CHAPTER V
THE VOWS
THE fine weather continued, and early in July the blueberries wereripe.
Where the fire had passed, on rocky slopes, wherever the woods werethin and the sun could penetrate, the ground had been clad in almostunbroken pink by the laurel's myriad tufts of bloom; at first thereddening blueberries contended with them in glowing colour, butunder the constant sun these slowly turned to pale blue, to royalblue, to deepest purple, and when July brought the feast of Ste.Anne the bushes laden with fruit were broad patches of violet amidthe rosy masses now beginning to fade.
The forests of Quebec are rich in wild berries; cranberries, Indianpears, black currants, sarsaparilla spring up freely in the wake ofthe great fires, but the blueberry, the bilberry or whortleberry ofFrance, is of all the most abundant and delicious. The gathering ofthem, from July to September, is an industry for many families whospend the whole day in the woods; strings of children down to thetiniest go swinging their tin pails, empty in the morning, full andheavy by evening. Others only gather the blueberries for their ownuse, either to make jam or the famous pies national to FrenchCanada.
Two or three times in the very beginning of July Maria, withTelesphore and Alma Rose, went to pick blueberries; but their dayhad not come, and the gleanings barely sufficed for a few tarts ofproportions to excite a smile.
"On the feast of Ste. Anne," said their mother by way ofconsolation, "we shall all go a-gathering; the men as well, andwhoever fails to bring back a full pail is not to have any."
But Saturday, the eve of Ste. Anne's day, was memorable to theChapdelaines; an evening of company such as their house in theforest had never seen.
When the men returned from work Eutrope Gagnon was already there. Hehad supped, he said, and while the others were at their meal he satby the door in the cooler air that entered, balancing his chair ontwo legs. The pipes going, talk naturally turned toward the laboursof the soil, and the care of stock.
"With five men," said Eutrope, "you have a good bit of land to showin a short while. But working alone, as I do, without a horse todraw the heavy logs, one makes poor headway and has a hard time ofit. However you are always getting on, getting on."
Madame Chapdelaine, liking him, and feeling a great sympathy for hissolitary labour in this worthy cause, gave him a few words ofencouragement. "You don't make very quick progress by yourself, thatis true enough, but a man lives on very little when he is alone, andthen your brother Egide will be coming back from the drive with twoor three hundred dollars at least, in time for the hay-making andthe harvest, and, if you both stay here next winter, in less thantwo years you will have a good farm."
Assenting with a nod, his glance found Maria, as though drawnthither by the thought that in two years, fortune favouring, hemight hope.
"How does the drive go?" asked Esdras. "Is there any news from thatquarter?"
"I had word through Ferdina Larouche, a son of Thadee Larouche ofHonfleur, who got back from La Tuque last month. He said that thingswere going well; the men were not having too bad a time."
The shanties, the drive, these are the two chief heads of the greatlumbering industry, even of greater importance for the Province ofQuebec than is farming. From October till April the axes never ceasefalling, while sturdy horses draw the logs over the snow to thebanks of the frozen rivers; and, when spring comes, the piles meltone after another into the rising waters and begin their longadventurous journey through the rapids. At every abrupt turn, atevery fall, where logs jam and pile, must be found the strong andnimble river-drivers, practised at the dangerous work, at makingtheir way across the floating timber, breaking the jams, aiding withax and pike-pole the free descent of this moving forest.
"A hard time!" exclaimed Legare with scorn. "The young fellows ofto-day don't know the meaning of the words. After three months inthe woods they are in a hurry to get home and buy yellow boots,stiff hats and cigarettes, and to go and see their girls. Even inthe shanties, as things are now, they are as well fed as in a hotel,with meat and potatoes all winter long. Now, thirty years ago ..."
He broke off for a moment, expressing with a shake of his head thoseprodigious changes that the years had wrought.
"Thirty years ago, when the railway from Quebec was built, I wasthere; that was something like hardship, I can tell you! I was onlysixteen years of age but I chopped with the rest of them to clearthe right of way, always twenty-five miles ahead of the steel, andfor fourteen months I never clapped eye on a house. We had no tents,summer or winter, only shelters of boughs that we made for ourselves.And from morning till night it was chop, chop, chop,--eaten by theflies, and in the course of the same day soaked with rain androasted by the sun."
