So help thyself, and heaven will help thee too.
Jean de La Fontaine
Sylvie prepared for Noël once the shop closed for Christmas, wondering if Sebastien would come or if anyone could possibly enjoy their small celebration bereft of chapel and mass and all the usual trappings. The pine boughs and laurels she’d found behind a near tavern, the money she’d spent on candles, and the strange confections she’d bought at the bakeshop would have to suffice. But it seemed a pitiful echo of a bygone time.
Still, Mr. Hunter had offered the back room of the bookbindery for their use. As he was brusque and barked at the slightest shop infraction, she’d not thought he had such kindness in him. Marveling at this allowance, she wanted to make the occasion as welcoming and warm as she could. It touched her that the children wanted to help, their unfeigned delight bolstering her spirits. She invited Eve too, and came up against Virginia’s strict social order.
“Miss Sylvie, white folks don’t mingle with Black folks,” Eve said, clearly taken aback.
“The English, you mean,” Sylvie replied. “We Acadians are different. We welcome others and learn from them. We even marry and have families. My own brother is part Mi’kmaq.”
“Fancy that.” Eve regarded her curiously. “What do you call this gathering?”
“A fête—a celebration of Noël.”
“Christmas,” Eve said as Sylvie adorned the room with the greenery she’d found. “Seems you need music. I can ask my brother, Noah, to come play. His master’s the cooper and lets him fiddle around town once the work is done.”
“Would you?” Sylvie asked. Though the room was small, they might dance, or just sit and listen.
When the time came, Sylvie lit the candles while Nolan tended the fire. Henrietta sampled a pastry, hiding shyly behind Sylvie’s skirts as guests arrived. To their surprise, the first to appear was Lord Drysdale and a servant. Unaware of their meeting, he stayed long enough only to inquire after them and wish them well, then left money gifts for them, including pipes and tobacco for the men, gloves and lace for the women. Before Sylvie could inquire about Lady Drysdale, Captain Lennox, and Esmée Shaw, he bade them farewell, not wanting to intrude on their plans.
As Noah tuned his fiddle in a corner, Eulalie entered, making much of the children and complimenting Sylvie on her decorating. In her basket was a wealth of sweetmeats gotten from the Governor’s Palace kitchen, the remains from last night’s masquerade ball. Surprisingly, Sebastien appeared next, carrying a small keg of cider. Others arrived, some Sylvie recognized and some she didn’t, till the chamber held more than twenty Acadians, all who labored in and around Williamsburg.
As the music started, cider was served and the table seemed to swell with fare, including cold Virginia ham and smoked fish, cheese wafers, and the coveted figs and walnuts.
“Even pork pies like our tourtière,” Nicolas said in approval, taking seconds.
Sylvie was glad of the bounty and those who ate heartily. She herself could hardly manage a bite, making sure everyone was comfortable and enjoying themselves as much as they could. A fragment of the Psalms the Scot had written out for her wended through her thoughts again.
Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies.
For a few seconds she felt somewhat satisfied.
Eve hovered, pulling out a chair for Sylvie to sit. “Rest yourself. The merriment ends all too soon.”
Though the room was too crowded for dancing, Henrietta and Nolan amused them all by trying to step a jig in a corner. Toward midnight the music dwindled along with the rest of the feast. When Noah put his fiddle away, the conversation continued, and Sylvie listened, warmed by the English Yule log burning in the hearth.
“Have you any news of friends and family?” Etienne broached the question uppermost in all their minds. “Anything at all?”
A somber hush ensued. Would that not be the best Noël gift of all?
“Nothing substantial, only that more Acadians have escaped the ships at Hampton Roads and farther up the James River,” Sebastien said. “They are fleeing Virginia to go north and south to find family and friends.”
“I would jump ship too,” Eulalie said. “Why is the governor taking so long to decide what to do with our people still aboard in such miserable conditions?”
