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The Marin Family Chronicles--Volume 5-Book 2

The Opportunists by Charles O. Goulet

Chapter 1 -- Coming of Age -- 1926-1927

St. Eustache, Manitoba, Monday, January 11, 1926

 Like piles of diamonds scattered here and there along the barbed wire fences, the sunshine glistened off the banks of snow that covered the landscape of rural Manitoba.  David Marin sat across the table from his white-haired father, who at seventy-five years old, was still spry and active.  "Papa, I need a farm of my own."
 Frederick Marin took the briar pipe from his mouth and tapped the bowl against the table.  "Son, what are you talking about?  This is your farm."
 "No, Papa, it's still your farm.  You make all the decisions."
 Frederick nodded his head.  "But I always ask your opinion."
 "But, Papa, it's not the same...as if I had my own place."
 Frederick nodded again.  "What were you thinking of?"
 "I was thinking of getting my own land."
 "And where would you get that?  There's no land left around here.  None for sale.  None to homestead.  And even if there was some for sale, where would you get the money?"
 "Papa, I was thinking of going to Alberta.  I've heard there's still land north of Edmonton."
 Frederick smiled.  "Son, you're still thinking of that Julie Marin from Morinville."
 David's face reddened.  His father read his mind.  Since the Marin reunion a year ago, he thought of his cousin, Julie Marin, a great deal.  He liked her, and he felt that she was attracted to him.  At thirty-one years of age he had to think about marriage and a family; all the nubile women of St. Eustache were spoken for or not interested in him.
 Frederick smiled again.  "David, do what you have to do.  I'll not stop you."

Toronto, Ontario, Tuesday, February 9, 1926

 "Papa, why can't I get a job?"
 Auguste Marin surveyed his oldest child, Pierrette, who had celebrated her twenty-fifth birthday the Saturday before.  She was an attractive young woman, intelligent, friendly, and articulate about the matters that she believed in, which were her French heritage and her Catholic faith.
 "Maybe you express your convictions too strongly."
 "But, Papa, it's my right to say what I believe in."
 "Yes--that's true--but you must some time be discreet with whom you discuss these opinions."
 "Papa, I'll not be a hypocrite!"
 "My darling, you must be careful about what you say in public here in Toronto...about your language...about Catholics.  This town is English...and Protestant.  You know that."
 "But that does not give people the right to be bigots."
 Auguste laughed.  "No...but you can't prevent them from being intolerant."
 "Is that why I can't be a teacher here?"
 "I'm afraid so, my dear."

St. Henri, Quebec, Thursday, March 11, 1926

 "René, are you a man yet?"
 René Marin resented the derision in Ernest Leblanc's voice.  Although Ernest was his best friend, he hated it when Ernest bragged about his manhood--about the girls he had conquered and seduced even though René did not believe half of his boasts.
 "Hey, you're sixteen today...and you've never fucked a girl.  What's the matter with you?"
 René shrugged.  "I've never had the chance.  I'm not like you.  You have a way with the girls; I'm too shy."
 "Hey, you've got that right.  You've got to get them alone...and they'll do any thing you want."
 The boys were walking along the Etchemin River hunting for early arriving ducks as the ice already left the river.  Each carried a shotgun.
 "How do you get them alone?"
 "Ah, that's easy.  I promise them something nice...or even money.  Hey, you know, they like to drink."
 "When?"
 "Holidays...Sundays...whenever I can.  You want a woman?"
 "Yes...yes."  René struggled to keep the excitement from his voice.  Almost every night he dreamed of making love to a young woman, any young woman.  The very thought caused an erection.
 Ernest noticed the bulge in his trousers and laughed.  "Hey, you sure are ready for a good go...aren't you."
 René nodded.
 "I'll fix you up...some Sunday afternoon."

