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The Marin Family Chronicles--Volume 4-Book 4

The Renegades by Charles O. Goulet

Chapter One -- Discouragement

Winnipeg, Manitoba, Thursday, February 18, 1875

     "Henri...I thought you were my friend...my partner...but you always seem to be working against me."  Simon Marin's voice quivered with anger that he tried to control.
     "I am...and I thought you were my friend...and...the friend of my people...but I'm never sure with you."
     "Now...Henri...what the hell does that mean?"
     Henri Boyer shook his dark head.  "Simon...you tell me you want to help me...and my people...but you seem to be cheating them.  You make deals...and then you give them liquor.  You get them drunk."
     "So?  So, what's wrong with that?  I never give them liquor during...or before I deal with them...always after...to celebrate.  Isn't that right?"
     Henri shook his head again.  He was not sure he believed his partner.  Simon Marin and Henri Boyer, a Metis from St. Boniface, worked together since they met in July the year before on board the steam boat, International, on a trip from St. Paul to Winnipeg.  Simon Marin, an Acadian, came from St. John, New Brunswick to become a land speculator in the new province of Manitoba.  After the troubles of 1869, many of the Metis decided that they could no longer live in the new province because it was being overrun with immigrants, mostly English, whose way of life was not in any way like theirs.  These newcomers wanted to clear the land and farm it, but the Metis and the Indians wanted to leave it much as it was, cultivating only for subsistence and to augment their needs if the buffalo hunt was insufficient.
     "But...you buy the land cheap...and sell it at a good profit."
     "So?  What's wrong with that?  I give them a better price than they would get if they sold it themselves...to the English...the Canadians.  Isn't that right?"  Simon kept his voice level as he tried to convince the young man.  "And you've made money too."
     Henri nodded in agreement.  He admitted that Simon was always evenhanded with him.  He always gave him his fair share of any deal.  But maybe that was so he would continue to be an intermediary between Simon and the Metis and Indians.  "But don't you think we're making too much..."
     Simon laughed.  "My friend, that's business.  That's what business is all about...to make the biggest profit that you can.  If we don't do it, someone else will.  Now shall we get on with business!"  He sounded triumphant, even exhilarated.
     Henri shook his head again.  Simon had an answer for everything; and he was convincing.  "Yeah, I guess you're right."
 "Of course I'm right.  Let's have a drink on it."  Simon pulled open the bottom drawer of his desk and removed a half full bottle of an amber liquid.  He worked the cork loose and handed the bottle to Henri.  "Drink up, partner...to celebrate."
     Henri reached for the bottle, tipped the neck toward Simon in acquiesence, and then raised it to his lips.

Winnipeg, Manitoba, Thursday, February 25, 1875

     Simon glared at the magistrate, a dark-haired man with a walrus mustache and bushy sideburns.  Magistrate Wilson fined Simon $300 dollars for selling whisky to an Indian--an Indian that Simon loaned $10 to pay his fine for being drunk in a public place--the same man who was the Crown's only witness against him.
     As Simon counted out the money and handed it to the magistrate, his anger seethed; who reported him?  Simon was sure it was not the Indian, whose name he could not remember.  It had to be someone else--someone who knew him, who resented him, who was, in fact, an enemy.  It could almost be any body--a disgruntled Metis who thought he was cheated, a dissatisfied buyer who believed he paid too much for his land, another speculator who felt that Simon did him out of a deal, an Indian who resented Simon's efforts to obtain land, maybe, even Henri Boyer, who only a few days previously accused him of defrauding his friends and relatives out of their land and scrip--a transferable certificate worth $240 meant to purchase land.
     "Mister Marin...the next time you appear in my court you will be jailed.  I'm dealing with you mildly...because I have my doubts about the evidence...but I've heard rumours."
     Simon tried to dislodge the scowl from his face.  "Thank you, sir."  He felt like adding, "But I don't think I'm guilty," thought the better of it, nodded his head and left the small courtroom.

     Simon glowered at Henri Boyer, who smiled in return.
     "Simon...I'm sorry.  I heard...but I had nothing to do with it.  You believe me...don't you?"
     "Dammit, Henri...I don't know what I believe...but I know that old Indian didn't lay the charge on his own.  Someone had to put him up to it."
     "And you think I did?"
      Simon shook his head.  "Dammit, Henri...I don't know what I think.  You accused me...a couple days ago."
     "But we settled that."
     "Yeah...I thought we had."
     "Hey, my friend...let's forget about it.  Come to my place for supper...I'll feed you a good meal."
     Simon grinned.  He knew that Henri lived in a small log shack on the Red River in the north end of Winnipeg.  Simon visited few times and never was impressed, but this was the first time that Henri invited him for a meal.  Was Henri trying to make amends?

