Hello!
Enjoy the new chapter!
Thank you Mium, , Galan_05, Bellnconnue, Porthos10, AlexZero12, paffnytij, A_Revolving_Door, Elios_Kari, Ic2096, Daoistjuhlup, Ponnu_Samy_2279, Black_Wolf_4935, Yako_3972, bepoed, KanKarp for your support!
-----------------------------------------
Night had fallen several hours earlier when the last members of the Boucher family finally went to bed.
Charles and Marie settled into Louis's room, forcing him to join his brother so they could have the space to themselves.
Not long after their candle had been snuffed out, a deep, steady snoring could be heard through the walls. It sounded like an old machine that had just been started up.
François, standing beside his large bed, undressed before lying down beneath the thick blankets covering it. He and his wife had switched sides so they could face each other, since Onatah could only sleep on her left side.
Their faces were only a few centimeters apart. One of the beautiful Iroquois woman's legs rested across her husband's thigh, bent as though to keep him from moving away. With his fingertips, François gently caressed her, moving from the hollow of her leg up to her hip.
He felt exhausted after his long day.
"Sounds like things went well," he murmured before placing a small kiss on his wife's lips.
With her eyes closed, Onatah savored this moment of peace and intimacy.
"Yes. Even though I wasn't really at ease at first."
François raised an eyebrow and studied his wife.
"Oh? Why?"
She opened one eye, the other remaining buried in her pillow.
"Well... I really wasn't expecting them to visit. It caught me by surprise. And then... I saw their reaction when they saw me. And the children."
François parted his lips slightly, but did not answer immediately.
"I... I thought the first meeting had gone well. I didn't get the impression when I arrived that there had been... I don't know... some kind of tension."
"There wasn't any tension, François... It was more awkwardness. I think... they imagined me differently, that's all."
He looked at his wife for a long moment. His hand came to a stop on her thigh.
"I'm sorry, darling. I thought I'd prepared them well. I've described you to them several times... Perhaps I should have had a portrait made and sent it to them."
Onatah gave him a faint smile.
"It's not a big deal. Besides, it's not as though you ever hid my origins from them. Can you imagine if they'd been expecting a Frenchwoman?"
François pictured the scene, but quickly pushed the thought from his mind. The outcome probably wouldn't have been a happy one.
His parents loved him deeply, but they were still people of their time. They had grown up in a society where differences between peoples were deeply ingrained in the collective mindset.
Marriages between Europeans and people from other peoples were not something regarded with indifference. Far from it.
But Charles and Marie had had almost ten years to grow accustomed to the idea.
As early as 1763, François had written to them to tell them that he had found love in New France, and over the years he had spoken of Onatah, her people, and their life together more than once.
Whether in his letters or during his rare visits to Corbie, he had never tried to conceal the truth. Thus, when François's parents crossed the Atlantic, they had at least a general idea of what to expect.
And yet, they had still been surprised.
But it was not only Onatah's skin color that had surprised Charles and Marie. There was also the cultural difference, and perhaps that was what had allowed the awkwardness to settle over the manor at Montrouge.
They simply did not yet know how to behave around the woman who had become their daughter-in-law, even though she was dressed predominantly in European fashion. Several times, Marie had hesitated, afraid of asking a question that was too personal or making a gesture that might seem inappropriate.
Then they had talked over a cup of tea.
Onatah had patiently answered their questions. And above all, Charles and Marie had begun interacting with their grandchildren. The gap between them had gradually begun to narrow.
That did not mean they had forgotten who Onatah was. On the contrary, they were beginning to discover the person behind everything their son had told them in his letters.
"They wanted to know more about my people, so I answered all their questions as clearly and simply as I could until you arrived. I told them about the Mohawks, our history, the Confederacy, the clans, how our society works... and I gave them a very brief introduction to our culture."
A slight smile appeared on her lips.
"I think the more questions I answered, the more they had."
"That's normal. Our societies are very different. They developed without contact with each other until, ultimately, only recently. There are some similarities, though, and I think that's what we need to focus on so we don't frighten people who know nothing about the peoples who live on this continent."
Onatah nodded.
"That's what I tried to do, using words they know, like 'king' and 'Parliament.' It wasn't always easy to find equivalents."
"Hmm. I can imagine."
"They particularly struggled to understand that women have a great deal of authority among us. I felt as though I were speaking another language."
François began to laugh. Onatah pinched his side.
"Hey! What was that for?!"
"You're making fun of me."
"Not at all! I would never dare!"
Onatah narrowed her eyes and pinched him harder.
"Ouch! Why?!"
"You're making fun of me again."
"I'm being persecuted by my own wife... Sniff."
"You deserve it."