"Every Monday morning they opened a sack of flour and we madeourselves a bucketful of pancakes, and all the rest of the week,three times a day, one dug into that pail for something to eat. ByWednesday, no longer any pancakes, because they were all stucktogether; nothing there but a mass of dough. One cut off a big chunkof dough with one's knife, put that in his belly, and then choppedand chopped again!"
"When we got to Chicoutimi where provisions could reach us by waterwe were worse off than Indians, pretty nearly naked, all scratchedand torn, and I well remember some who began to cry when told theycould go home, because they thought they would find all their peopledead, so long had the time seemed to them. Hardship! That washardship if you like."
"That is so," said Chapdelaine, "I can recall those days. Not asingle house on the north side of the lake: no one but Indians and afew trappers who made their way up here in summer by canoe and inwinter with dog-sleds, much as it is now in the Labrador."
The young folk were listening keenly to these tales of former times."And now," said Esdras, "here we are fifteen miles beyond the lake,and when the Roberval boat is running we can get to the railway intwelve hours."
They meditated upon this for a while without a word, contrastingpast and present; the cruel harshness of life as once it was, theeasy day's journey now separating them from the marvels of the ironway, and the thought of it filled them with naive wonder.
All at once Chien set up a low growl; the sound was heard ofapproaching footsteps. "Another visitor!" Madame Chapdelaineannounced in a tone mingling pleasure and astonishment.
Maria also arose, agitated, smoothing her hair with unconscioushand; but it was Ephrem Surprenant of Honfleur who opened the door.
"We have come to pay you a visit!" He shouted this with the air ofone who announces a great piece of news. Behind him was someoneunknown to them, who bowed and smiled in a very mannerly way.
"My nephew Lorenzo," was Ephrem Surprenant's introduction, "a son ofmy brother Elzear who died last autumn. You never met him, it is along time since he left this country for the States."
They were quick to find a chair for the young man from the States,and the uncle undertook the duty of establishing the nephew'sgenealogy on both sides of the house, and of setting forth his age,trade and the particulars of his life, in obedience to the Canadiancustom. "Yes, a son of my brother Elzear who married a youngBourglouis of Kiskisink. You should be able to recall that, MadameChapdelaine?"
From the depths of her memory mother Chapdelaine unearthed a numberof Surprenants and as many Bourglouis, and gave the list with theirbaptismal names, successive places of residence and a full record oftheir alliances.
"Right. Precisely right. Well, this one here is Lorenzo. He hasbeen in the States for many years, working in a factory."
Frankly interested, everyone took another good look at LorenzoSurprenant. His face was rounded, with well-cut features, eyesgentle and unwavering, hands white; with his head a little on oneside he smiled amiably, neither superior nor embarrassed under thisconcentrated gaze.
"He came here," continued his uncle, "to settle affairs after thedeath of Elzear, and to try to sell the farm."
"He has no wish to hold on to the land and cultivate it?" questionedthe elder Chapdelaine.
Loren
zo Surprenant's smile broadened and he shook his head. "No, theidea of settling down on the farm does not tempt me, not intheleast. I earn good wages where I am and like the place very well;I am used to the work."
He checked himself, but it was plain that after the kind of life hehad been living and what he had seen of the world, existence on afarm between a humble little village and the forest seemed a thinginsupportable.
"When I was a girl," said mother Chapdelaine, "pretty nearlyeveryone went off to the States. Farming did not pay as well as itdoes now, prices were low, we were always hearing of the big wagesearned over there in the factories, and every year one family afteranother sold out for next to nothing and left Canada. Some made alot of money, no doubt of that, especially those families withplenty of daughters; but now it is different and they are not goingas once they did ... So you are selling the farm?"
"Yes, there has been some talk with three Frenchmen who came toMistook last month. I expect we shall make a bargain."
"And are there many Canadians where you are living? Do the peoplespeak French?"
"At the place I went to first, in the State of Maine, there weremore Canadians than Americans or Irish; everyone spoke French; butwhere I live now, in the State of Massachusetts, there are not somany families however; we call on one another in the evenings."
"Samuel once thought of going West," said Madame Chapdelaine, "but Iwas never willing. Among people speaking nothing but English Ishould have been unhappy all the rest of my days. I used to say tohim-'Samuel, we Canadians are always better off among Canadians.'"
