tight.
"How long for supper, Maman? I'm starving." Marc broke the spell Marguerite seemed to be under. Once more the truth hit her that this wasn't just any family, this was her family.
"Sit down, Benton. You must be tired." For the first time, she noticed the dirt smudged on his face and in his clothes.
After first going to the basin, and forcing Marc to do the same, he wearily sat down at the table.
"Can I serve tonight, Maman?" Marie asked eagerly.
Marguerite, who had also had a hard day, nodded and sat down. Etienne settled comfortably in her lap.
"There was another meeting in Halifax today, Meggie," Benton commented, shortly after Grace, taking a bite of bread.
"Another, mon cher? Why? It seems they always end the same. We said we will not fight. That should be enough for them!"
"But some of us are French..."
"Benton!" Marguerite shushed him with a glare.
He nodded in understanding.
She, however, continued, "Some have taken the oath. Many have fled."
She thought sadly of the good bye she had shared with her only sister. Isabelle's husband had taken his wife and fled to Ile Saint-Jean. When he had urged Benton to do the same, Marguerite's husband had gotten that calm masklike look on his face. His jaw had set stubbornly and he had replied that no one would drive him from his home. Marguerite had felt a fierce pride in Benton at that moment.
Benton's jaw tightened now. "Fled their homes because of a threat we've been subjected to for almost a hundred years."
"I know, Benton. I know...Would you like some stew, Etienne? It's good. Maman made it."
"What was the meeting about, Papa?" Marc asked, putting down his milk glass. Marguerite noticed with amusement that it had left a white ring on his upper lip.
"Nothing important," Benton assured him. "The English are blowing smoke again."
"I heard that the..." Marc screwed up his face to remember, "...um, New Englanders...That they want to throw us out of our homes."
"They're British subjects. All the British want to throw us out of our homes," came the remarkably grown up reply from Marie.
"Marie, where did you hear that?" Marguerite demanded.
"Grandpere."
"Benton, you've got to tell him to stop scaring my children."
"I'm sorry, Meggie. I'll talk to him in the morning." Benton wiped his mouth on his napkin and stood up. "Would you like me to take the baby? I'm finished and you've barely touched your meal."
Marguerite gave him a grateful smile. Her husband was a rare sort. He enjoyed taking care of his children, something those around him considered a woman's place. She loved to watch him crawling around on the wooden floor, a child on his back, or tickling Helene until the normally serious child burst into giggles.
Now, she watched as he noted Etienne's drooping eyes. Gently holding the baby to his chest, he moved around the room, singing softly. By the end of his song, Etienne wasn't the only one with heavy eyes. Helene had fallen asleep with her face on her spoon, and Claire was gripping the table and blinking rapidly.
"I'll get the twins," Marguerite said, finishing the last of her stew.
Gently, she brought one little girl into her arms, then the other one. Marc and Marie knew that this was a signal for them to get ready for bed also. They followed their mother into their bedroom without complaint as their father brought the baby into the other room.
There were two beds in the tiny bedroom. The girls shared the big one and Marc got the little one all to himself--at least until another baby pushed Etienne out of the cradle.
As Marguerite put the twins down, watching to make sure Marc and Marie got undressed, Helene woke up and pursed her lips for a kiss. This, her mother gave her without question, giving one to her twin as well.
"My turn, Maman! My turn!" Marie said, jumping into bed with her sisters. With a smile, her mother kissed her too.
"Well, Marc?"
At the age of seven, Marc was beginning to feel he was too grown up for things like kisses.
"Well, what, Maman?" He looked at her with those honest, clear blue eyes he had inherited from Benton.
"Do I get to kiss you tonight?"
He looked thoughtful, thinking it over. "I guess so, but just for tonight."
Marguerite would always be grateful for that kiss.
It was just a short while later, after cleaning up the supper dishes and massaging Benton's sore back, that Marguerite found herself slipping into bed beside her husband. He sighed contentedly as she wrapped her arms around him.
"We are truly blessed," he whispered, running his fingers through her dark hair.
"Etienne spoke today."
"He did? What did he say?"
Marguerite laughed softly. "What do they all say first? Papa, of course."
"Some day," he assured her, kissing her forehead. "One of them will say Maman first and Marie will have to throw water on you to revive you."
"Oh, I don't mind, Benton. When they want fun and spoiling, they go to you, but when they're hurt or frightened, it's 'Maman! Maman!'"
A little smile of satisfied pride settled on her lips.
"They are growing up so quickly."
"Yes," she agreed. "Soon, Marc will be old enough to take over half of the fields. That will be better on your poor back."
"I saw Helene in the orchard today. I don't think you'll have any trouble getting her to help gather the apples in the fall. Little as she is, she can still be of some use."
"I think," Marguerite commented, kissing his chest, "God blessed our wedding day. It seems almost a sin to be so happy."
