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The Marin Family Chronicles--Volume 3-Book 4

The Searchers by Charles O. Goulet

Chapter One — The Dream

Little Falls, New Brunswick, May 20, 1792

  "Joseph, I had a dream last night."
  The brown-haired young man paused, the forkful of fried salt pork poised before his mouth, his eyes surveying his brother who had uttered the words; his mouth twisted quizzically, waiting. Then he spoke softly, gently, "Yes?"
  The other young man peered at his partner, his brother—solemnly, seriously.
  "Well, Jean-Francois, what's so unusual about that. Was she pretty?" He grinned lasciviously.
  Jean-Francois wrinkled his nose, almost in annoyance. "It wasn't that kind of dream."   "Well, what was it?"
  "I dreamed of my father," he stated soberly, as if it was important.
  "How could you dream of your father, Jean? You can't remember him."
  The younger man nodded his head slowly. "That's true, Joseph, but I still dreamed of him. Don't you ever dream of your father?"
  "No." Joseph shook his head vigorously. "My father's dead. I know that, so there's no need for me to dream." He filled his mouth with salt pork and began to chew vigorously as he attacked the rest of the food in his heavy ceramic plate, dismissing the matter.
  "But my father may not be dead. He's probably still alive somewhere in Canada."
  The young men were half-brothers. They had the same mother, Georgette Le Roy, who recently married John Wells, an English merchant of St. John, New Brunswick.  Rather than remain at St. John, her sons, Joseph Michel and Jean-Francois Marin, chose to join a group of Acadian settlers who established themselves at the confluence of the Madawaska and St. John rivers in northwestern New Brunswick.
  The older brother nodded his head in agreement.
  The younger asked, "Joseph, what do you know of my father?"
  Joseph set his fork on his plate and chewed thoughtfully. "Not much, Jean-Francois. You probably know as much as I do."
  "What do you know?" Eagerness gave a lilt to Jean-Francois's voice.
  "Why do you want to know? What good will that do?"
  "Because I dreamed of him."
  "Well...you're father's name was Jean-Marie Marin. He..."
  "I know that!" A trace of annoyance shook the younger man's voice.
  "He was involved in the furtrade...I believe."
  Jean-Francois nodded his head gravely. "Yes...?"
  "He married my mother...and soon you were born."
  "Is that all you know?"
  "Maman, never spoke about him much...you know that."
  Jean-Francois nodded his head. It was true. Georgette never spoke of his father, although she often spoke of Joseph's father, Michel Marin, who had been hanged by the English for the murder of an English soldier. Why Joseph's father killed the Englishman was never too clear, but she helped Michel escape from Fort Cumberland, and while he was free, Joseph was conceived. He knew that Michel was recaptured and hanged, so Georgette fled to Montreal where she married his father, Jean-Marie Marin, a cousin of Joseph's father.
  "Yeah...I guess the marriage didn't work out."
  Joseph nodded his head, and returned to his plate, as if to avoid any further conversation.
  The two ate in silence for several minutes, each absorbed in his thoughts.
  "Do you know what my father looked like?"
  "No...I was too young."
  "You were almost five years old." Jean-Francois's tone was accusatory.
  Joseph frowned, as if trying to remember. "He was a brown-haired man." His eyes narrowed in concentration. "An ordinary man...I suppose."
  "Do I look like him?"
  Joseph studied his brother's face for several seconds. Then he looked down at his plate. "Yeah...I suppose you do.  Your hair...it's the same color. It's not like Maman's...so it must be like his. Yeah...his hair was brown."
  "His eyes?"
  Joseph frowned. Then he shook his head. "I don't know."
  "Was he...was he built like me?"
  Joseph's eyes swept his brother's stocky frame, his thick shoulders, his muscular forearms, and his large hands. "I don't know. I don't remember...probably."
  "Was he...?"
  "Jean-Francois, forget it. Forget him. He's in the past. He did nothing for you. Forget him."
  "But..."