When the French Canadian speaks of himself it is invariably andsimply as a "Canadian"; whereas for all the other races thatfollowed in his footsteps, and peopled the country across to thePacific, he keeps the name of origin: English, Irish, Polish,Russian; never admitting for a moment that the children of these,albeit born in the country, have an equal title to be called"Canadians." Quite naturally, and without thought of offending, heappropriates the name won in the heroic days of his forefathers.
"And is it a large town where you are?"
"Ninety thousand," said Lorenzo with a little affectation ofmodesty.
"Ninety thousand! Bigger than Quebec!"
"Yes, and we are only an hour by train from Boston. A really bigplace, that."
And he set himself to telling of the great American cities and theirmagnificence, of the life filled with ease and plenty, abounding inrefinements beyond imagination, which is the portion of the wellpaid artisan.
In silence they listened to his words. Framed in the open door-waythe last crimson of the sky, fading to Paler tints, rose above thevague masses of the forest,-a column resting upon its base. TheMosquitos began to arrive in their legions, and the humming ofinnumerable wings filled the low clearing with continuous sound.
"Telesphore," directed the father, "make us a smudge. Take the oldtin pail." Telesphore covered the bottom of the leaky vessel withearth, filling it then with dry chips and twigs which he set ablaze.When the flame was leaping up brightly he returned with an armful ofherbs and leaves and smothered it; the volume of stinging smokewhich ascended was carried by the wind into the house and drove outthe countless horde. At length they were at peace, and with sighs ofrelief could desist from the warfare. The very last mosquito settledon the face of little Alma Rose. With great seriousness shepronounced the ritual words-"Fly, fly, get off my face, my nose isnot a public place!" Then she made a swift end of the creature witha slap. The smoke drifted obliquely through the door-way; within thehouse, no longer stirred by the breeze, it spread in a thin cloud;the walls became indistinct and far-off; the group seated betweendoor and stove resolved into a circle of dim faces hanging in awhite haze.
"Greetings to everyone!" The tones rang clear, and Fran?ois Paradis,emerging from the smoke, stood upon the threshold. For weeks Mariahad been expecting him. Half an hour earlier the sound of a stepwithout had sent the blood to her cheek, and yet the arrival of himshe awaited moved her with joyous surprise.
"Offer your chair, Da'Be!" cried mother Chapdelaine. Four callersfrom three different quarters converging upon her, truly nothingmore was needed to fill her with delightful excitement. An eveningindeed to be remembered!
"There! You are forever saying that we are buried in the woods andsee no company," triumphed her husband. "Count them over: elevengrown-up people!" Every chair in the house was filled; Esdras,Tit'B? and Eutrope Gagnon occupied the bench, Chapdelaine, a boxturned upside down; from the step Telesphore and Alma Rose watchedthe mounting smoke.
"And look," said Ephrem Surprenant, "how many young fellows and onlyone girl!" The young men were duly counted: three Chapdelaines,Eutrope Gagnon, Lorenzo Surprenant, Fran?ois Paradis. As for the onegirl ... Every eye was turned upon Maria, who smiled feebly andlooked down, confused.
"Had you a good trip, Fran?ois?-He went up the river with strangersto buy furs from the Indians," explained Chapdelaine; who presentedto the others with formality-"Fran?ois Paradis, son of Fran?oisParadis from St. Michel de Mistassini." Eutrope Gagnon knew him byname, Ephrem Surprenant had met his father:--"A tall man, tallerstill than he, of a strength not to be matched." it only remained toaccount for Lorenzo Surprenant,-"who has come, home from theStates"-and all the conventions had been honoured.
"A good trip," answered Fran?ois. "No, not very good. One of theBelgians took a fever and nearly died. After that it was rather latein the season; many Indian families had already gone down to Ste.Anne de Chicoutimi and could not be found; and on top of it all acanoe was wrecked when running a rapid on the way back, and it washard work fishing the pelts out of the river, without mentioning thefact that one of the bosses was nearly drowned,-the same one thathad the fever. No, we were unlucky all through. But here we are nonethe less, and it is always another job over and done with." Agesture signified to the listeners that the task was completed, thewages paid and the ultimate profits or losses not his affair.