With a gentle finger, Benton raised her face to his. He kissed her gently, softly causing warmth to flood through her body.
"You're tired," she protested, but not too firmly.
"I am never too tired for you, Meggie. I just want to show you how happy you make me."
With a sigh, she gave in and fell into his love...
Marguerite was awakened by a pounding on the door. Beside her, Benton stirred, but continued to sleep. With a frown, she covered her husband and made her way to the main room of their home. Glancing out a nearby window, she noticed that dawn was just starting to tinge the horizon.
"I'll be right there. Wait a moment."
Still, the pounding continued. Grumbling, she stumbled to the door, opening it a crack.There was a man on the other side, an English soldier. He looked cross and his bayonet was in his hand.
"Yes?"
He said something in his strange language, but she did not understand. Benton was the one who knew pieces of English.
"I don't understand," she protested, shaking her head for emphasis.
"You must come with me," he told her in broken French.
"My husband..." Marguerite pointed towards the back of the house.
The man just stared at her and repeated, "You must come with me."
Two more soldiers joined the first at the door. They spoke to him and he replied. Frustration and fear made Marguerite grit her teeth. She hated not knowing what they were saying about her.
"Marguerite?" Benton's voice called from the bedroom.
Just hearing him made relief flood her. Benton would know what to do.
"Soldiers," she answered simply.
Within seconds, his face was at the door. He frowned slightly as he saw the men just outside of his home. Quietly, he said something in their language and was answered angrily. His frown deepened and he spoke again. One of the soldiers moved forward threateningly. Benton gave a slight nod.
"Marguerite, get dressed and dress the children."
"But, Benton..."
"Just do it!"
Hurt, Marguerite headed for the bedroom. Benton had never snapped at her before. In fact, she had never heard him snap at anyone. She wondered what was going on. Questions burned in her mind, but she pushed them away. If her husband was frightened--he must be frightened to snap that way--then now was not a time to question his judgment.
She dressed quickly, then took the baby from his cradle. As she went to wake the rest of her family, she heard voices. One was calm and rational, and the other was harsh and angry. She wished she knew what they were saying.
"What's going on, Mama?" Marie asked as Marguerite bent over her.
"It is very important to get up now, ma chere, and you must be very grown up and help Maman dress the little ones."
Handing Etienne to Marc, who she had awakened first, Marguerite started getting her other three children ready. Feeling her mood, they helped when they could and remained completely silent. Etienne began to cry in his brother's arms, but even his sobs were quiet.
The five of them, once dressed, huddled together, staring at their mother with wide eyes. She looked at their faces, so solemn despite their tender ages. Motioning with her head, she indicated that they must all go face what was waiting.
Benton turned when he heard them enter. Marguerite avoided his eyes, focusing her attention on her children instead.
"We must go with these men to Port Royale, Meggie," he said softly.
She lifted her head to look at him. His face was so masklike it looked as if it would crack. His eyes, in contrast, were a raging storm. Anger. Fear. Determination. Resolve.
"I will pack..."
"No. There is no time."
"But our things..."
"It was all I could do to get them to allow you to dress. You must trust me. It will be all right."
She stared hard at him for a moment, then nodded, taking the baby from Marc.
"Children, we are going on a trip. I want you to be extra good. Show your father you know how to behave."
Round eyes and white faces were all that answered her. She hugged Etienne closer, wishing she could hold all of her babies at the same time. Benton knelt and took Helene in one arm and Claire in the other. To Marie and Marc, he gave a small smile. Then he turned to the English soldiers and gave them a sharp nod. Two moved to his side, holding their bayonets ready. The last one came to Marguerite and roughly took her arm. Frightened, Marc and Marie took each others hands.
Then, the family of seven stepped out of their safe and happy home and into hell.
Marguerite heard the screams as soon as the door opened. At their sound, Marie and Marc pressed against her legs and the twins buried their faces in Benton's shirt. Her eyes started to burn as she took in the scene around her, and she didn't know if it was smoke or repressed tears. Soldiers were everywhere. They were herding people, striking some. Children were crying for their parents, and all around were the flames. They licked at every building, barn or house, and at tender new shoots.
Turning her head slightly, Marguerite saw a man with a torch come forward and throw it at one of her own windows.She wanted to join her neighbors in their screaming, to kick and fight her way free. Pride and her promise to Benton stopped her. Making her face as cold as her husband's, Marguerite put her back to the home she had known for eight years. She was even almost successful at blocking out the horrifying sounds.
The soldier gripping her arm spoke sharply. She looked to Benton. Quietly, he told her, "He said if we come quietly none of us will be hurt."
Marguerite's urge to wrench her arm from the soldier's grip and join the others in their mad, unsuccessful dashes for freedom intensified. Her dignity, however, would not allow it, and she couldn't bear the thought of Benton believing she was a coward.