     "This is my sister, Louise."
     Simon scrutinized the diminutive figure before him.  She's a pretty child, he mused.  Her large eyes glowed and lit up her whole slim face. But her most remarkable feature was the thick curly black hair that fell below her shoulders.
     "Louise has come to stay with me a few days."  Henri swept the small room with his eyes.
     The room was clean and tidy, unlike when Simon visited it before.  Louise turned back to the small tin heater upon which the contents of a heavy black frying pan sizzled and bubbled emitting an aroma that was appetizing and inviting.
     "So that's why you invited me.  You had a cook."
     Henri grinned.  "And I wanted you to meet my sister."
     Simon's eyes turned to the body at the stove.  Her simple calico gown draped her frame, and as she turned, he noticed that it swelled at her breasts indicating that she might be older than he first thought.  She glanced shyly at him, and his eyes caught hers.  Yes, she was a woman, not the young girl that he first assumed.  Her lips curved in a tentative smile which Simon returned.  He studied her more carefully.
     She was small, no more than five feet tall, with neat arms that protruded from the sleeves of her simple dress, sleeves that she rolled up out of her way.  Her hands were delicate and tiny; her arms glowed a soft bronze; her shoulders were square, yet elegant; the pliable folds of her gown concealed her frame except for the soft curves of her pubescent breasts.  The calves of her legs curved to trim ankles and a pair of undecorated moosehide moccasins. The sensual sway of her body as she moved gracefully about the stove stirred Simon's blood.  The mystery of her physique intrigued him, and he felt an urge to explore her body, to run his hand over her shoulders, her breasts, her belly, her hips, her groin, her thighs, her whole body.
     He knew he was ogling, and suddenly, felt self-conscious.  He turned to Henri, whose face was covered with a knowing grin.

St. Boniface, Manitoba, Wednesday, March 3, 1875

     "Tante Marie, I'm going to move to St. Laurent...to the Saskatchewan.  We're no longer at home here."
    The woman, dark hair streaked with gray, nodded.  "Frederick, you're right.  We no longer belong."
    "Tante, will you come with me?"
     The older woman shook her head.  "Frederick...I'm too old...I'll be seventy-three...this August...and this is my home...it'll always be my home."
     Frederick looked around the neat, well-ordered kitchen of the of the log house.  As long as he could remember this was her home.  She lived with her parents--Jean Francois Marin and his Ojibwa wife, Thurensera, whom every one called "Theresa"--until their death, and then she stayed on, operating the small farm and caring for Jean Pierre, Frederick's younger brother who never was right, who never grew up mentally.
     "But, Frederick, you're young...you go.  You must go...and make your life...if that's what you want."
     "But, Tante, I must take Jean Pierre with me."
      The elderly woman's eyes widened, almost in fright.  "You would take Jean Pierre with you?"
     "Tante, you have taken care of him for too long.  It's my turn."
     The woman bowed her greying head.  "He...is...like...my son.  You must not take him from me."
     Frederick knew that his aunt, his father's oldest sister, was like Jean Pierre's mother ever since the tragic accident that killed his mother.  He still had nightmares about the accident.  He could see Jean Pierre playing with the rifle, the discharge, his mother falling, the blood, and then his mind would go blank.
      "Tante, I only want to take him...to help you...not to cause you pain.  If you want him to stay, I'll leave him with you."
      "Oh, Frederick...you must leave him with me.  He's mine...I love him."
     Frederick nodded.  He understood.