“The governor is at the mercy of the council.” Nicolas spoke with the gravity of a judge. “Though a few good men champion us, we have many adversaries here, and the powers that be bicker among themselves as to our fate.”
“Once I have enough funds, I am considering leaving to seek my own family where ships have landed in colonial ports,” Jacques-Rene said. “Perhaps buy passage on a ship if I cannot go far on foot.”
Louise shuddered. “Never do I want to be at sea again.”
Several nodded in agreement, Sylvie included.
“Williamsburg isn’t the place for me,” Sebastien murmured. “Though Mr. Houghton treats me decently, I am no blacksmith, nor will I ever be.”
Nicolas shook his head. “Nor am I a cooper, which brings to mind a curious offer made by a man named Blackburn. He approached me several days ago and said he is looking for men to work his acreage on the Rivanna River. He wanted me to tell all of you if you are interested.”
Blackburn again? Sylvie snapped to attention, Henrietta asleep on her lap.
“A planter, then?” Thibault asked. “Why doesn’t he buy slaves like most Virginians?”
“He isn’t Virginian. He’s from the north, a former soldier. He prefers to contract indentures—or employ free men like ourselves,” Nicolas told them.
“Free? I do not feel free.” Jean-Luc grimaced and poured himself more cider. “Working another man’s land is no better than blacksmithing when you need to be working your own.”
“Are you considering?” Sebastien asked Nicolas.
He nodded. “I have no choice but to work for another until I earn enough to buy property or go in search of my family. Besides, Blackburn makes a fair offer. He promises a good wage, bed, and board. He needs an abandoned plantation he bought at auction restored. He has seed, tools, and all that is necessary.”
“The Rivanna River?” Béatrice asked. “I don’t suppose he is wanting women to work? To cook and tend gardens and orchards?”
“I shall ask him,” Nicolas replied. “He lodges here in town while he prepares to move to his land.”
“How does he come by his money for such a proposition?” Skepticism threaded Sebastien’s tone. “An ambitious, even dangerous endeavor, partnering with us outcasts.”
“He has the backing of a few influential Virginians besides being a newly appointed Crown surveyor,” Nicolas answered. “He founded Ranger companies in the British army till he quit them after our forced removal, and he has recently published a book of his exploits in an attempt to further his plans.”
Eulalie looked horrified. “Major William Blackburn of Blackburn’s Rangers?”
“Oui,” Sebastien said with thinly veiled contempt. “Le Diable Blanc.”
Nicolas continued, undaunted. “He was in Acadie at the last, searching for leaders of the Resistance, but was not told of the English’s plan to remove us until it unfolded before his eyes. He then resigned, creating something of a storm when he is most needed in this ongoing conflict.”
An outburst of comments ensued, but Sylvie paid no attention, she was so overwhelmed with details she hadn’t known. Crown surveyor? Plantation owner? William Blackburn had not told her this, though he might have, had she been more willing to listen.
“We’d be wise to consider both sides,” Jean-Luc was saying. “What sort of man would willingly employ those of us called the ‘mongrel race of French papists’?”
“A brave, bold one,” Etienne answered, “who is unafraid of what ungodly men devise.”
Sylvie sighed, and Sebastien’s gaze turned to her.
“Will you go to the Rivanna River?” he asked her.
She tried to tamp down her curiosity to no avail. “How far away is it?”
“Nearly a hundred miles west of here. Frontier, formerly Indian land stolen by the English.”
Jean-Luc expelled a breath. “Wide-open places, and fewer people would be welcome. Farming is what I know best. Though I am older than most of you, I am not afraid of hard work.”
“Blackburn warns that it will be rough,” Nicolas said. “Raw land and former fields need clearing, in addition to roadbuilding and river navigation—not unlike what met our great-grandfathers in Acadie.”
“But it is work we know, wrestling with the land,” Thibault mused, lighting his new pipe. “I would hear more from this Blackburn.”