Old World Thunder, New World Fire

Anne-Marie de Parthenay

New France

It had been a week since Anne-Marie fell into the sea and nearly drowned. A week, and still her brother had not visited her. She was told that he had gone with Le Vicomte to a distant fort in Indian country, but she did not want to believe it. Even if he had, he should have come. Surely he could have spared a single moment. Surely he would have wanted to check on her. Surely he was thinking of her now, and worrying for her.

Anne-Marie spent that week in a self-inflicted torment, agonizing over why he had not come. She knew the likely culprit was Le Vicomte. Ever since they had become wards in his custody, he had tried to separate them. It was all part of his plan for them, the function he wanted his tools to perform. He would groom Chrétien into his perfect little pet, a model gentleman at his false father’s beck-and-call, to fight and earn glory and fame for his new house. Le Vicomte knew that they were close, and therefore knew that the key to winning Anne-Marie’s heart was winning Chrétien’s.

She knew her brother was no fool: he had to know Le Vicomte planned to marry her, and abandon him as soon as she birthed a son. But she also knew her brother was a pragmatist above all else, prioritizing survival over wellbeing, his or hers. If he believed it to be the best path forward, he would sell her to the highest bidder, if only after offering himself for free. It was a strange and self-destructive instinct, born from the years he spent shielding her from their real father’s ugliest moments. He had always done that, as long as she could remember–martyred himself so that she could remain innocent and optimistic. Even now, she remained unaware of most of the things her father did and said at the heights of his madness. There was a haunted look in Chrétien’s eye whenever she asked about it, but he had never told her anything, and eventually she stopped asking.

The door to her chambers opened, and Dr. Gusteau came in carrying a tray with her breakfast. The kind doctor had been her only source of joy this past week, and her only company. He was an old and jolly fellow, his eyes always seeming to twinkle behind his half-lens spectacles. His white hair grew in two distinct patches on either side of his otherwise-bald head, and his nose was always rosy from the cool autumn air. He had spent this past week nursing Anne-Marie back to health and reading to her, something her own father had never done.

“Here is your breakfast, ma chérie,” the old doctor said with a smile, laying the tray on the table by her reclining couch.

“Thank you, doctor,” Marie replied. “Any news of my brother?”

“Alas, I am afraid not. As far as I’m aware, he and your father are still at Le Fort Frontenac.”

“He is not my father. You would do well to remember that.”

“Of course, ma chérie. I believe that might be the one thing you and he agree on.”

The doctor chuckled as he handed Anne-Marie her tea. She stirred it lightly, then began to sip.

“I know you are anxious concerning your brother, but he is safe,” Gusteau added. “Le Fort Frontenac is well-fortified, and Le Iroquois do not possess weapons to breach high walls. Besides, Le Marquis himself is there as well, and you can be sure he is always well-guarded.”

“I am more wary of Le Vicomte than any Iroquois,” Anne-Marie replied. “You have no idea what he’s capable of.”

“I have been a doctor in the high courts for many years, ma chérie. He is far from the most evil man I have met, and even further from the most cunning. Your brother seems like a bright boy–I am sure he can defend himself well enough without your help. But you should not dwell on him now–your mind will grow sick with worry, and your recovery will be stunted. Instead, you should focus on the good news, for I bring with me today a visitor.”

“A visitor? Who?”

“A girl your age, looking for a friend, same as you. Are you feeling well enough to host her? Should I let her in?”

Anne-Marie nodded. Despite the doctor’s hospitality, he was still an old man, and she was desperate for someone else to converse with.

“Good.” The doctor stood, smiling. “I will be back in the evening with your supper and medicine. Do try to make nice with La Mademoiselle, for both your sakes.”

With that, he left, and her new guest replaced him, striding into the room as if it were hers. She smiled as she saw Anne-Marie, but Anne-Marie felt only a pang of jealousy. Everything about this girl was perfect. Her hair was coiffed so immaculately it seemed effortless, a beautiful array of dark curls laid neatly atop her head. Behind, a single ringlet wrapped around the back of her neck to rest on her collarbone, adorning and accentuating it along with her exposed shoulders and neck. Her features were waifish, yet not scrawny, giving her the appearance of both an innocent child and a mature woman. She was dressed as if Anne-Marie’s chambers were a ballroom, a voluptuous gown of elaborate brocade in patterns of flowers and butterflies, and a cap with golden butterfly pins to match.

“You must be Anne-Marie,” the girl said, her voice honeyed and saccharine. She sat delicately on the stool next to the reclining couch, folding her dress neatly as she did.

“I… I am,” Anne-Marie said, struggling to find her voice. She didn’t know whether to feel envious of this girl’s unabashed beauty or to be smitten by it. “And to whom do I owe the honor of this visit?”

“Oh, you needn’t take such a formal tone,” the girl said. “My name is Jeannine. And if we’re to become friends, which I hope we are, we should hardly speak of honor or etiquette or any of that nonsense. Is that alright with you?”

“More than alright,” Anne-Marie replied with a smile. “Though I can’t promise I won’t slip up every now and then. Old habits and all that.”