Granville, British Columbia, Wednesday, March 3, 1875

     Frank Marin tipped the glass of whisky toward his companion.  "Jed, here's to you and me."
     The stocky man with the grizzled beard and small blue eyes smiled and lifted his glass of amber liquid.  "To our success, Frank."
     They lifted their glasses simultaneously and tipped them back.  Frank grimaced as the fiery liquid grasped his throat and seared his gullet down to his stomach.  His partner grinned at Frank's discomfiture.  "If you're going to be a lumberjack, you'll have to be a better drinker than that."
     Frank tried to smile as he blinked his eyes to squeeze the moisture from them caused by the biting draft.  "I'll learn, Jed."
     Jed Armbruster admired the younger man's fortitude.  He gave Frank a punch on his right biceps.
     Frank Marin was not yet seventeen years of age, but he was well-muscled and solid.  Life in the small settlement of Granville was not easy.  He and his family made a living by trapping, trading, and working for the Hudson's Bay Company at nearby Fort Langley up the Fraser River.  Now this Jed Armbruster, a newcomer to the small community, was offering him an opportunity--an chance to make some real money.
     Jed turned to the barkeeper and raised two fingers to indicate a refill.
     Frank shook his head.  "Look, Jed...I think...I've had enough...My head..."
     "Hey, Frank...it's not every day that a man makes a deal."
     Frank tried to remonstrate, but already the bar keeper set two glasses before them; Jed tossed him a coin which he snatched expertly from air.
     "Frank...we'll make a fortune.  The mills need logs...you're young and strong...I've got the trees...and an in with the mills...together  we've got it made.  So drink up."

Capilano Lake, British Columbia, Wednesday, April 7, 1875

     Frank considered the pile of logs.  In less than a month, he and Jed Armbruster cut, limbed, an piled enough logs to make them a handsome profit if they could get them to the mill at Granville on the banks of Burrard Inlet to the south.
     But Frank was concerned about that.  Coquitlam River was a narrow gorge with roaring water--rapids, waterfalls, whirlpools, and many places where logs could get hung up and never reach their destination, and then there were the tides of the inlet.  Although Jed seemed to think that none of these things could happen, Frank had seen log jams which were impossible to dislodge until Nature decided.
     "Hey, Frank!"  Jed Armbruster hollered, "There's work to be done...if you want to get rich."
     Frank waved his double-bitted axe and joined his partner as they trudged toward the thick forest of Douglas firs that surrounded them.  Together they cut and swamped the trees to their present location beside the fast rushing river.  Each morning they chopped down the trees and limbed them and each afternoon they dragged them out with the team of horses they bought for the purpose.
     Frank admitted that his new-found partner was a good worker when he was not drinking.  But every once in while Jed disappeared for a day or two and returned to their camp smelling of whisky and looking bleary-eyed.  Then he plunged into work with a fury and energy that surprised Frank.
     Frank estimated Jed to be about forty years old, but it was hard to tell as his beard and hair were already grizzled and he was balding, yet he was vigourous and strong, always bragging about the number of squaws he made love too.
     "Hey, Frank...ever made love?"
     Frank shook his head.  Woman frightened him; the only women he felt comfortable with was his mother and his sister, Jean.  Other women, even Indian woman, intimidated him although they caused him to wonder what it would be like to sleep with one.
     "Hey, d'you want me to get you one?"
     Frank shook his head.
     "Look, Frank...you gotta become a real man some day.  Do you good to fuck a woman."
     Frank felt the heat rising to his face.  He did not want to discuss women with Jed, not now or ever.  "Let's get to work."