  "Jean, I don't want to hear anymore about it. We've enough to think about now...the future.  The past's gone...and you can't change it. Now's important...and the future."
  "But I'd like..."
  "Why? Why now, Jean? We're starting to succeed...the farm...the lumber...it's starting..." His voice rose.
  Jean-Francois was not sure if it was anger or merely annoyance. All Joseph ever thought about was success...money...wealth...prosperity. And Jean-Francois could understand that. His brother would soon marry.
  "Do you think Maman would tell me about him?"
  "Look, Jean-Francois. Forget it. There's no need to upset Maman with such ideas." He set his fork down beside his plate.
  "But, Joseph, I want to know. You know about your father. I don't know about mine."
  "What brought on this sudden interest...in a father...you never knew? Why now?"
  The younger brother shook his head slowly. "I've always wondered about my people."
  "Jean, forget that. We don't have time to think about the past. We must be more concerned with now...and the future. Look...our farm needs much more work. We need to clear more land...grow more grain... keep more livestock. We can sell all we have left over...and at a good price. You know that John will buy all we can sell." He was thinking of John Wells, the St. John merchant, who recently married their mother.
  "But we've plenty for ourselves now. We don't need more. The English will make the money. Not us."
  "Jean, we can get around the English. Just because they run the government and control the markets is no reason we Acadians can't prosper. We have to be smarter...and...more cunning. That's all."
  "But, Joseph, is it worth it? We work from morning to night...on the farm...in the bush...and the Englishmen get rich...not us."
  "Look, Jean. I don't want to discuss it anymore. We've work to do. We must get the rest of those logs to the river...to raft them. Then we have to get them to St. John."
  "Yeah...and when we get to St. John, I'm going to ask Maman about my father."
  "Jean-Francois, don't! You'll just make Maman unhappy. You'll bring up old memories. What do you want to know about your father?"
  Jean-Francois's head jerked up. Did Joseph know more than he had told him? He eyed his half-brother critically. Why were they—Joseph and his mother—so secretive about his father? Was he some monster who had frightened them? What was it? He pondered for several moments.
  What did he want to know about his father? Then he asked inanely, "Were they married?"
  "Of course, they were married...in Montreal." Joseph's voice was sharp and angry.
  "Well, Maman never married your father."
  "But that was different. There was no time. They were fugitives...on the run."
  Jean-Francois knew the story well. Georgette was responsible for Michel Marin's incarceration; she betrayed him to the English, and while he was in jail waiting his trial, she changed her mind and fell in love with him, helped him to escape, and was with him almost to the time of his recapture. He surrendered to the soldiers so Georgette could escape. Joseph was born after Michel was hanged. Jean-Francois knew that his half-brother, Joseph Michel, born June 11, 1769, was named after his father, Michel Joseph Marin.
  "When was that?"
  "They were married in '73...I don't know the date, but it was in Montreal."
  "Why was Maman in Montreal?"
  Joseph paused for several moments, collecting his thoughts. "Grandpere Le Roy died, and his band of fugitive Acadians was scattered by the English. Maman had no one...so...she decided to go to Canada...to find my father's people."
  Jean-Francois nodded gravely. He had a vague recollection that he had heard this before; when and where, he was not sure.
  "She found a relative in Montreal...who, I'm not sure...but I think it was a cousin."
  "They helped her?"
  "Yes...they were happy to see her...and me." Joseph smiled as if he remembered.
  "How old were you?"
  "Not very old...a year or two. I'm not sure."
  "Where did my father come in?"
  Joseph squinted in concentration. "I think he was a cousin of the cousin. He'd just come back from the West...with a child...I think."
  Jean-Francois lifted his head and peered at his brother. "You...mean...I have another brother?"
  "Maybe. I think your father lost his wife...some disease...and other children. I think she was an Indian woman."
  "My father was a fur trader?"
  "I don't know...but he'd been in the up country...perhaps as a voyageur...or a trader...I don't know."
  "So Maman and he were married?"
