would get tough.
Armand marvelled at the enormity of the freshwater sea and surrounding land. For all its forbidding appearance, the colony was indeed beautiful, and to see it laid out upon a map...so vast! It would seem unthinkable to travel such distances in France with nary a town or village in sight. Here, there were open skies, distant hills, thick forests of maple, larch, and white oak, or tall stands of birch, bull rush and fern clinging to the shoreline...it was all so alluring to the imagination, and somehow made him wish he were a boy again; to live like the infamous Courier de Bois, the French adventurers and fur traders he had yet to meet, with their carefree, nomadic lifestyle and native ways. Much as he had become a decisive and learned man of action, there remained within his core much more than a vestige of the romantic idealist, a yearning for the simpler life.
Paradoxically, just as Louise had been the catalyst in his quest to become a man of power and influence, so was she now at the centre of his willingness to subvert it. Although he found interest in making his mark for the good of this new land, he no longer had an overriding need to prove himself to another, for, in gaining her love, he had realised his innermost ambition.
As chief administrator, he had already installed a number of improvements—the construction of a stone building to preserve public records, an increase in shipbuilding, sending parties out in search of minerals, and educating the public through lectures on law... he was proud of his accomplishments. But now, his every waking hour was given to thoughts of another sort. Were he left the choice, all he truly wanted out of life was to be with Louise, to know her again, to share with her, to make love without the fear of discovery, and in their own marital bed.
And then, perhaps, a child. It was not too late. A living expression of their love, their days spent contentedly on a small estate...better yet, to remain here, in New France, away from the judgements of their society. Daydreams, unrealistic notions...
“A storm is brewing, my friend,” said Felippe, adjusting his pewter-grey wig, which had shifted on looking up.
Yanked from his reverie, Armand looked to this guileless man, the sole source of his unhappiness, and wondered what it was that he felt for him.
While it was true that in their youth, Felippe had shown a carefree and venturesome side, years of living the soft life had returned him to the slightly stodgy, carefully cultivated creature he was originally cast.
Amongst themselves, the men made no secret of their regard for Felippe—not that he was despised, but Armand had overheard the jokes, watched as he unintentionally carried on with his fine clothes; this, while sharing a craft with men accustomed to toil and hardship. In a land where, he had creditably come to realize, neither social nor political standing were honoured or rigidly entrenched.
Yet, notwithstanding the caricature Felippe had become, Armand knew he was still a man worth reckoning. This was the only man who had coveted his beloved, enjoying those immeasurable domestic moments and delights, for the many years that he had been denied. And only this man now stood between their happiness. It was difficult to hate a man who was as much a victim for being unaware…
“How soon before we reach the fort, Captain?” Felippe enquired, as the wind suddenly picked up, lifting the waves around the crafts. Over the span of a few short minutes, the winds had risen, and the mid-afternoon skies had darkened into clouds of swollen bruises. The weather, thought Armand, which had been balmy and clear—with the exception of a day—since leaving Montreal, was evidently due for change.
The Captain, Renard, frowned, responding directly, “We look to be heading for something of a squall, sir. It is hard to say, but with a little luck, we may arrive by evenfall.” Then
Armand marvelled at the enormity of the freshwater sea and surrounding land. For all its forbidding appearance, the colony was indeed beautiful, and to see it laid out upon a map...so vast! It would seem unthinkable to travel such distances in France with nary a town or village in sight. Here, there were open skies, distant hills, thick forests of maple, larch, and white oak, or tall stands of birch, bull rush and fern clinging to the shoreline...it was all so alluring to the imagination, and somehow made him wish he were a boy again; to live like the infamous Courier de Bois, the French adventurers and fur traders he had yet to meet, with their carefree, nomadic lifestyle and native ways. Much as he had become a decisive and learned man of action, there remained within his core much more than a vestige of the romantic idealist, a yearning for the simpler life.
Paradoxically, just as Louise had been the catalyst in his quest to become a man of power and influence, so was she now at the centre of his willingness to subvert it. Although he found interest in making his mark for the good of this new land, he no longer had an overriding need to prove himself to another, for, in gaining her love, he had realised his innermost ambition.
As chief administrator, he had already installed a number of improvements—the construction of a stone building to preserve public records, an increase in shipbuilding, sending parties out in search of minerals, and educating the public through lectures on law... he was proud of his accomplishments. But now, his every waking hour was given to thoughts of another sort. Were he left the choice, all he truly wanted out of life was to be with Louise, to know her again, to share with her, to make love without the fear of discovery, and in their own marital bed.
And then, perhaps, a child. It was not too late. A living expression of their love, their days spent contentedly on a small estate...better yet, to remain here, in New France, away from the judgements of their society. Daydreams, unrealistic notions...
“A storm is brewing, my friend,” said Felippe, adjusting his pewter-grey wig, which had shifted on looking up.
Yanked from his reverie, Armand looked to this guileless man, the sole source of his unhappiness, and wondered what it was that he felt for him.
While it was true that in their youth, Felippe had shown a carefree and venturesome side, years of living the soft life had returned him to the slightly stodgy, carefully cultivated creature he was originally cast.
Amongst themselves, the men made no secret of their regard for Felippe—not that he was despised, but Armand had overheard the jokes, watched as he unintentionally carried on with his fine clothes; this, while sharing a craft with men accustomed to toil and hardship. In a land where, he had creditably come to realize, neither social nor political standing were honoured or rigidly entrenched.
Yet, notwithstanding the caricature Felippe had become, Armand knew he was still a man worth reckoning. This was the only man who had coveted his beloved, enjoying those immeasurable domestic moments and delights, for the many years that he had been denied. And only this man now stood between their happiness. It was difficult to hate a man who was as much a victim for being unaware…
“How soon before we reach the fort, Captain?” Felippe enquired, as the wind suddenly picked up, lifting the waves around the crafts. Over the span of a few short minutes, the winds had risen, and the mid-afternoon skies had darkened into clouds of swollen bruises. The weather, thought Armand, which had been balmy and clear—with the exception of a day—since leaving Montreal, was evidently due for change.
The Captain, Renard, frowned, responding directly, “We look to be heading for something of a squall, sir. It is hard to say, but with a little luck, we may arrive by evenfall.” Then
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