Winnipeg, Manitoba, Monday, May 10, 1875

     William Marin shook his head to whisk away the cobwebs.  His head ached, his mouth was fuzzy, his eyes burned as if filled with sand, and his whole body felt stiff and unwieldy.  He was alone in the small, dirty cell; the dirt floor smelled of vomit, urine, and excrement.  He raised his head, shook it again, and hoisted himself to a sitting position against the rough plank wall.  He did it again.
     Whom had he assaulted this time?  Whom had he insulted?  Who had insulted him?  Whom had he beat up...or who had beat him up?
    "So you're awake!"  The voice was sharp and unfriendly.  "Get up you drunken half-breed."
     William clenched his fists.  He hated that word; he was Metis; he was not a half-breed.  He hoisted himself to his knees; his head throbbed; he reeled dizzily.
     "I don't suppose you have any money...you bastard!  No use bringing you to court...just have to feed you...in jail.  Get up...and get out of here?"
     William tried to focus his eyes in the direction of the voice; he peered from the dimness of the cell to the small ante-room.  A rough-looking man about forty years old sat in a chair leaning it back against the rough wall.  A short-barrelled carbine rested across his lap.  "Get your stuff...and get out of here!"
     William did not like the situation.  Would he be shot as he left?  Would the jailer say he was trying to escape?
     The door to the jail opened.  A figure stood silhouetted in the doorway.  "Pa, I brought you lunch."
     The voice was feminine or that of a young boy; William was not sure which.
     Without taking his eyes off William, the jailer said, "Geraldine, put it down by the door...and leave!"
     The female stooped to place the small pail beside the chair.  In the sunlight, William saw that it was a young woman.  Her black hair was parted in the middle, and two plaited tresses fell over each shoulder.  Her dark skin indicated that she was Indian or Metis; William could not tell in the dim light.
     She looked up at him. Dark eyes glowed and studied him.  William felt uncomfortable, as if he was being assessed, judged, and censured.  He looked away.
     "Papa, who's that?"  Her voice was soft and smooth, almost hesitant.
     "Just some drunk...none of your affair."
     "Who is he?"
     "A trouble maker!  A good for nothing trouble-making half-breed."
     "Papa...don't say that...we're half-breeds too...you know."
     "Geraldine...there's a difference.  We're not like those drunken bastards...who do nothing but drink...and fight...and cause trouble.  Look at him...filthy, smelly..."
     William growled and then snarled.  "Let me out of here.  You told me to go.  Give me my things...and I'll leave."
     "You'll go when I'm ready...not before."
     "You..."  He checked the epithet that he was about to hurl at the man.  A woman was present; William never cursed or swore in a woman's presence.
     "Geraldine, open the door...and let the son-of-a-bitch out.  You bastard...I suggest you leave town.  The next time you'll rot in jail...you drunken half-breed bastard."
     The young woman advanced slowly with the key that her father gave her.  As she fumbled with the lock, William studied her.  He estimated she was about fifteen years old, just blossoming into womanhood.  Her tawny skin glowed in the faint light; her dark eyes glistened; her nose was regular and straight; her mouth was full; her neck slender; her body compact and well-concealed by the loose cotton gown that hung to her ankles; she wore a pair of unadorned moosehide moccasins.  She was attractive.
     "What's your name?"  she whispered as she turned the key in the lock.
     The question surprised William for a moment.  He whispered back, "I'm William Marin.  Who are you?"
     She smiled coquettishly.  "That's for you to find out."  Then she swung the door open.

Winnipeg, Manitoba, Friday, May 14, 1875

     "Geraldine, you must come with me."  William held the young woman by the right arm.
     After his release from jail, William learned that the young woman was the daughter of Josh Mackay, a Scot half-breed who worked as a jailor for the town of Winnipeg. Geraldine proved to be a willing young woman, and Willy made love to her in a small grove of poplars not far from town.  Her acquiescence and abandon surprised and pleased him. For the next twenty four hours he and Geraldine spent their time making love in every way possible.  The experience left him convinced that she was the woman for him.
     She squirmed.  "Willy...you're hurting me!  Let me go!"
     William's hand dropped to his side.  "Geraldine...I must leave...will you come with me?"
     Geraldine stared up at William uncomprehending.  "Why must you leave?  Why must you go?  What's happened?"
     "Geraldine...oh, Geraldine...I killed a man!"
     "You...what?"
     "I killed a man...the police are looking for me...I must leave...now.  Will you come with me?"
     "William...I love you...but..."
     "If you love me...you'll come with me..."
     "But you say you've killed a man."
     "Yes...because of you...for you...I killed him."
     "What do you mean?"
     "He insulted you.  He called you a dirty half-breed whore.  I couldn't let him get away with that.  I challenged him.  He drew his pistol and fired at me...so I shot him."
     "But that's self-defense.  He shot first."
     "But he's a white man...I'm Metis.  I wouldn't have a chance...so...I'm leaving.  I must.  Will you come with me."
      "I love you...but I can't go with you.  My father would never let me."
      "But, Geraldine...it's your life.  If you love me, you'll come with me..."
     "Where will we go?"
     "To the prairies...west.  We'll be safe there."  William seized her shoulders and held her firmly.  "Geraldine, you must come with me."
     "I want to...but I can't."
     "You will come with me!"  His voice hardened.  "You're my woman!  You belong to me!  You belong with me!  Don't you understand?"
     Geraldine wriggled to release herself, but his grip tightened and slid from her shoulders to her arms.  "William...let me go!"
     His grip tightened.  "You're coming with me."