Morinville, Alberta, Wednesday, March 17, 1926

 "David Marin! What are you doing here?"
 David noticed the surprise and elation in Julie Marin's voice.  Even dressed in the rough clothing of a farmer, she looked attractive.  Her long brown hair hung in tresses on either side of her round face.  Her large brown eyes glowed with vivacity, and her full lips quivered with genuine pleasure.  She was pleased to see him.
 "I've decided to move here...to Alberta.  I've taken a homestead just north of here."
 "You plan to farm...in Alberta?"
 "Yes...there's not much land left in Manitoba. I found out that there's land here.  So here I am."
 David could not keep his eyes off her.  Even the flannel shirt and bib overalls could not hide her femininity.  He knew she was about twenty-five years old and still unmarried.  She farmed the land left to her by her father, Phillipe Marin, who was his father's first cousin.
 "It's a pleasure to see you again, David.  How long will you be staying?"
 "Not long.  I have to return to St. Eustache and make arrangements there.  I hope to be back in a few weeks so I can get on the land right away."
 "You won't be seeding a crop this spring."
 "Probably not.  But I plan to clear a few acres...build a cabin...and a barn.  Maybe seed a small garden.  And you...what are your plans?"
 "Oh, I'm not too sure.  I'll farm, but I'll have help.  George Gallard and Robert Brunet are both eager to help me with the farming."
 David frowned.
 "Oh, they're two neighbours who'd like to have my farm."  She laughed.  "They want to marry me...for the farm...I think."  She laughed again.
 "Are you going to marry?"
 "I'm not sure.  George is old enough to be my father, and Robert is...is dull...and boring."
 "Are you in love?"
 She wrinkled her nose.  "What is love?"

Near Prince Albert, Saskatchewan, Saturday, April 10, 1926

 William Archibald Marin--better known as Archie Amisk, because he like the name 'Archie' better than 'Willie'-- slung the trap over his shoulder and grunted his disappointment.  The trap was empty; he had not caught the muskrat that he hoped.  Trapping the past year was not productive.  Although he and his mother worked hard on their trapline along the north shore of the North Saskatchewan River, they had little to show: a few beaver pelts, a dozen or so mink, about the same number of weasels, and now about two dozen muskrats.
 His mother, Josie, his sister, Wanda Marie, who was twenty years old and soon to be married to a Cree from the Sturgeon River Reserve, and Freddy his young brother, fifteen years old, occupied a small log cabin on the shore of the river.  Since he could remember, his mother provided for them by hunting and trapping, gathering berries and foraging for edible plants in the forest.  His father abandoned them many years before--when he was not sure-- but last year he tried to find him, succeeded, although nothing ever came of it.
 His father, Jean-Paul Marin, refused to recognize him, so he returned to his mother.
 Although much of the snow disappeared from land, the weather was not warm enough for the ice to leave the river, the lakes, or the ponds.  He trudged slowly homeward, stepping carefully to avoid wetting his rubber protected moccassins.
 "Why did he abandon us?"  he muttered to himself.

Vancouver, British Columbia, Friday, May 7, 1926

 Charmaine Marin held her hands out to her toddling son, Darrell, who was just starting to take his first steps.  "Come to Mama," she coaxed as he wobbled toward her, lost his balance, and plunked down onto his rump.  She reached forward to grasp him into her arms.  "One year old today, and taking your first steps."
 She hugged him tightly and kissed him gently on both cheeks.  Charmaine consciously became pregnant out of wedlock, because she believed that women were equal to men in every way--educationally, socially, politically, and economically.  She was a nurse and worked to better her profession, to obtain better working conditions, better remuneration, and a better public image.
 Sometimes she wondered if she made the right choice for her son.  Was she right in depriving him of a father?  Who would make a good father?  Not Raymond Cartier, his biological father.  Maybe David Marin, the relative she met at the family reunion last year.  He was a handsome man, dependable, and trustworthy.  She liked him from the first time that she met him.  And she thought of him often.  Was she in love, or what was it?
 I'll write to him and ask him to come to Vancouver.

Vancouver, British Columbia, Wednesday, June 9, 1926

 Charmaine studied the letter in her hand.

 Dear Charmaine,
  Thank you for the invitation to come to Vancouver, but I am unable to come at this time as I'm very busy with my new farm.  I have taken a homestead in northern Alberta, not far from Julie Marin's farm.  You do remember Julie?
 