  "They needed each other. Maman needed a husband...your father needed a wife. They married."
  "What happened?"
  "Maman never loved him...and then she met René Miville. She fell in love...I guess. They came to St. John. That's it."
  "And we've live on the St. John River ever since?"
  "Yeah...that's it."
  "Maman never heard from my father...ever?"
  Joseph shook his head. "Not that I know of."
  "She never heard from the Marins in Canada?"
  "No...not that I know of."
  "So my father may still be alive?"
  Joseph shrugged. "I suppose so."
  Jean-Francois gazed up at the ceiling of the small log cabin, but he did not see the peeled-pole rafters, the squared stringers, or the soot-covered ceiling. His mind was trying to visualize a man that he never saw, a man who was his father, a man who in this year of 1792 would be about fifty years old, but an image would not come. Yet he wanted to meet that man, to know him, to talk to him, to find out about his life, to share with him...if he was still alive. He wanted to know what kind of a man he was, what he did, where he had been, what he dreamed, if he remarried, if he sired more children—more brothers and sisters, another family. The more he thought of it, the more intense his desire became.
  He was sure his father was still alive...somewhere in Canada; he felt an urge to search for him, to see him, to meet him, to find him. "Joseph, I want to find him."
  Joseph threw up his hands in exasperation. "Are you crazy, Jean? What good'll that do? Anyway, he's probably dead. Forget it!"
  Jean-Francois took a deep breath. "Joseph, you don't know how it is, not to know your father."
  "I've never known mine."
  "But that's different. You know that your father's dead. I don't know that. He may still live; he may need me."
  "Don't be foolish. Where was your father when you needed him? Has he tried to find you? I doubt it."
  "But that's different. Maman left him. She took me with her." He sounded disparaging, critical.
  "Maman did what she had to do. She took you because she loved you...as she loved me."
  "But why did she keep me from my father? Why didn't she tell me about him? Why?"
  Joseph shook his head slowly. "I don't know. I never thought of it before...and neither did you. Now you want to know about him. Why?"
  "I not only want to know about him...I want to find him."
  "Whoa! Take your time. Just because you had a dream is no reason to throw up everything for a dream."
  Jean-Francois leaned toward his brother. Maybe he was right. Maybe he was letting a dream become too important. They were just getting ahead. They cleared about three arpents of land and the pine logs were in demand by the shipyards at St. John and Halifax...for good English coin. If they sold their logs and the crop this year was good, they would have a reserve. Even though Governor Thomas Carleton favored the Loyalists from the newly formed United States, even though all the laws were English and prejudicial to the Acadians, even though the English merchants and English settlers treated them with disdain, they were becoming a prosperous community.
  Maybe Joseph was right. Maybe he should forget about his father and concentrate on the land and the forest. Maybe he should be thinking about a woman and marriage. After all he was eighteen years old, a grown man now, yet he never knew a woman. Joseph kept him too busy on their land, clearing it, logging it, building this cabin and the stable that housed the few animals they acquired. Maybe he should concentrate on life here at Little Falls.
  Joseph's voice interrupted his thinking. "Jean-Francois, don't forget, it's Sunday...Father Bellaire will be saying Mass today."
  Jean-Francois jerked back to the present. "That's right. Today's the day that Father'll be here." The small congregation built a tiny chapel, but there was no resident priest. Once every two months, a priest came from Frederick's Town 150 miles downstream to celebrate Mass, baptize the newborns, marry the young people, and sometimes bury the dead. Today, May 20, was one of those Sundays that everyone looked forward to. Everyone in the settlement came to church, to worship, to visit, and to gossip.
  Jean-Francois grinned at his brother. "I suppose you'll be seeing Henriette." Jean-Francois knew that Joseph was interested in Henriette Roulais, Albert Roulais's daughter, and Albert was one of the most prosperous men of the settlement. He made money in the lumber trade supplying pine masts for the shipping industry at St. John but mainly by selling the spars overseas to the British Navy.