Granville, British Columbia, Wednesday, August 11, 1875

     "Hey, Frank...I'm sorry it didn't work out."
     Frank nodded solemnly.  All their work wasted.  All their logs gone.  "What happened, Jed?"
     "You were right.  The damn river...too fast...and the tide...lost most of them."
     Frank remembered the morning they rolled the logs into the river.  The river had subsided from the raging torrent of early summer when the mountain snow-melt lessened, but it still was a fast flowing river.
     "I couldn't keep them together.   They got away on me."
     Jed convinced Frank to let him drive the logs alone as Frank prepared another pile.  And somehow the logs disappeared.  According to Jed most of them were swept out to sea with the tide in Burrard Inlet.
     "So we're broke?"
     "Fraid so, Frank.  Not enough left to make wages.  Well...at least we tried.  Maybe again...next year."
     Frank shook his head.  They worked hard.  Why was it that every thing he tried turned to nothing?  Why could he not be successful just once?  Why could he not help his step-father, his mother, his brothers and sister?  Why?

St. Laurent, Saskatchewan Territory, Sunday, October 17, 1875

     Frederick heard some one call his name as he stood at the door of the small log church.  He looked around to see who called.  To his surprise it was Gabriel Dumont, the unspoken leader of the people that lived in the various small communities along the South Saskatchewan river.
     Frederick waved to the short, thick-bodied, bushy-bearded man who came toward him.
     "Frederick Marin!  Wait!  I must talk to you."
     The stocky man ambled over with the sway of a man who spent much time on horseback.
     "I have news for you, Frederick."
     Frederick wondered what kind of news Gabriel would have for him.  Frederick nodded.  "What is it?"
     "I'm sorry, Frederick.  It's not good news.  Your aunt Marie has died.  She died suddenly...last week."
     Frederick gaped in shock.  His aunt seemed so well when he left Manitoba earlier that year.  She looked healthy and happy when he decided to let his brother, Jean Pierre, stay with her.  What would Jean Pierre do now?  What happened to him?  He would be lost without attendance and care?  But Frederick was sure that friends and neighbours would take care of him until he could return to St. Boniface and bring him here to St. Laurent.
     "I'm sorry, Frederick...but I don't have more information than that.  I do know that she's already been buried."
     "What about my brother?  Have you heard anything about him?"
     Gabriel's head jerked upward.  "I didn't know you had a brother."
     Frederick nodded.  "Yes...he's my youngest brother...but he's been living with my aunt...since my mother died.  She's been like a mother to him."
      Now Gabriel nodded.  "Is he very young?"
      "He was twenty-one this spring...but he's like a child.  He did not grow up.  He is like a small child...he talks but like a child.  He needs some one to take care of him...like a child."
      "I heard nothing of him.  No one mentioned him.  No one said what happened to him.  It was like he never existed."
      Frederick's heart skipped a beat.  It seemed unnatural that his name was not mentioned when his aunt's death was reported.
"You heard nothing about Jean Pierre?"
      "Nothing was mentioned about him...nothing at all."
      "That's most unusual."
      "I agree."