Charmaine knitted her brow.  Oh, yes, she remembered Julie Marin, the attractive young woman from Morinville, Alberta.  She also remembered that Julie seemed very fond of David; they seemed to have much in common.
 

I'm sure I would find Vancouver very interesting.  And I remember your young son with a great deal of pleasure.  He was a bright, pleasant little boy.  How is he?
 

Yes, he and David seemed to get along very well.  David seemed to have a way with babies and young children.  Was she being foolish in thinking that David might be interested in her and her son?

 I wish both you and your child the greatest happiness and maybe one day I'll be able to visit you, your son, and Vanoouver.
Your cousin,
David

 She slowly folded the letter and replaced it in the envelope.  Maybe I was foolish to think that David would be a good husband and father.  David indicated little interest in her...or her son.  His language was polite and impersonal.
 A knock at the door startled her.
 She opened it carefully.  To her surprise Raymond Cartier stood there.
 "Hello, Charmaine.  May I come in.  I would like to see my son."
 "Hello, Raymond.  Why do you want to see Darrell?  I thought we had an agreement?"
 "May I come in?"
 Charmaine stepped back from the door.  "Come in...but you can't see Darrell.  He's asleep."
 "I really wanted to talk to you, Charmaine."
 She indicated a stuffed sofa and sat across in another uphostered chair.  "What did you want to talk about.  If it's about Darrell, there's nothing that I want to hear."
 "Yes...and no."
 Charmaine tilted her head inquisitively.
 "Charmaine, I want you to marry me...so our son can have a normal home life...a mother...and a father."
 "Look, Raymond, we've gone over this before.  I don't love you...and I don't want to marry you.  Our agreement was that you would father a child, but you would make no demands concerning that child."
 "But, Charmaine, I've changed my mind...and I was hoping you had too.  My son needs a father...needs me...as well as a mother."
 "That was not what we agree to.  And who knows that you are the child's father?  You only know what I've told you.  Maybe some one else is the father.  Why would I want to marry you?"
 "Charmaine, I love you.  I love the child.  Isn't that reason enough?"
 "But I don't love you, Raymond...never have and never will.  That's why I can't marry you."
 "But, Charmaine, you must think of the child.  He's know as a bastard; he's a pariah in society...and so are you.  You know what people think of a person who has a child out of wedlock; you know what people thing of a child who is illegitimate?  You're subjecting the child to a life of rejection and repulsion.  You're making it impossible for the child to have a fair chance in our society.  Think about it.  Think about it?"
 "I have!  I must ask you to leave...now.  I have nothing more to say.  I will never marry you and Darrell is not your son."  Her voice rose in anger as she rose and moved toward the door.
 "Charmaine...you'll be sorry...and so will the boy.  He needs a father...and you need a husband."
 Charmaine opened the door.  Raymond sidled out; she closed the door firmly and leaned against it.

Halifax, Nova Scotia, Thursday, June 10, 1926

 Bernard Marin ogled the young woman dressed in the latest fashion--a short, straight, untrimmed dress; her hair bobbed into a sleek helmet almost hidden by the red cloche hat pulled down over her forehead, but which could not hide her rouged cheeks and painted lips. She was the most beautiful woman he ever saw.  Who was she?
 Bernard turned to his younger brother, Joseph.  "Do you know who that is?"
 "Who?"  Although Bernard asked the question in English, Joseph answered in French.
 "That woman...over there."  Bernard responded in his vernacular as he pointed to three young woman seated at the booth in the crowded diner that was a fashionable meeting place for young people.
 "Which one?"  Joseph was blind; Bernard realized he had to supply more information.
 "She's wearing a green dress...stylish...and modern...looks like money."
 Joseph titled his head, and listened intently.  "At the table across from us?  The one laughing...right now."
 "Yes...who is she?"
 "You don't know who she is?"
 "No...should I?"
 Joseph laughed.  "She's one of the most sought after demoiselles in Halifax.  That's Gordon Hutton's daughter."
 At that moment, the young woman lifted her head in laughter; her eyes fixed on Bernard's and for a brief moment they held.  Bernard's heart rate quickened as if he jolted with lightning. "What's her name?"
 Joseph shook his head.  "I don't know.  I've heard it...it's different."
 "Do you think I could meet her?"
 Joseph threw back his head in laughter.  "Do you think you want to?  Her family's one of the richest in Halifax...and her father hates Catholics and Frenchmen."
 "How do you know all this?"  Bernard always marvelled at the way blind Joseph seemed to know everything that was going on about him; even more than Bernard knew.
 "Bernard, where have you been?  Every one knows the Hutton family and old Gordon, the bigot.  You'd be wasting your time."
 Bernard nodded and fell silent.  But again the young woman glanced his way; their eyes locked, a little longer this time.  Heat rose to Bernard's face.