François and Onatah smiled tenderly at each other, then fell silent.
The room gradually returned to its quiet, disturbed only by the steady snoring coming from the neighboring room.
-----------------------------------------
At daybreak, François returned to the fort.
Onatah spent part of the day showing her parents-in-law around the seigneury of Montrouge, before taking them to see several censives that were still available. They all looked much the same and were located fairly far from the manor. What primarily distinguished them was the way they were crossed by small streams that eventually flowed into the Champlain River.
It was not until night had fallen that François was able to rejoin his family and discuss the future with his parents.
Throughout the day, the idea of opening a butcher shop and raising livestock had occupied much of his thoughts. He had quickly come to one conclusion: buying large numbers of animals was one thing, but they would still have to feed them all.
May was an excellent time to begin preparing the pastures. The grass was tender and full of life, and the first weeks of the warm season would allow the herd to make the most of the meadows.
But they also had to think about winter.
The oxen, cows, and sheep they purchased would not stop eating simply because the region was covered in snow. The time to plan their fodder reserves was now.
Naturally, this had not escaped the old butcher's attention.
But Montrouge was not an ordinary seigneury. A fort stood nearby, and between it and the lands of the seigneury stretched a vast area that had been cleared and deliberately left undeveloped, providing the artillerymen of Fort Bourbon with a completely unobstructed field of fire in the event of a siege.
François now saw another use for it.
This immense expanse could provide a significant portion of the food needed to sustain Montrouge's livestock. Some areas could be used as pasture during the warm season, while others could be mowed to produce the hay essential for their survival through the winter.
In the other seigneuries, François knew, the seigneur would usually set aside a large portion of his territory for this purpose.
The nearby fort was a true blessing. And it would benefit from the arrangement as well, since the animals would ensure that the area surrounding the stronghold remained clear.
Thus, the first outline of a plan began to take shape.
-----------------------------------------
The following weeks were devoted to obtaining the necessary authorizations, organizing the pastures, building a house on one of the plots in the first row, and finding suppliers.
And two months later, the first animals finally arrived at Montrouge.
Ten cows, one bull, twenty pigs, and just as many sheep.
On the afternoon of July 21, Onatah gave birth to their newest child.
As with Angélique, everything went smoothly. Madame Gagnon had barely had time to settle beside her before things began to progress rapidly.
François stayed at his wife's side throughout the entire birth, and once again made no attempt to hide his emotions. He whispered words of encouragement to her and held her hand whenever the pain became too intense.
On the other side of the door, Charles and Marie waited in silence.
Marie had offered to remain in the room, but Madame Gagnon had gently made it clear that her presence would be of no use and that there were already enough people in the room. Charles, for his part, had simply nodded and brought two chairs, which he placed in the hallway facing the door.
The wait seemed endless.
Then, from behind the door, a high-pitched cry rang out. Charles and Marie rose from their chairs at the same moment, but they still had to wait several more minutes.
Finally, the door opened.
François appeared in the doorway, the newborn in his arms, wrapped in a small gray blanket. His eyes were red from tears, but his face was lit by an enormous smile.
The parents of the seigneur of Montrouge stepped closer and leaned over the blanket to see the infant's face. François gently pulled back a piece of fabric, revealing a perfect, innocent little face.
"I-I... What a beautiful baby!"
Marie began to cry with joy.
Her skin was slightly dark, just like her brothers' had been at birth.
Of course, Marie noticed it, but the detail did not seem to hold her attention for more than half a second.
"May I... hold him?" she asked in a small voice.
François smiled even more broadly and handed the child to her.
"Her, Mother. It's a girl."
"A girl... I have a granddaughter..."
She felt her throat tighten. Warm tears began to roll down her wrinkled, weathered face.
The baby changed arms without seeming to notice. She appeared to be sound asleep.
One must not forget that childbirth was an exhausting ordeal for both mother and newborn.
"She's so small... I'd forgotten how tiny they are at first."
Her lips trembled with emotion.
"Hello, my sweet one," she said in a gentle voice. "Welcome."
With infinite tenderness, she stroked the baby's face with the tip of her finger.
"I'm your grandma. Hello."
Marie's voice broke as she spoke the word "grandma."
Charles, a warm smile on his lips, watched the scene tenderly before placing an affectionate hand on François's shoulder, amused to see his parents so completely transformed by the moment.
"Congratulations, son. And congratulations to your wife."
His gaze turned toward the bedroom door, which had closed behind François.
"How is she?"
"Tired, but Onatah is doing well, Father. The birth went smoothly from beginning to end. Madame Gagnon says it's one of the easiest births she's ever seen. She's taking care of her right now."
"That's good."