  Jean-Francois knew that Albert was an ambitious man and used every means at his disposal to get ahead. Jean-Francois heard that he planned to marry Henriette to Nicolas Marchand, a forty-year-old widow in Frederick's Town, a successful merchant, trader, and lumberman. Henriette was his brother's age, a tall, slender, dark-haired woman with a square jaw that gave her the appearance of someone who could be stubborn and determined. Although he found her attractive, he thought she seemed too serious-minded and somber for Joseph, yet his brother thought she was the woman of his dreams.
  "Will Albert let you get close the her," he teased.
  "We'll find a way. It's about time you looked around for a woman, and then maybe you'd forget this crazy notion about your father... you'd have a good reason to put your nose to the grindstone here."
  Joseph nodded his head in agreement. "Not too many good woman around," he grunted.
  "What about Jeanne Vallay?"
  Jeanne Vallay was a pretty girl with long, tousled light brown hair, sparkling eyes, a slender neck, a full bosom, and voluptuous body that attracted the men the way flowers attracts bees. Though only fifteen years old, she was the desire of most men in the small settlement, yet she seemed to keep them all at bay.
  Every time Jean-Francois saw her, he envisioned a romp in the hay, and his whole body tingled with desire, but he knew that he did not have a change; he was not handsome enough, or exciting enough, or rich enough. Her father would marry her to some prosperous habitant, or merchant, or lumberman, no doubt an older man well-established.
  He grinned at his brother. "She'd be fun...I'm sure."
  "So you've had your eye on her?"
  "Who hasn't? Haven't you?"
  Joseph shook his head. "Nah...not my type."
  "No, you want one you can't have."
  Joseph squinted. "Don't be too sure of that, brother. She's not married yet."
  "Henriette's almost as good as married. You know that Monsieur Roulais will arrange something...to his advantage."
  "But she loves me...not Nicolas Marchand."
  "And you think that'll make a difference."
  "It might. We'll see."
  "Well, at least the bans haven't been published yet."
  Joseph nodded in agreement.

  A bright spring sun crept slowly across a windswept clear blue sky as the congregation spewed from the little square-timbered church with its tall steeple. Jean-Francois shuffled out the door squinting his eyes against the solar brightness yet scanning the assembled parishioners, evaluating the young women dressed in their Sunday best of tight bodices and flowing skirts. His eyes fell on Jeanne Vallay who was already surrounded by a laughing group of young people, males and females.
  Slowly he descended the single step staring at her attractiveness. She wore a peaked bonnet that barely held her thick tousled hair which gave her a wanton appearance. Her eyes flashed as they moved from one person to another including them in her joy and happiness. Her animated mouth seemed wrinkled into a perpetual smile even as she talked. A knitted shawl clung to her shoulders and cover her bosom modestly. Her right hand held the shawl over her well-rounded breasts hiding the bodice of the simple full-skirted gown that covered her to the ankles.
  Jean-Francois glanced at Joseph who stood beside him, noticing that his brother's eyes also seemed glued on her. "Have you seen Henriette?" he whispered.
  Joseph jerked as if startled, his face reddening deeper than his dark tan. "No…no...I haven't..." he stammered.
  "I think she's waiting for you over there." Jean-Francois pointed to a hitching rail to which was tied two teams of horses and four yokes of oxen. She stood at the far end beside a team of bay geldings hitched to a light two-wheeled conveyance with a canvas hooded cover.
  Joseph motioned for Jean-Francois to follow him, and they moved toward her. As they approached, her solemn face broke into a slight smile which changed the whole aspect of her appearance. She removed her cotton bonnet dangling it from her left hand by its ties. Jean-Francois admitted that she was an attractive woman as her short bobbed hair whipped in the slight breeze. The modest gown clung to her slender figure giving her grace and charm.
  "Good morning, Joseph." Her eyes met his and held them, sending a hidden message. She did not respond to Jean-Francois at all.
  "Henriette, you look beautiful this morning."
  She blushed and cocked her head.