Halifax, Nova Scotia, Sunday, June 13, 1926

 Bernard leaned his CCM bicycle against the sea wall along Barrington Street, the popular walkway and cycle path which was crowded on this pleasant, warm spring day.  He studied the passing parade intently.  He heard that Miss Hutton and her friends were regular frequenters on a Sunday afternoon.
 A group of four young women cycled toward him, their laughter and chatter rising above the normal crowd noise of strollers, cyclists, and roaming children.
 His breathing accelerated as he recognized her pedalling slowly behind three other young women all dressed fashionably in bloomers.
 Would she notice him?
 As she came along side, their eyes connected, drawn toward each other like opposite poles of magnets; to his surprise she stopped.  "Don't I know you?"
 For a moment, Bernard was too startled to respond.  "I'm...I'm Bernard...Bernard Marin," he stammered.
 She smiled; her white teeth flashed from her scarlet-painted lips.  "I'm Corliss Hutton."
 "Corlie!  Are you coming?"  One of the young woman, who had continued on, shouted.
 "I'll be along.  I've met a friend."

St. Henri, Quebec, Sunday, June 13, 1926

 "René...you know Cecile and Henriette."  Ernest had a smirk on his face.
 René knew Cecile Beaumont and Henriette Gauthier who lived in the next parish of St. Anselme further upriver to St. Henri.
 Ernest and he had canoed up river toward St. Anselme, and now they stood on the south bank at a trail that led to the river.  René judged the girls to be about fourteen or fifteen; both were well-developed, husky girls almost as tall as he.
 "I invited the girls for a cruise on the river...and they came."
 "Girls, you know René Marin.  He's my friend from St. Henri."
 The girls nodded shyly.
 "Are you ready?  It's such a nice day for a cruise."  Ernest nodded toward the canoe pulled up on the shore.
 The girls giggled and nodded.
 "Hey, are you girls thirsty?"
 Ernest reached into the canoe and retrieved a tan pottery jug.  "This is good stuff.  My father makes it."
 He wriggled a cork from the neck, lifted the jug on his right forearm and gulped noisily.  Then he handed the jug to Cecile who tipped the jug and sipped tentatively.
 "Go on.  Take a good swig.  It's cool and it'll refresh you."
 She did, then handed it to Henriette, who did not hesitated.  "This is good!"  She smacked her lips and took another guzzle.
 "Shall we go?"  René said as Henriette handed him the jug.
 Ernest shook his head.  "We need another drink."