Seine River, St. Boniface, Manitoba, Saturday, October 23, 1875

     Phillipe Marin, corporal in the North West Mounted Police, who arrived two days before from the west where he was stationed at Fort Macleod in the North West Territories, reined in his dark bay mare and surveyed the small farm on the near bank of the Seine River, which at the moment was nothing more than a tiny stream of turgid water.  He had not been to the farm for over a year, but it changed little.  The small, mud-plastered log house obviously had a new coat, but nothing else changed.  Six horses of various shapes and sizes stood, heads drooped, in a log corral; several chickens pecked in the manure pile in the northeast corner of the corral; a lone pig rooted in a small pen to the left of the log lean-to that served as a stable for the single cow that grazed in the far-off field.
     Phillipe mused, Auguste Lepine may not be the most prosperous farmer but there is peace and tranquillity here.
     The early afternoon sun enhanced the bright colours of the aspens and willows that grew along the banks of the shallow river.  The bulrushes and reeds were still green and hidden ducks quacked along the shoreline.
     The farmstead looked deserted.  "I wonder if she's home,"  Phillipe pondered aloud.  He gigged his horse forward.
     As he approached the front of the house, the door opened and a young dark-haired lad came out.  He shielded his eyes with his left hand and surveyed Phillipe intently.  His face broke into a smile of recognition.  "Bonjour, Monsieur Marin.  It's nice to see you again."
     Phillipe waved his gloved right hand in greeting.  "How are you, Benoit?"
     The lad grinned.  "Fine, sir."  Then he turned back to the interior of the house and hollered, "Felicie! Felicie, that policeman is here to see you!"
     "How is your sister?"
     "Oh...she's fine.  But too many beaus...everyone wants her."  The boy winked at Phillipe knowingly.  "Felicie!  Don't keep the police waiting!"  His eyes twinkled as the door swung open and a brown-haired, green-eyed young woman appeared at the door.
     Phillipe's heart thumped as he gazed at her.  She was more beautiful than ever.  He wanted to dismount, rush to her, take her in his arms, and smother her with kisses. Her simple calico gown draped her figure loosely, yet the swell of her breasts and the curve of her hips showed making her very desirable.
     She wiped her hands on the large white apron that covered the front of her dress, then with her right hand she brushed a stray strand of hair back over her left ear.  A smudge of flour along the right side of her nose indicated that she was in the midst of baking.
     "Bonjour, Felicie.  May I come in?"
     Benoit lingered at the door as Felicie took a step forward.  She smiled.  "Of course.  You know you're always welcome here."
     Phillipe swung from the saddle; Benoit rushed forward to take the reins of his mount.  "I'll look after her for you."
     Phillipe handed him the reins without taking his eyes off Felicie.
     Felicie turned to the open door.  "Maman...it's Phillipe."
     A middle-aged woman, dressed similarly to Felicie came to the door brushing her hands on her voluminous apron.  "Bonjour, Phillipe.  It's nice to see you again.  You're looking well."
     "Thank you, Madam."
     "Felicie, look after Phillipe.  I'll finish the baking."  Then she turned to the interior of the house.
     Phillipe and Felicie stook looking at each other, neither moving or saying a word.  Phillipe wanted to take her hands in his to draw her closer; she looked as if she wanted him to, but he knew that would be an impropriety.
     She started to turn toward the house.
     "Felicie!  Wait!  I want to talk to you."
     She paused and turned back to face him.
     "Can we take a walk?"
     She nodded toward the river.  She strode ahead of him, and he fell in step with her.  Both remained silent as they followed a path that bordered the low bank of the shallow river.
     "Felicie, I missed you so.  I thought of you every day.  When the going was rough, I thought of you."
 She bowed her head to hide the glow of her cheeks.  "I thought of you too," she whispered.
     "Felicie...my contract will be up in a year..."  He hesitated.
     She looked up at him.
     "Felicie...when my contract is up...will you marry me?"

    "Monsieur Lepine...I've asked your daughter to marry me..."
     Auguste Lepine stared at Phillipe.  His dark eyes flashed.  "You want to marry my daughter?"
     "Yes, sir...I've asked her to marry me."
     "And she has agreed?"
     Phillipe hesitated.  When he asked Felicie to marry him, she had not said 'yes' or 'no'.  She replied, "You'll have to ask my father."  He took that as 'yes', but he was not sure.  "She said that I must ask you.  That's your custom...I understand."
     The older man nodded his head.  "My daughter must choose a husband carefully.  Her happiness is most important.  She's in love with you?"
     Again Phillipe hesitated.  "I think so, sir."
     Auguste shook his head.  "Monsieur Marin...that's not enough.  You must love my daughter...and she must love you."
     "But, sir, I do love your daughter."
     "And she loves you?"
     "I think...I think so."
     "I'm sorry, Monsieur Marin...I can not give you permission to marry my daughter.  I don't think she loves you."

St. Boniface, Monday, November 1, 1875

     All Saints Day was a holy day in St. Boniface.  The church was full as all Catholics were required to attend Mass.  Edouard Marin bowed his head as the priest gave the final blessing.  Then he searched for her.  He had not seen Felicie Lepine for a week; he could not understand his anticipation as he waited to catch a glimpse of her.  Each time he visited the small farm where she lived with her father and mother he noticed that her parent's attitude became more indifferent to him.  Not that they were less hospitable, but there was a certain coolness in their behaviour toward him, as if they resented that he was interested in Felicie.
     He caught sight of her; she was dressed in her finest, as was the custom when attending Mass.  The brim of her light blue bonnet framed her delicate face, highlighting her green eyes and rosy cheeks.  Her matching blue gown hugged her slim figure emphasizing her rising breasts and trim waist as it billowed to the ground.
       Their eyes met; he smiled and she smiled in return.  He nodded his head slightly in greeting; she bowed hers ever so slightly.  Edouard felt his heart beat quicken.
     Why did she do that to him?  What was it about her that affected him so?  Just seeing her sent shivers up and down his spine and a glow throughout his body.  Just seeing her made him want her desperately.  He never felt like that for any other woman; why her?
     Suddenly he realized he was in love.