  Jean-Francois was amazed at his brother's savoir-faire. He could see that Henriette was flattered and pleased. He could see that she was in love with his brother.
  "Joseph, I must tell you something." The smile disappeared from her face which now looked bleak and sombre. Her grey eyes dulled like summer storm clouds; even her face seemed to lose its color. Her nose wrinkled as if she was about to cry.
  Joseph nodded slightly. Jean-Francois felt ill at ease, like an intruder and moved back a pace.
  "Papa has decided." She closed her eyes and breathed deeply. "He's decided that I'll marry Monsieur Marchand...Nicolas." Her voce trailed off.
  A cry hailed them. "How are the Marin boys today?" It was a lilting, joyful voice. They turned to Jeanne Vallay.
  Jean-Francois nodded a greeting and noticed that her eyes were on Joseph to the exclusion of the others.
  "Good day, Jeanne." Henriette's voice was cool and even, almost resentful.
  Joseph smiled, but said nothing.
  "I hear the Marins are ready to ship their logs to St. John...and make lots of money." Her eyes sparkled; she seemed happy for them.
  Joseph nodded his head. "If I can keep my young brother about his business."
  Jeanne turned to Jean-Francois. "What does he mean?"
  Jean-Francois shuffled uncomfortably. He was not sure but he thought he was teasing him about Jeanne. "I don't know," he mumbled.
  Jeanne turned to Joseph for an answer.
  "Jean's got a wild idea to go to Canada...to search for his father."
  Jean-Francois heaved a small sigh of relief. At least his brother had not embarrassed him.
  "What's this?" Jeanne seemed eager to know what was going on.
  Jean-Francois stared at the ground. "I've been thinking of trying to find my father...to see if he's still alive...to learn about my ancestors."
  "Why, Jean-Francois, I think that's a good idea." Henriette's sober face was animated. "Everyone should know where they come from. We're French, you know, even though we live in an English country...we're still French."
  Jeanne nodded. "Henriette's right. We're French. We're Acadians. We had this country first."
  Jean-Francois murmured, "I wasn't thinking of that. I just want to find out who I am...who my father is...who my family is. You seem to know who you belong to...I don't"
  "But you do, Jean." Joseph's voice was insistent. He realized that he made a mistake in bringing it up. "You know who your mother is. You know who I am. You..."
  Jeanne interrupted. "But, Joseph, that's not the same. If there's a mystery about one's past, a person wants to know about it. Where will you go...to Canada?" Her face brightened eagerly.
  "Yes...if I go, I'd probably start in Quebec."
  "Oh, I've heard a great deal about Quebec. It's English, but it's more French than France." Jeanne's voice quivered with excitement.
  "Are you really going?" Henriette whispered solemnly.
  "I think I will...I know I will...but I'm not sure when. Soon I hope."
  Joseph groaned. "Just when..."
  Jeanne giggled. "Oh, I'd like to go the Quebec. Would you take me with you?"
  Jean-Francois peered at her, surprised. Was she serious, or was she teasing him? Was she making fun of him? Was she trying to embarrass him? He shook his head to bring his mind back into focus.

  Jean-Francois was sure the past three weeks changed his life forever. So many things happened in such a short time: the crops were sowed, the logs were ready for the drive down river, Joseph became betrothed, and he decided to find his father.
  Now, on the bank of the Madawaska River, he was ready to take his place in the express canoe that made the run up the Madawaska, across the Temiscouata portage into Lake Temiscouata, through it, and down the Trois Pistoles River to the St. Lawrence, and from their by sailing ship to Quebec. This was better than by the crude trail that followed the waterways.
  Joseph stood beside him waiting for the small party to leave. Jean-Francois knew that Joseph was sorry to see him leave, but he accepted his brother's desire and need to find his father. During the past three weeks Joseph tried to dissuade him, but when he found that Jean-Francois was adamant, he helped him, probably because Henriette Roulais encouraged him and probably because she and Joseph became betrothed.
