After that, Donatienne and I were moved to the women’s dormitory.
In the middle of May, Patience waited on the table where I sat, and said to me she had spent the morning polishing a candlestick, and that it should be shiny by vespers. I waited until our prayers were finished, and met her between the yews. Strange how that place had become a link between us, and I tried always to erase the image of her and Lukas there, though I never saw those trees, whether day or evening, that the image was not first in my thoughts.
“I had a message!” Her face glowed. “From someone who will help us escape.”
“From Ma? Did she get my letters?”
“You will remember him when you see him. He will return in three months.”
“Three months? I want to leave now.” But in truth, Donatienne had just received word that a wedding was being arranged for her, and I did not wish to leave before Donatienne’s wedding. “Is this man sent by Ma?”
“No. Stop being foolish, Resolute.”
“Then how do you trust him?”
“I can trust him.”
“No man can be trusted,” I said, feeling myself far wiser than my sister with my new, matron’s knowledge. I wondered whether it was wise to leave the leaving in her hands. Perhaps she could not choose our best future; perhaps I must choose my own.
Donatienne had met the man that she was to marry once before the wedding date. It had been arranged to take place in June before the flax harvest. His name was Julien No?l; his name was Christmas. Her gown was a simple borrowed frock once used by his sister, her veil a bit of lightweight wool.
I stood at her side, all the time thinking that she would return to the convent, yet at the same time knowing she would not. During her wedding, she coughed and coughed. At least, I thought, watching as Julien prayed the prayers and took the Communion, he did not seem either leering like Rafe MacAlister or mean like Lukas Newham. Julien No?l was but two-and-twenty, and she seventeen. During mass, I thought only of my loneliness. I had turned a woman, but my heart felt like that of a foot-stamping five-year-old.
When they arose from their knees, now man and wife, both appeared happy. I gave her a gift of my first yard of linen smooth enough it was allowed to remain and not be torn out for scrap. I had stretched it upon a framework of light wood. The yard of linen itself was made from a tiny bit of silver tow mixed with gold, for they would not let me have more of the finer thread from the fields until my work deserved the best stuff. Upon it, I had embroidered a man and a woman on either side of a house. An embroidered tree grew up one side and shaded the house, and in its branches tiny birds nested. That was a sign of good luck. Down the other side was a ribbon of honeysuckle with three yellow flowers, a sign of sweet happiness. Donatienne seemed pleased as she waved farewell.
That night as I lay next to Donatienne’s empty cot, I wondered if Julien had already pressed his desires upon her. Brushing the thought from my mind, I recited the pattern for the tweed-style woolen the nuns produced to sell. Blanc-gris-gris, marron-marron, I chanted until my eyes closed.
When next I found paper and ink provided I would tell Ma to find me before they marry me to some townsman, too. I was thankful at least that Lukas had continued his ploy and brought me papers, still terrified I would let others of his community in on his religious change of heart.
The first flax harvest that summer was a large one. Four weeks we spent pulling and stacking, strewing and bundling for the marsh-retting. It was barely finished before the second harvest began. During this time all helped, even the cooks, so Patience was in the field at my side often. I asked her if the man who would rescue us had given her any new signs. No, she said. We must wait. He would come.
“Why wait?” I asked. “Were we not expecting to sell what we carry for passage home? We need no man to do those things.”
“You know so little of the world. You will need a man to do much in your life. They hold the keys to all our doors.”
“I belong to no one but myself.”
Patience shrugged. “You do as well to complain about the color of the sky.”
Perhaps the heavy work made everyone too tired to be watchful. No matter the reason, four of the company of slaves disappeared that week, three men and one woman. The next week, five more men went. One of the men was Lukas. When I saw Patey, we talked of their leaving, and I said, “It is time. We should press our luck and go, full moon or no. There is another week of flaxing I want to miss.”
“They are posting watches at night now.”
“They are watching the men.”
“Word will be sent to our captors, the Indians. They will either find the missing people or bring more. I want to be here when they come. I have a plan.”
“What plan?” I feared she had no plan other than to live in a state of expectation for the rest of our lives. Had she gone mad? “I shall go by myself,” I declared.
“You will not live a week,” she returned.