As she walked down the little dirt street that ran through the centre of the village, she tried not to look right or left. Still, out of the corner of her eye, the flames seemed to call to her. The heat from them soon had her dress soaked with sweat. Inside of her, something seemed to be dying, and she couldn't even find the strength to pray.
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They were in the labour camp for five days, crowded into a room in the fort and guarded at all times. When Marguerite asked Benton what they were waiting for, he told her boats.
Boats to where? she wondered.
The children remained solemn and seemed to take on some of the stoicism of their parents. Marguerite felt cold all of the time. She tried not to show it, but Benton felt it. She knew this because whenever they were alone, he tightened an arm around her. Those were the only times she could feel herself almost relax.
It was on the fifth day when she was sitting listlessly, Etienne in her lap, that she heard excited noises coming from outside the door. At the sounds, the twins twined hands and Marie crept nearer to her mother's skirts. Not for the first time, Marguerite's thoughts went to Benton and Marc. The English had come for them that morning, needing extra hands to help with some repairs. They had not been back.
The excited noises went on for some time, and Marguerite could hear the sound of boots going by her door. Each time they came, she held her breath, hoping her husband and son would be returned to her.
Suddenly, the feet did stop.
Marguerite's hold on her baby tightened as she and her daughters watched the door open. Behind it were three English soldiers--alone.
Quickly, she got to her feet. "Where's Benton? What have you done with my husband?"
One of the soldiers said something and another one laughed. Marguerite had to stop herself from wincing. How she was beginning to hate their language. The quiet soldier looked at her and spoke one word in French.
"Come." At least that's what she thought he said before he grabbed her arm, his accent was horrible. The grip was tight enough to hurt, but Marguerite schooled her features. She would show no emotion to these men.
The man who had laughed put a firm hand on one each of Claire's and Helene's shoulders. They looked at their mother with faces drained of emotion. As Marguerite gave them an encouraging nod, she hoped that someday they would learn to feel again.
The last soldier, the one with the rough, mocking voice, bent and picked up Marie. The child was too frightened to even struggle. Marguerite tried to move forward, but the man holding her arm wrenched her back to his side. With the jarring motion, the baby began to cry, finally wailing his second word.
"Maman!"
The man holding Marie turned and grinned at her. It was the most sinister thing Marguerite had ever seen.
"Where are you taking us?" she demanded, while trying to soothe Etienne with a stroking touch.
Her captor mumbled something that sounded like a twisted form of 'later', which didn't make sense. He didn't give her any time to ponder it before following the other two men out into the beautiful summer day.
Around them, others were gathered, Acadian and English alike. All seemed to be going in the same direction. Marguerite's family was swept away with the others. She craned her neck as they went, searching for signs of Benton and Marc. She saw people she knew, but none were her husband and son.
As they approached the docks, Marguerite suddenly understood. Two boats had come. With them came the end of the world as she knew it.
Etienne, feeling her mood, began to cry again, but this time very quietly.
"Maman!" Marguerite's head snapped around as she heard a child's voice. Was that Marc? It sounded so like him that she was almost positive. She stopped, causing her captor to tug on her arm. She ignored him.
"Maman!" The call was desperate, but close.
"Marc?"
"Maman!" This time, the call was a little further away.
She peered through the people, trying to see her son. Her hope had almost vanished when--there! And standing next to him, looking like a beautiful angel, was Benton.
"Benton! Marc!" Marguerite and the little ones were being herded towards one boat, but the other two seemed to be headed towards the other.
Benton's eyes had been scanning the crowd, but at the sound of his name, he turned. The way his eyes lit up when they saw her made a warmth settle on her heart. His mouth even curled up in a rare smile.
"Meggie!" he called to her.
She tried to move towards him, but the hand on her arm wouldn't let her. Marguerite struggled to get away, but he held her tighter, turning to say something sharply.
She wasn't looking at him, she was watching Benton. At her rough treatment, his brows had drawn together in a scowl. He whispered something to himself and tried to fight his way through the crowd. Bayonets immediately crossed in front of him. He spoke, earning himself a violent shove. He turned, swinging--which shocked Marguerite as Benton had never raised his fist to anyone before--and was immediately swarmed with English soldiers.
"Benton!" Marguerite screamed in anguish, trying to see him in the ruckus.
There were suddenly two men by her side instead of one, both of them grumbling and swearing--in the past five days she had learned some English swear words. They firmly pushed her towards the boat, her daughters already way ahead in the line. She looked longingly at the place where Benton had disappeared, wondering how she was supposed to choose between her husband and son and her daughters.
She didn't get to make the decision. It was made for her as the soldiers holding her practically carried her towards the waiting ship. There was thunderous noise all around her, but all Marguerite heard was Marc's anguished cry. "Maman!...Papa, she was there!...Maman!"
She never saw her husband or her son again.