  Once Joseph learned of Albert's arrangement with Nicholas Marchand, he found the courage to present his suit to Albert. At first, Albert rejected Joseph's bid, but when Henriette insisted she wanted to marry Joseph, her father relented and agreed to their marriage. Now they were betrothed, and the bans would be published the next time that Father Bellaire came to the parish.
  Jean-Francois was happy for Joseph and believed it was another reason why he should leave.
  Jean-Francois turned toward Joseph and Henriette. They do make a handsome couple, he mused. She, dark-haired, tall and slender; he, light brown-haired, a little taller, robust and muscular; they made a fine couple.
  Henriette seized his right hand. "You'll write to us, Jean-Francois?"
  He nodded his head; although he knew how to read and write, he avoided it as much as possible, but he promised, "I'll keep in touch."
  A female voice shouted, "Wait for me!"
  All eyes turned to the running figure that approached. Tawny hair streaming behind her, arms and legs flung wildly, a boyish looking form in a pair of loose breeches, and a coarse shirt flew toward them.
  She came to a stop before them, gasping for breath. "I'm here!" she shouted.
  "What on earth are you doing?" Joseph asked incredulously.
  "I'm going with Jean-Francois."
  Jean-Francois's mouth dropped open. He was speechless.
  "But...Jeanne, you can't go just like that!" Henriette took in the travel-prepared young woman. Jeanne Vallay was ready for the trail: she wore a heavy homespun shirt, thick breeches that came below her knees, knitted wool stockings and moosehide, low-vamped moccasins on feet.
  "But I want to go to Quebec with Jean-Francois. I told you that when I heard you were going." She turned to Jean-Francois "Didn't I?"
  Jean-Francois stammered, "Yes...but...but I didn't think you were serious."
  "But I am. I'm ready to go."
  "But there's no place for you in this canoe." Jean-Francois indicated the long canoe on the shore.
  Jeanne Vally smiled. "Oh, but there is. I made arrangements with the commander...and he said I could come."
  Jean-Francois glanced at the sergeant who waited ten paces away. Would the English military let a woman accompany this patrol? What kind of an arrangement had Jeanne Vallay made.
  Joseph growled, "Jeanne, does your father know that you're going to Quebec?"
  Jeanne stiffened. "It's none of his business. If I want to go, I'll decide." Her voice was crisp and hard.
  Henriette shook her head. "Jeanne, don't be foolish. You can't go with these men. It's not safe."
  Jean-Francois and Joseph nodded agreement.
  Jeanne laughed. "What do you think'll happen to me? That's why I want to go with Jean-Francois...to have someone to protect me." She looked at Jean-Francois with pleading eyes.
  "No, Jeanne, you can't come. I won't protect you. I don't want you on this trip. Forget it."
  "Jeanne!" an angry voice shouted. "What are you doing!"
  All eyes turned to the heavy-set, middle-aged man who hurried toward them.
  Jeanne stiffened and looked about as if searching for a place to hide, but none was available.
  "What are you doing?" Anger and frustration rippled his voice. "You're suppose to be home helping your mother. What is this?"
  He roared up and seized the frightened girl by the left arm. He jerked her toward him and flung her to his side. He shook her sending her tawny tresses flying.
  "Monsieur Vallay...she was just here to wish me farewell." Jean-Francois hoped his lie would assuage the older man's anger.
  "Does this look as if she was hear to say good-bye. Look at her. She's dressed to travel...and that bundle...that's a gift for you?  Jean-Francois, don't take me for a fool. This foolish girl has silly dreams of going to Quebec and becoming...a grand dame."
  Henriette interposed, "Monsieur Vallay, be easy on her. We all have our dreams, you know. Look, Jean-Francois is about to follow his." She paused.
  "Another fool," the older man growled. "Off on a wild goose chase. I've heard. Off to look for his father...foolish. But my daughter's not going to follow him." He turned away tugging the resisting girl after him.
  The red-coated soldier shouted, "All aboard. Time to leave." And the small group of paddlers and passengers moved quietly toward the canoe.

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