 René, in the bow of the canoe, paddled languidly as Ernest, in the stern manoeuvred the craft through the current of the river.  The girls, sitting amidships, giggled and chattered as the passed the jug back and forth.  With every draft they became more animated--tittering and bantering and cackling louder and louder--as the alcohol took its effect.  They splashed water at each other and at the boys, rocking the canoe, almost tipping it.
 René noticed that Ernest was heading toward the shore, toward a narrow sandy beach on the north shore.  The canoe rolled up the sandy shore and René jumped out.
 "Out girls, out!"
 "Do we have to?"  Cecile pushed Henriette toward René who stood steadying the small craft.  Henriette stumbled and almost fell as she stepped over the gunnel.  She laughed hysterically and fell to the beach.  Cecile crouched and, holding the gunnels, stepped gingerly toward René.  As she stepped out she floundered into his arms and grinned up at him.  "My, you're strong." She squirmed against him; her arms encircled his neck; her body pressed tightly against him.  "Hold me!" she chortled.
 René glanced at Ernest who grinned and nodded affirmatively.
 René held her against him; the swelling of her breasts press against his chest, warm and rousing.
 "Ernie,  I need help!"  Henriette struggled to her feet, stumbled, and stood swaying.  Quickly Ernest disembarked and hurried toward Henriette.  He grasped her in his arms, lifted her upright, kissed her, and hurried her toward a clump of willows along the sandy margin.
 "Hey, René, now's you're chance."
 Cecile still clung to him.  "Kiss me," she murmured.
 René kissed her gently on the lips; the smell of alcohol filled his nose as her lips found his, moist and heated.
 René looked up; Ernest and Henriette had disappeared behind the clump of willows where giggles and sniggers emanated.
 René looked for a similar hide-out.  To the left he saw another opening and he and Cecile stumbled toward it.  She offered no resistance and became acquiescent and more compliant. He found a small clearing of grass; they both sank to the ground.  She drew him toward her; their lips meshed; his right hand enveloped her left breast and she chuckled as his hand move down her body to the hem of her skirt.  Slowly he drew her skirt upward.  His hand moved along her thigh to the course cotton underpants.  He found the waistband and tugged it downward; she offered no resistance and he drew them down her legs; she wriggled her feet to extricate herself from them.  His eyes rove over her lower body taking in the whiteness of her skin and the darkness of her groin.
 Passion and desire surged through him.  He turned Cecile on to her stomach, spread her legs; she offered no resistance as he he lowered his trousers, grasped his erection and forced his way into her.  She winced as he penetrated, but made no sound.

St. Henri, Quebec, Monday, July 5, 1926

 "René! What did you do to that girl?"
 René cringed at the anger in his older brother's voice.  Emile was three years older than René, his half-brother, the son of René's mother's sister who had died during the flu' of 1918.
 René hung his head.  Ever since that day everything went wrong.  Cecile accused him of raping her, and Henriette supported her.  He was to appear in court, and if he was convicted he could be sentenced to many years in prison.  "I made love to her but she let me!"
 They stood outside the court house in Quebec City waiting for the judge's verdict.

 "Young man, you are guilty as charged. I have no recourse but to sentence you to ten years in prison."
 René hung his head to hide the tears.  His life was ruined.
 "Sir, he's not guilty."
 René looked up.  Cecile Beaumont stood before the judge.  "It was my fault.  I was drunk.  I did not resist him.  He's not guilty."

Toronto, Ontario, Friday, August 20, 1926

 "Papa, Vivian...I've got a job!"
 Auguste turned to Vivian, his wife, and Pierrette's stepmother.  "Have you ever seen her so excited?"  He held up his hand in greeting.  "Where is this wonderful job?"
 "Papa, I've been hired to teach in Scarborough."
 Auguste nodded.  Scarborough, a village east of the city of Toronto, was mainly a farming community.  "When do you start?"
 Pierrette shook her bobbed head.  "I start next week...so I must find a place to stay."
 Vivian, her step-mother, smiled at her.  "Oh, I'm so happy for you, Pierrette."
 Firmin, her seventeen year old youngest brother, laughed.  "Now we won't have to listen to your preaching."
 Gaspar, the other brother, twenty years old, and working for his father smiled.  "Good for you, Pierrette.  Now you can lecture to your students."
 The entire family laughed.  All knew that Pierrette was enthusiastic about her French heritage and her Catholic faith.  Auguste admonished, "Be careful, my sweet.  Most of the people of Scarborough are old families--English and Protestant--very set in their ways, very conservative in their thinking.  Don't press them."
 "Papa, I won't."

Scarborough, Ontario, Monday, October 25, 1926

 "Miss Marin, I'm Reginald Harcourt."
 "I'm pleased to meet you, sir."
 The two stood in the hallway of the school house that stood in the centre of the village of Scarborough.
 "What can I do for you, Mr Harcourt."  Pierrette surveyed the young man; he was tall and well-built with dark blue eyes and light brown hair.  He had an open face and a well-shaped mouth that smiled easily.
 "I have bad news, Miss Marin."
 Pierrette stiffened.  Had something happened to someone in her family?  "What is it?"
 Reginald looked at the floor.  "The school board had decided that they no longer need your services.  You have until the end of the month."
 Pierrette's mouth dropped open.  "Why?"
 "The board feels that you are not the right person for the position."
 "Why?  What have I done?"
 "Miss Marin, I am sorry.  That is the board's position.  If you would like to discuss it further, I can meet with you after school is let out."

