Chapter Twenty-three

How I wished I could have had a closer look at him, but that was impossible. I even considered going into the swamp myself, but he had no idea who I was and I might have gotten myself shot with an arrow. How could he survive out there in the cold? I strained to see as far as I could, even borrowed M. Anglaise’s telescope glass and stared for hours, but saw nothing, not even a puff of smoke. And yet, I still caught the scent of roasted meat at night. And now I knew it was not my imagination.

The nights grew colder and colder until it became a serious punishment to stand at my post. It was impossible to keep my feet warm, even though I kept constantly on the move. My fingers felt the bitter bite of frost. Like the other soldiers, I squirreled away what food I could to keep a small flame going in my stomach. But the little ration they gave us was not enough, and all the soldiers were very unhappy. There had even been a mutiny one day, which was unbelievable, yet showed just how desperate things were becoming. The soldiers gathered and beat drums and paraded through the streets until they were promised more food and firewood. My father was horrified and wanted to have the leaders executed, but M. Duchambon wisely conceded to their demands and the mutiny lost its strength like air let out of a bellows. I didn’t think anyone had the energy for a real fight.

I was so hungry I even considered asking Celestine to share a little of the food our ghost was bringing her, but could never quite get the words out. How could I ask her about things that I wasn’t even supposed to know? Some days it all seemed so desperate, the cold and lack of food, and I really did not see how I could continue. The less I got to eat, the more I felt the cold. The colder I got, the hungrier I became.

Other days, when the winter sun came in through the Governor’s residence windows and warmed me up, and Celestine and I would play the violoncello, I would breathe deeply and know that I only had to hold on till spring when the supply ships would come from France, and maybe, just maybe I could go home.

I think it was worse for my father somehow. The failed attack at Annapolis Royal, followed by the mutiny, was such a blow to him. Or perhaps it was lack of sleep and insufficient food. Everyone suffered for lack of food, although the officers suffered less than the common soldiers. But no one took military insubordination and failure to heart as much as my father did. It just seemed to kill his spirit. I wondered if he sensed it was the beginning of the end.

We were approaching a year since we had come to this bleak military backwater. I had travelled with the regiment and borne arms against the enemy, which I saw only briefly and from a distance. I had been surrounded by hysterical voices calling for the annihilation of the English, as if they were some kind of plague. And still, after all of this, I saw no difference between us and them, other than the colour of our coats, our language and a few cultural differences for which there was no explanation. But for my father, the Annapolis Royal expedition was a humiliation too great to bear. He would not be truly himself again until the enemy was at our gate and he could dutifully fight.

In the face of all of this my ghost continued to bring freshly cooked meals to Celestine almost nightly. And she, unlike everyone else in the fortress, kept a healthy complexion, much to the pleasure of her father, who continued to credit it to me. What a strange situation it had become for me, entering Celestine’s room with a gnawing hunger in my belly, only to see the happy smile on her face, which I tried my best not to resent. I also did my best to hide my growing weakness, but did not entirely succeed. One day it showed its face against my will.

Celestine had been playing for me. When she finished, I stood up too quickly from my seat. The blood rushed from my head and I fainted. I dropped to the floor with all the grace of a chopped tree. Celestine shrieked and rushed over to me. I revived but felt too weak to get off the floor right away.

“I am so sorry,” I said. “I’ll be fine in just a moment.”

“Oh! Jacques! What’s wrong? Haven’t you eaten today?”

“Umm … I guess not. Not yet.”

“Oh! You poor thing! Just wait here,” she said, and hurried off. She returned with some cooked rabbit in a napkin. “Here. Eat this.”

“No. I cannot take your food.”

“Take it, please! I have more than enough. Truly.”

“Are you certain?”

“Absolutely certain! Believe me, Jacques. I have more than my fair share of food.”

“Well … if you insist.”

“I insist.”

The meat was delicious. There was baked apple too. My ghost was a good cook. I wondered what he would have thought had he known I was eating the food he had prepared for Celestine.

I also wondered how I was going to get the pendant from her and return it to my mother. It was the only request my mother had ever made of me, to find it and return it to her. Here it sat in front of my face daily, and I couldn’t say a word about it. In bed at night I invented all sorts of schemes for taking it back, but none of them were any good. The problem was that Celestine was so attached to it. She never took it off. I supposed I could have just come out with the truth. But I didn’t think she would believe me. I considered stealing it, because it really wouldn’t have been stealing when it belonged to my mother in the first place. But how could I steal something from around her neck? And I would feel like the worst person in the world to steal something from a friend, my only true companion at Louisbourg. On the other hand, how could I return to my mother and explain to her that I had seen the pendant, touched it, but not brought it back? Heavens! Would life always be so complicated?