The next morning the whole parish knew that Marius had been arrested. Mme Drouin had been wakened shortly after midnight by a Ford backfiring outside the store and had got out of bed and gone to the window to see what was happening. The sergeant and Labelle were driving away with another man between them, and she had recognized Marius by the set of his hat. One of the Bergerons also knew about it. He had been in the store playing checkers and had left when Drouin closed up. He had then got a lift into Sainte-Justine from François-Xavier Latulippe. In Sainte-Justine he knew a girl who worked in the station hotel, and when he was leaving the hotel by the back door he had seen the sergeant and Labelle drive up in the Ford and drag Marius out. Marius was handcuffed, and the police had kept him in a room in the hotel all night.
All morning people kept coming into Drouin’s with more stories. A woman claimed she had heard a shot in the night and that Marius had been killed. When told he was not dead, she said he had certainly been wounded, because there was a bloodstain on the road near her house. Drouin said he didn’t know for sure, but he wouldn’t be surprised but what the surveyors had something to do about it. The surveyors were from the government, and nothing good ever happened when the government had anything to do with it. Then Frenette came in and said he had been speaking with Father Beaubien. The priest had told him only one thing: that he knew who had reported Marius’ hiding place to the police.
When Athanase entered the store for his mail, just before noon, the men all glanced at each other and only Drouin spoke to him. He immediately guessed what had happened, and his face was sharp with anger as he took his letters and walked out. He climbed into his carriage and started the mare on her way home. Then he saw Father Beaubien coming down to the road from the porch of his presbytery to speak to him.
Athanase reined in the mare and glanced over his shoulder. He saw that the men had all come out of the store and were now standing around the gasoline pump watching.
The priest’s face was stern. “You’d better come inside with me, Mr. Tallard.”
Athanase continued to hold the reins. “I don’t think that is necessary, Father.”
The priest walked to the side of the carriage and stood very erect, one hand on his pendant cross, the other at his side. “I take it you know the police have arrested Marius? He was taken off your own land like a criminal.” A quiet intensity entered Father Beaubien’s voice. “That is what comes of your friendship with foreigners, Mr. Tallard. It was Mrs. Methuen who told the police where to find your son.”
Athanase flushed with anger. It seemed incredible. Then he remembered that the children had seen Marius up in the maple grove. They had probably seen him leave the sugar cabin.
“Do you need any more proof that I was right? You let Paul play with those English children, you make friends with them yourself. Now are you satisfied?”
Again Athanase glanced over his shoulder. There were nearly twenty people in front of the store now, all watching.
“I intend to protect my parish, Mr. Tallard,” the priest said slowly. “The sort of thing that happened last night–it is only one of many such examples we can look forward to if you have your way. Now then, I insist that you drop all plans for this factory. I insist that you come back to the Church and live like a Christian.”
Anger choked Athanase. “I won’t stand for this. Who do you think you are–giving orders to me?”
The priest’s large knuckles whitened as he clenched his hand on the seat-rail of the carriage. “All right, Mr. Tallard…I’ve done the best I could.” Without taking his eyes from Athanase’s face, he nodded sideways. “Those people there–my parishioners–they’re watching us. They aren’t fools. They know a lot more than you think they do. They’re waiting to see what will happen.”
His lips a straight line, Athanase continued to stare at Father Beaubien’s set face.
“On Sunday, without naming names,” the priest said steadily, “I shall tell the people the truth about you. I shall tell them that you are no longer a good Catholic. I shall tell them that you are a bad man and a bad example. I shall warn them against having any further dealings with you. It will be known to every voter in your constituency that you no longer consent to receive the sacraments of their Church. They will know that God will not bless them if they elect a man like you to represent them. I think you know as well as I what this will mean to you, Mr. Tallard?” He stopped. “Do you still want to take your choice?”
Athanase felt the blood rush to his head and his hand clenched on the whip-handle. “I will not be talked to in this way!” he shouted. “Not by anyone!”
He raised the whip and the watching men, seeing his shoulder rise with it, were appalled by the thought that he was going to strike the priest. Father Beaubien stood absolutely still, watching him. Then, still with the whip above his head, Athanase said between his teeth, “No one has ever dared talk to a member of my family like this in our own parish…not in more than two hundred years. You keep away from me! You keep out of my affairs, or by God…”
With a quick turning movement he swung around and brought the whip down with a crack on the mare’s flank. The animal reared in the shafts and plunged wildly, then went down the road in a gallop, and Athanase bent forward holding the reins. By the time his gate was reached the mare had slowed to a trot. The welt made by the whip lay in a long, ugly line along her chestnut flank.
As Athanase took the harness off the mare he made up his mind. He would not remain in the position where anyone could presume to talk to him as Father Beaubien had talked to him this summer. Ever since the death of his first wife this moment had been coming. But he was finished with being between two stools now; he was finished with it for the rest of his life, and he would show the whole world that he was to be left alone.