 "Mister Harcourt, what have I done to be dismissed?"
 "Miss Marin, it's not what you've done, it's who you are."
 "I don't understand."
 "You are French; you are Catholic--which the board failed to ask you when they hired you.  They assumed that you were English--by your name...and thus Protestant.  But they erred."
 "That's not fair!  That's not just!"
 "I'm afraid you're right...but there's nothing I can do about it.  Can we be friends?"  He smiled and offered his right hand.  "Please call me Reggie."
 Pierrette shook his hand gingerly.  He was a handsome man with a pleasant manner; she did feel an attraction to him, but it was tinged with the anger at his message.
 "May I call on you?"
 "I really don't know you, sir.  I know very little about you."
 "My family is an old one in the area.  You can ask about us, and then you can give me your answer."
 Pierrette nodded.
 At that moment another young man about the same age as Reginald came toward them.  "Reggie, I see you've met our newest teacher."
 "Yes, Tom...but unfortunately she won't be with us for long."
 "Why?"  A frown swept over the newcomer's face.
 "Miss Marin, this is Tom Telford.  Tom lives in Toronto but comes to work on the farms here in Scarborough."
 Pierrette noted the condescending expression in Reginald's voice.
 Thomas Telford took her hand in his, bowed at the waist.  "It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Marin.  I'm sorry to hear that you are leaving after so short a stay."
 "Thank you, Mr. Telford.  I'm sorry to be leaving."  She forced herself to be pleasant and keep the edge from her voice.

Toronto, Ontario, Sunday, November 21, 1926

 "That man's here to see you again."  Firmin's voice was exultant.
 Pierrette frowned.  Reginald Harcourt called on her several times in the past month and she avoided him with a series of excuses.  She found him attractive and charming, but she was not sure she wanted to begin a liaison with him.  He was all she opposed; English, Protestant, wealthy, privileged, and a bit arrogant.
 "Pierrette, Monsieur Harcourt wants to speak to you."
 Pierrette slowly made her way to the front door where Reginald waited, hat in hand.
 "Good afternoon, Miss Marin.  I hope you don't find me too forward...but have you made up you mind about me."  He grinned as he held out his hand.
 "Good afternoon, Mister Harcourt."
 "Miss Marin, would you give me the pleasure of your company for a walk on this beautiful fall afternoon?"
 Pierrette tried to think of a reason to refuse his request, but none of honesty would come.  "I'll get my cape."

Morinville, Alberta, Thursday, May 5, 1927

 "David, it's good to see you again."  She ushered him into the kitchen of her small farmhouse.
 David held his cap in his hand and twisted it nervously.  "It's a pleasure to see you again, Julie."
 "Won't you sit down?"
 He plopped into a kitchen chair.  "Julie..."  He hesitated.  "Julie...I have a very important question to ask you."
 Julie tilted her head in anticipation.
 "Julie, will you marry me?" David blurted.
 Julie's head jerked up in surprise.  "What did you say?"
 "Will you marry me?"

Halifax, Nova Scotia, Sunday, June 27, 1927

 "Bernard, I love you."
 Bernard drew the young woman into his arms.  "My darling, I love you too...with all my heart.  You're the most important thing that's ever happened to me."  His lips found hers and she responded, their tongues entwining, searching, and stimulating.
 Her arms tightened around his neck, and her body pressed tightly against his.  Then she tilted her head away and gazed into his eyes.
 He scrutinized her smiling face, her laughing eyes, her shiny nose, and he bent to kiss it gently.  He could not believe his good fortune; he found the girl of his dreams, and she found him; it was unbelievable.  "We must tell our parents."
 Her beaming face dissipated into a frown.  Her eyes troubled.  "We can't!  Not just yet."
 "Why not?  I love you...you love me.  I want to marry you.  Will you marry me?"
 "Oh, I wish I could."
 "You can't marry me?"
 "It's not that simple, my love."