"Always another job over and done with,"-he slowly repeated thewords. "The Belgians were in a hurry to reach Peribonka on Sunday,tomorrow; but, as they had another man, I left them to finish thejourney without me so that I might spend the evening with you. Itdoes one's heart good to see a house again."
His glance strayed contentedly over the meager smoke-filled interiorand those who peopled it. In the circle of faces tanned by wind andsun, his was the brownest and most weather-beaten; his garmentsshowed many rents, one side of the torn woollen jersey flapped uponhis shoulder, moccasins replaced the long boots he had worn in thespring. He seemed to have brought back something of natures wildnessfrom the head-waters Of the rivers where the Indians and the greatcreatures of the woods find sanctuary. And Maria, whose life wouldnot allow her to discern the beauty of that wilderness because itlay too near her, yet felt that some strange charm was at work andwas throwing its influence about her.
Esdras had gone for the cards; cards with faded red backs anddog-eared corners, where the lost queen of hearts was replaced by asquare of pink cardboard bearing the plainly-written legend dame decoeur. They played at quatre-sept. The two Surprenants, uncle andnephew, had Madame Chapdelaine and Maria for partners; after eachgame the beaten couple left the table and gave place totwo other players. Night had fallen; some mosquitos made their waythrough the open window and went hither and thither with theirstings and irritating music.
"Telesphore!" called out Esdras, "see to the smudge, the flies arecoming in." In a few minutes smoke pervaded the house again, thick,almost stifling, but greeted with delight. The party ran its quietcourse. An hour of cards, some talk with a visitor who bears newsfrom the great world, these are still accounted happiness in theProvince of Quebec.
Between the games, Lorenzo Surprenant entertained Maria with adescription of his life and his journeyings; in turn askingquestions about her. He was far from putting on airs, yet she feltdisconcerted at finding so little to say, and her replies werehalting and timid.
The others talked among themselves or watched the pla
y. Madamerecalled the many gatherings at St. Gedeon in the days of hergirlhood, and looked from one to the other, with unconcealedpleasure at the fact that three young men should thus assemblebeneath her roof. But Maria sat at the table devoting herself to thecards, and left it for some vacant seat near the door with scarcelya glance about her. Lorenzo Surprenant was always by her side andtalking; she felt the continual regard of Eutrope Gagnon with thatfamiliar look of patient waiting; she was conscious of the handsomebronzed face and fearless eyes of Fran?ois Paradis who sat verysilent beyond the door, elbows on his knees.
"Maria is not at her best this evening," said Madame Chapdelaine byway of excusing her, "she is really not used to having visitors yousee..." Had she but known! ...
Four hundred miles away, at the far headwaters of the rivers, thoseIndians who have held aloof from missionaries and traders aresquatting round a fire of dry cypress before their lodges, and theworld they see about them, as in the earliest days, is filled withdark mysterious powers: the giant Wendigo pursuing the trespassinghunter; strange potions, carrying death or healing, which wise oldmen know how to distil from roots and leaves; incantations and everymagic art. And here on the fringe of another world, but a day'sjourney from the railway, in this wooden house filled with acridsmoke, another all-conquering spell, charming and bewildering theeyes of three young men, is being woven into the shifting cloud by asweet and guileless maid with downcast eyes.
The hour was late; the visitors departed; first the two Surprenants,then Eutrope Gagnon, only Fran?ois Paradis was left,--standingthere and seeming to hesitate.
"You will sleep here to-night, Fran?ois?" asked the father.
His wife heard no reply. "Of course!" said she. "And to-morrow wewill all gather blueberries. It is the feast of Ste. Anne."
When a few moments later Fran?ois mounted to the loft with the boys,Maria's heart was filled with happiness. This seemed to bring him alittle nearer, to draw him within the family circle.
The morrow was a day of blue sky, a day when from the heavens someof the sparkle and brightness descends to earth. The green of tendergrass and young wheat was of a ravishing delicacy, even the dunwoods borrowed something from the azure of the sky.
Fran?ois came down in the morning looking a different man, inclothes borrowed from Da'Be and Esdras, and after he had shaved andwashed Madame Chapdelaine complimented him on his appearance.
When breakfast was over and the hour of the mass come, all toldtheir chaplet together; and then the long delightful idle Sunday laybefore them. But the day's programme was already settled. EutropeGagnon came in just as they were finishing dinner, which was early,and at once they all set forth, provided with pails, dishes and tinmugs of every shape and size.