     "Monsieur Lepine...I must talk to you."
     "Edouard...it sounds important."
     Edouard Marin leaned against the rail fence and stared at the dark patch that had been the vegetable garden.  The plants where limp and brown as most of them had given up their bounty and the fall frosts had done their work.
     Without looking at Felicie's father, Edouard nodded and said, "Sir, it is.  I'm in love with Felicie."  He swallowed and paused.
     The silence seemed unbearable.  Edouard turned to the older man who still leaned against the fence, puffing on his briar pipe.
     "Sir...I love your daughter and want to marry her.  May I have your permission to speak to her?"
     "Monsieur Marin...my daughter is important to me.  I love her too.  And I want only her happiness...and I do not think you are the man for her."
     Edouard pushed himself away from the fence and turned to face the older man.  "Why?  Why do you think I'm not right for Felicie?  I believe she loves me...and I love her.  I would be a good husband."
     "Monsieur Marin...that may be true...but...but...you are not of the West...you are not of our way of life.  You don't understand us."
     "Sir...what do you mean?  I'm French...I'm Catholic...I'm..."
     "But you are not Metis!  You are not of our nation!  You don't understand us."
     "But, sir...I love your daughter...with all my heart.  I will do anything to make her happy."
     "Edouard...I believe you...but there are some things that can't be changed...or done.  My daughter has Indian blood...and white men hate that... You would take her away from here...and she will be unhappy...she will be looked down upon...she will be sneered at...and her children?  No...young man, I can not give you permission to marry my daughter...and furthermore I do not want you to see my daughter any more.  Do you understand?"
     Edouard stared at Auguste in shocked silence.  Auguste had forbidden him from seeing Felicie.  "But...but...sir"
     "I'm sorry...Edouard.  I think you are an honourable man...but you are not the man for my daughter.  You would only cause her heartache and pain...and I can't allow that.  I will let you say goodbye to her.  Then you must leave...and never return."

     "Felicie...I love you."  Edouard held her hand in his.  He gazed into her eyes.  "I want you to marry me."
 Her olive eyes gazed solemnly into his.  Her lips trembled as she groped for his other hand.  She squeezed it and drew him closer.
     Her closeness excited him.  The warmth of her hands sent quivers up his arms and through his chest.  The rise and fall of her breasts intrigued him; he noticed the pulse along her slender neck and realized it quickened.  She was as excited as he. He drew her closer; their bodies touched.  He could feel her stomach through her thin gown; her breast brushed against his torso.
     Quickly his hands dropped hers, and his arms encircled her waist, pulling her tightly against him.  Her arms embraced his neck; he felt them warm and moist against his nape.  His lips found hers and quivered as she returned his kiss.  Their tongues entwined, groping feverishly.  She turned away.
     "My darling, I love you,"  she whispered.
     "I love you, Felicie.  Will you marry me?"
     She gazed up at him, her eyes moist, her lips quivering.  She leaned her head against his breast.  "My darling, Edouard.  I can not.  I can not marry you."  She sobbed once.

St. Boniface, Manitoba, Sunday, November 7, 1875

    "Do you know where my brother is?"  Frederick searched the young priest's face.
    "No, Frederick.  I don't know where your brother is.  Every one thought he was with you."
     Frederick shook his head.  It was bizarre.  His brother had disappeared.  Frederick hurried back to St. Boniface as soon as he could.  He had a nagging feeling that all was not right with his youngest brother.  And now he was sure that something was not right.  Every where he asked, he got the same answer: No one had heard or seen Jean Pierre since his aunt's death; he disappeared.  But where?  Where had he gone?  What had happened to him.
     "I'm sorry, Frederick...maybe we should have been more concerned...but your aunt died so suddenly...we just thought some one was looking after him."   The young priest shook his head.
     "I'm not blaming you, Father.  But you know Jean Pierre...he'd be lost with no one to care from him.  Maybe he wandered away."
     "I hope not...one can never know what would happen to him.  Fortunately the weather has been mild... and warm.  I'm sure you'll find him.  We'll pray for him."
     "Thank you, Father.  I know you did your best."

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