Halifax, Nova Scotia, Sunday, October 17, 1927

 "I suppose you're going to meet that heretic woman!"
 Bernard turned toward his stepfather, Henri Marin.  The bitterness and anger in Henri's voice surprised Bernard.  Why did his parents hate English people so much?  Ever since he told them about Corliss, they showed nothing but hostility and hatred toward her and her family.  They refused to see her or to have her visit their home.  They certainly did not want him to marry her.
 "Papa, you must meet her.  She's a very likable person."
 "I don't want to meet her.  She's English and she's a heretic...a Protestant.  She's evil...and she'll bring you to damnation."
 "Papa, that's silly.  I intend to marry her."
 "You'll not marry her while you live in my house!"  Henri shouted as he shook his fist in anger.
 Isabeau, his mother, asked softly, "What does her family think?"
 Silence, like a mantle, throttled the group; all eyes turned toward Bernard, waiting.  Bernard shook his head.  "They hate me...and any thing French...and Catholic."
 "There!  You see!  You're wasting your time.  She'll never marry you.  Why don't you find some nice French Catholic girl instead of wasting your time on a witch like that?"  Henri's voice grated with loathing.
 "I can't, Papa.  I love Corliss...more than anything else in the world...and she loves me.  We were meant for each other.  I'm leaving now."  He turned toward the door and left without a backward glance as Henri mumbled some invective.

 "Darling, we can't go on this way.  I love you...and I want you more than any thing else in the world.  I want you as my wife."
 Corliss Hutton's face wrinkled as she tried to hold back the tears that glistened her eyes.  "Bernie, I know you're right, but what can we do?  My father will never allow me to marry you."  She hesitated as she suppressed a sob.  "What can we do?"
 Bernard shook his head.  "We could run away...to get married."
 "Who would marry us?  I don't want to be married in name only.  I want a real marriage."
 "I'm twenty-one now.  I don't need anyone's permission to marry, but you do.  That's our problem."
 She nodded her bowed head.  "I've a year to go.  Must we wait that long?"
 "Darling, can we wait that long?  I want you now.  Every waking moment I think of you...I desire you...I want you...in my arms.  I want to make love to you.  Is that so wrong?"

Halifax, Nova Scotia, Tuesday, November 9, 1927

 Bernard Marin and Corliss Hutton held hands before the altar of St. Mary's church in north east Halifax.  Father Alexandre stood before them.  "Bernard Marin, do you take Corliss Hutton here present, for your lawful wife according to the rite of our holy Mother, the Church?"
 "I do!"  Bernard's voice was strong and reverberated through out the almost empty church.  Only Jean-Marie Grouard and Elizabeth Ryerson, their best friends and witnesses, were present.
 Bernard was surprised that none of the Hutton family came forward to challenge their wedding.  During the past months Corliss took instruction from Father Alexandre and secretly became Catholic.  The banns were published, yet no one came forward to object, not even his own family, nor hers, but that did not surprise him as the Hutton family would never hear them since they were only proclaimed in the Catholic church.
 Bernard clasped Corliss's hand as the nuptial Mass continued.  He had difficulty keeping his mind on the sacred words as Father Alexandre turned to them for the final blessing.  As the priest lifted his hands in benediction, a shout went through the church.  "What's going on here?"
 All turned toward the robust figure of Gordon Hutton as he strode purposefully down the aisle toward the surprised group.  "What's the meaning of this!"
 "Father, I'm married.  There's nothing you can do."
 "You're not married!" he shouted.  "You don't have my permission.  I will not allow my daughter to marry this...this Papist.  Do you understand?"  His voice rose in a rolling crescendo sending echoes through the almost vacant building.
 He seized Corliss by the right arm and jerked her toward him.  "You're coming with me...this minute."
 Corliss wrenched away and moved beside Bernard who stepped between them.  "Sir, this is my wife.  I will protect her to the death.  Please leave!"
 "Out of my way, you scurrilous pup...before I lose my temper."  His face glistened in anger.

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