Charles hesitated and cast a brief glance at his wife, who was no longer paying them any attention.
"Wasn't it too difficult? For you, I mean. I don't really know what goes on in there when... you understand."
"Not at all. Onatah and the baby did all the work. Me, well... I was simply there. It's just that... you can feel rather useless at times like that. But according to my wife, even though I don't actually take part in it, I help her enormously simply by being there beside her."
Charles Boucher raised an eyebrow and slightly parted his lips, but quickly closed them again.
He had never even considered entering his wife's room while she was about to give birth. No man would have thought of such a thing, because it was customary to leave women to their work.
Marie turned toward her husband and held out the sleeping baby.
"Careful with her arm," she said, taking every precaution as she handed the baby over.
And as soon as the child was in Charles Boucher's arms, his expression changed. His features, which naturally appeared stern, softened noticeably. His eyes began to shine, and he even let a tear escape when the baby wrapped one tiny hand around her grandfather's finger.
"Heh..."
The baby's hand was tiny by comparison, yet Charles could feel how strong her grip was.
"This little one has quite a grip," he said, looking up at his son. "She's going to give you a run for your money."
"If she's anything like her mother, that's for certain," François replied at once, amused.
Marie began to laugh as she remembered the past.
"Do you think you were an angel when you were a child? Good Lord, you were exhausting! You ran everywhere and were always getting into trouble. We had to keep an eye on you constantly! We thought we were going mad!"
"She gets that from you," Charles interjected without taking his eyes off the baby.
"I don't think so. That's more your temperament. Your father told me about some of your exploits when you were a boy."
Charles rolled his eyes and quickly changed the subject, sensing that he was about to lose this battle.
"So then, what will this little one be called?"
"I suppose we can tell you now. Our daughter will have two names. Marguerite will be her first, after my maternal grandmother, and Renée, after my paternal grandmother."
The two grandparents exchanged a glance, followed by a happy smile.
"They're very good names, darling," Marie said, kissing her son's forehead. "I hope they'll bring her good fortune. But... doesn't it bother your wife?"
François quickly shook his head.
"Not at all. She's Catholic too, since we're married. Our other children have Christian names as well."
"Of course," Charles said as he handed the baby back to her father. "They certainly weren't going to give her an Iroquois name."
"Oh, but she will have one," François admitted.
A cold silence immediately settled over the hallway. Charles looked up sharply.
"Pardon?"
"François? What did you just say?"
Marie's smile slowly faded.
"I thought that..." she began, before stopping, searching for words she could not find.
Although two months had passed since their arrival at Montrouge, they were unaware of this important detail. Nor did they know that their son had been adopted by an Iroquois clan.
They did not even know that Pierre and Louis spoke their mother's native language.
"I said that she will also receive a Mohawk name. Because, like her brothers, Marguerite is just as French as she is Mohawk."
Seeing the dark expressions on his parents' faces, François quickly explained.
"She is a subject of the King of France, without a doubt, but she is also Mohawk because, as my wife explained to you when you arrived, descent among their people is traced through the women. To her people, this little girl is Mohawk, belonging to the same clan as her mother."
A heavy silence settled over the hallway that ran along the upper floor of the manor. Charles and Marie remained serious. This important piece of information had come so suddenly that the old butcher and his wife did not know how to react.
When Chief Akwiratheka had stopped at Montrouge at the end of May, none of this had been mentioned, or even hinted at.
"Be clear, François. Will her real name be Marguerite, or will it be this Mohawk name?"
"Marguerite is her French first name, the one she will use in everyday life and on official documents. The other... will only come into use when we are among the Mohawks."
Marie's expression softened, but doubt could still be seen on Charles's face.
"She'll remain French?"
François looked at his father and smiled.
"Of course. She's French and Mohawk. The two aren't mutually exclusive."
He nodded slowly, then gazed at his granddaughter's face for a long moment.
"And... what about her education?" the old man insisted.
"We'll make sure she receives a complete education here at Montrouge, under Monsieur Gaston, Pierre's tutor. She'll learn the rest from her mother."
Although this answer might have seemed somewhat vague, Charles was satisfied with it. For a moment, he had imagined his dear little granddaughter being initiated into pagan and barbaric rituals. The answer was enough to satisfy the old butcher and his wife, as they both released a sigh of relief.
Not wishing to cause any more trouble on such a day, François decided to keep to himself, at least for the time being, the other information concerning him and his children that he had not yet shared with his parents.
-----------------------------------------
A week passed without incident.
Then, on July 28, it was Jeanne's turn to give birth. She gave birth to two beautiful babies with very pink skin, a girl and a boy, who were named Alexandrine and Guillaume.