The blueberries were fully ripe. In the burnt lands the purple ofthe clusters and the green of the leaves now overcame the palingrose of the laurels. The children began picking at once with criesof delight, but their elders scattered through the woods in searchof the larger patches, where one might sit on one's heels and fill apail in an hour. The noise of footsteps on dry twigs, of rustling inthe alder bushes, the calls of Telesphore and Alma Rose to oneanother, all faded slowly into the distance, and about each gathererwas only the buzzing of flies drunk with sunshine, and the voice ofthe wind in the young birches and aspens.
"There is a fine clump over here," said a voice. Maria's heart beatfaster as she arose and went toward Fran?ois Paradis who waskneeling behind the alders. Side by side they picked industriouslyfor a time, then plunged farther into the woods, stepping overfallen trees, looking about them for the deep blue masses of theripe berries.
"There are very few this year," said Fran?ois. "It was the springfrosts that killed the blossoms." He brought to the berry-seekinghis woodsman's knowledge. "In the hollows and among the alders thesnow was lying longer and kept them from freezing."
They sought again and made some happy finds: broad clumps of bushesladen with huge berries which they heaped into their pails. In thespace of an hour these were filled; they rose and went to sit on afallen tree to rest themselves.
Mosquitos swarmed and circled in the fervent afternoon heat. Everymoment the hand must be raised to scatter them; after apanic-stricken flight they straightway returned, reckless andpitiless, bent only on finding one tiny spot to plant a sting; withtheir sharp note was blended that of the insatiate black-fly,filling the woods with unceasing sound. Living trees there were notmany; a few young birches, some aspens, alder bushes were stirringin the wind among the rows of lifeless and blackened trunks.
Fran?ois Paradis looked about him as though to take his bearings."The others cannot be far away," he said.
"No," replied Maria in a low voice. But neither he nor she called tosummon them.
A squirrel ran down the bole of a dead birch tree and watched thepair with his sharp eyes for some moments before venturing to earth.The strident flight of heavy grasshoppers rose above the intoxicatedclamour of the flies; a wandering air brought the fall's dullthunder through the alders.
Fran?ois Paradis stole a glance at Maria, then turned his eyes awayand tightly clasped his hands. Ah, but she was good to look upon!Thus to sit beside her, to catch these shy glimpses of the strongbosom, the sweet face so modest and so patient, the utter simplicityof attitude and of her rare gestures; a great hunger for her awokein him, and with it a new and marvellous tenderness, for he hadlived his life with other men, in hard give-and-take, among the wildforests and on the snowy plains.
Well he knew she was one of those women who, giving themselves, givewholly, reckoning not the cost; love of body and of soul, strengthof arm in the daily task, the unmeasured devotion of a spirit thatdoes not waver. So precious the gift appeared to him that he darednot ask it.
"I am going down to Grand'Mere next week," he said, almost in awhisper, "to work on the lumber-dam. But I will never take a glass,not one, Maria!" Hesitating a moment he stammered out, eyes on theground: "Perhaps ... they have said something against me?"
"No."
"It is true that I used to drink a bit, when I got back from theshanties and the drive; but that is all over now. You see when ayoung fellow has been working in the woods for six months, withevery kind of hardship and no amusement, and gets out to La Tuque orJonquieres with all the winter's wages in his pocket, pretty oftenhe loses his head; he throws his money about and sometimes takes toomuch ... But that is all over."
"And it is also true that I used to swear. When one lives all thetime with rough men in the woods or on the rivers one gets thehabit. Once I swore a good deal, and the cure, Mr. Tremblay, took meto task because I said before him that I wasn't afraid of the devil.But there is an end of that too, Maria. All the summer I am to beworking for two dollars and a half a day and you may be sure that Ishall save money. And in the autumn there will be no trouble findinga job as foreman in a shanty, with big wages. Next spring I shallhave more than five hundred dollars saved, clear, and I shall comeback... ."
Again he hesitated, and the question he was about to put tookanother form upon his lips. "You will be here still...nextspring?"
"Yes."
And after the simple question and simpler answer they fell silentand so long remained, wordless and grave, for they had exchangedtheir vows.