Thread: Madame Brunet (LingeringDesire & CharmSnake)

The cold damp wind blustered intermittently. The sharp gusts cut the eardrums and only relented long enough to allow the rotten fish odor to continuously re-envelop the pier. Pointe Lebel stood on the south bank of the Rivire Manicouagan where it joined flow with the mighty St Lawrence. It's shop-lined streets resembled any three blocks of Europe, but when the cobbles abruptly ended, a few rows of various wood houses and cabins stood on the edge of unending green wilderness. Dominating the skyline was the church steeple, a block behind the port front, with its large gold cross and intricate stained glass of the Virgin Mary and child. Many of the houses may have been ramshackle but no expense had been spared for the place of worship. Le Jugement bellied up to the pier and the gangwalk was extended. The three remaining girls were called to the deck to wait as the non-living cargo was unloaded. Two crewmen hauled sacks down the gangwalk and deposited them on the pier. Three more men busied themselves hoisting a crate from the hold with tackle and pulley. As the crate rose, swinging gingerly in the wind, the captain descended the plank to the pier to meet with two priests. They shook hands and engaged in conversation. It was difficult to make out the words due to the distance and the coarse Qubec accents but at one point the priest that did all the talking clearly asked, Seulement trois? as he spotted the girls on deck over the captain's shoulder. The captain replied with something that sounded like Cinq et mort. The captain was easier to understand as he lacked the crude local dialect, although his back was turned. The priest that did not talk seemed to wear a disinterested scowl through the whole affair. The conversation concluded with a handshake before the priest looked over a small parchment, nodded and handed over a small sack of monies. The captain poured the coins into his palm and was satisfied. Then the priests walked back towards the church. The crew had carefully swung the crate on the yardarm over the dock and began to lower it towards a horse team and dray cart that had arrived. After a few minutes the priests returned with three men in tow. They were generally scruffy looking, two of them especially so. The short one with the dark tangly beard chatted with the priest a moment. Then the priest sent his untalkative partner up the gangway. At the top, he eyed the girls. Plessis? he called Josette's family name tersely and bade her follow. His accent was horribly different. Down on the pier the bearded one, dressed in woodsman's clothes, a dirty wool scarf wrapped around his ears against the wind and muddy boots, nodded his approval. The talking priest chatted with Josette for a couple of minutes. She nodded begrudgingly and when the conversation ended the woodsman offered his arm, she took it and they strode towards the chapel. The next man was fairly clean cut with a long linen coat. His silvery hair told his older age. The irritable quiet priest was sent back up to the deck. De Rouen? he prompted. The R was pronounced extremely badly. What is happening? Come, he commanded in English. It was then obvious that he was not only completely un-French, but also not fond of the language or the people who spoke it in any way. Jacquelyn was not going to get an answer. Go one then, Simone pouted at being left behind. Jacquelyn could only follow the priest's broad back as she trepidly edged her way down the plank. His heavy steps shook the boards forcing her to grip the ropes tightly or tumble into the drink. On the pier, the silver haired man eyed her up and down. He seemed disappointed. He had deep set eyes and was not unhandsome. He looked to the talkative priest. She is not well, he appraised her. It's been a long voyage overseas, reasoned the priest. Her legs on land will make a big difference. The third man stood nearby and grimaced slightly at the sight of her. He was round with wind burned cheeks and half of his teeth were missing. Is she even seven stone? Six? the man inquired. He even reached out and lifted her shawl to examine her sickly figure. He shook his head. I'm sorry. I'd like to see another. There is only one other. The unfriendly priest led her back on deck and without a word motioned for Simone. She picked up her skirt hem and snootily walked past the pale rejected Jacquelyn, down to the pier where she gave her hand to the distinguished gent and the new couple continued down the street to the church. The dentally challenged man was the only one left on the pier and Jacquelyn was the only one left on the boat. One and one was very simple math. The man chatted with the priest for several minutes shaking his head several times. Finally, he walked off dejectedly. Two crates were now safely placed on the dray and a third was being hoisted. The talkative priest came aboard. His expression was consoling as he took her gently by the shoulders. I am father Arsenault, He introduced. Please, my child. Come be fed and get warm. His voice was deep and soothing. With his caring arm around her, he took her down the gangway. The contemptuous priest scowled as they passed. She is sick, Finnegan, he told him. The Irish Father Finnegan followed them to the church. Most of the buildings in town were wooden, but the church was carefully cut stone. Five steps led to the front doors. Simone and her new husband descended them to an awaiting horse and buggy. Looking down her nose at her scrawny defeated rival, she fixed her hair as an excuse to display her wedding band. It was modest but was nonetheless pure silver. As the newlyweds rode off on the buggy, four horses pulled the dray cart with the crates of cargo in the opposite direction. Jacquelyn was hardly so claimed.