“And I’ll be sure to correct you whenever you do. I deal with enough empty pleasantries in this place already.”

Jeannine’s eyes fell to the book on the table.

“Do you enjoy reading?” She asked.

“Oh, very much so,” Anne-Marie replied. “Though I’ve been feeling faint ever since my accident, so the doctor’s been kind enough to read to me.”

“I heard about that. It’s a miracle you’re still alive, and I thank God for that miracle. There aren’t any other girls our age here, you know. Well, there’s Blanche, but there’s something wrong with her. I think she’s inbred, but my father says her parents are only second cousins, and their union shouldn’t result in any deformities.”

“And your father is?”

“Oh, right. He’s Le Marquis. I suppose you would've found out eventually.”

She said it so casually, like it didn’t even matter that she was the daughter of the most powerful man in New France. She took Anne-Marie’s book off the table and thumbed through its pages.

“Oh, but this is a book for children,” she said. “Is this what he’s been reading to you?”

“Well, yes,” Anne-Marie said. “It’s what he had. I didn’t mind it too much. Better than nothing.”

“And worse than what a young woman ought to be reading. Don’t worry. I have a contact at the port who ships in all the hottest publications from the salons in Paris. I’ll share some with you.”

“Oh, that would be wonderful! I don’t know how to thank you.”

“I do. You can start by telling me what they’re wearing in the palace nowadays. It’s been two years since we’ve moved to this backwater, and I’m painfully out of touch with the current trends.”

“I’ll try my best, though I must admit it’s been several months since we’ve visited Versailles. Nowadays it seems like the styles change every month, sometimes every week. It’s dizzying to try and keep up, even if you live in the palace.”

Anne-Marie found the strength to sit up, and tried her best to stand. Her legs faltered a little, and Jeannine caught her, taking Anne-Marie’s hand in hers.

“Thank you,” Anne-Marie said, blushing again for reasons that eluded her. She walked over to her wardrobe and opened it, taking down her newest gown and showing it to Jeannine.

“This was a gift from another family for my journey here,” she explained. “It’s as close to current as I know, unfortunately. It’s called a Mantua. You can see how it rises up to cover the shoulders and neckline. Modesty’s what’s in now, I suppose. It’s meant to be worn with a fontange, but I can’t stand those things. It’s impossible to keep them on straight, especially if you’re meant to dance.”

“Funny you should say that. I’ve got a cousin who’s flattening her newborn’s head with a marble slab so she’ll be able to wear one better.”

“You lie.”

Jeannine grinned. “Oui. I do. But imagine if it were true.”

“I’d like to retain my faith in people, thank you,” Anne-Marie said, smiling. She put her dress back in her wardrobe and closed it. “Well, now what should we do?”

“Isn’t it obvious? You haven’t left this room. Let’s go out somewhere together, you and I.”

“Oh, I shouldn’t. The doctor said I’m not fully recovered yet.”

“You’re strong enough to stand. And if you fall again, I’ll be right by your side to catch you. Surely you can’t stand being inside another minute. What would you like to see? I can take you anywhere you want.”

Anne-Marie thought on her question, but she already knew the answer.

“Have you seen them?” She asked. “The savages, I mean.”

“Of course,” Jeannine said with a smile. “Would you like to meet one?”

“Very much so. I’m curious about them. Are they as bad as people say?”

Jeannine began to lead Anne-Marie towards the door, hand-in-hand.

“I’m not sure,” she said. “What do people say?”

She opened the door, and addressed the guard standing watch in the hall.

“We’re going out to the savage village,” she told him.

“Mademoiselle,” the guard protested. “You know your father forbids you from leaving the Upper Town.”

“I also know he pays your wages, and allows you to serve as a guard rather than on the front lines. If you’d like that to continue, you’ll do as I say. Now let’s go.”

Anne-Marie stared in awe at her new friend’s assertiveness. She would never think to speak of any of her servants that way, and certainly not a guard or military officer.

“How did you do that?” Anne-Marie whispered to Jeannine as the guard began to escort them outside.

“Do what?” Jeannine asked, as if it were nothing.

“Just… tell him what to do?”

“Oh, my dear Anne-Marie,” Jeannine said in a lightly mocking tone. “We will have to instill in you some confidence. You are a noblewoman from the finest kingdom on God’s green earth, and you’ll need to start carrying yourself like one.”

Outside for the first time, Anne-Marie beheld the neat row of noble houses. Towards the end was a grand mansion, which she could only assume was the Marquis’.

“It’s hard to believe there’s not another girl our age in all these houses,” Anne-Marie said.

“You have no idea how horrible it’s been for me,” Jeannine said. “Besides Blanche, the only other company I’ve had is 11-year-old Étiennette. Would you want to suffer through conversation with an 11-year-old?”

“I am glad I came here, then.”

The girls locked eyes. Jeannine had dark eyes the color of the night sky, commanding and calculating, and eternally beautiful.

“As am I,” Jeannine said. “We must celebrate your arrival. Let’s plan a ball in my manor. It’ll be good fun.”

“Oh, I would love a ball,” Anne-Marie said. “I was worried you wouldn’t have balls and other things in a place like this.”

“True, this is a savage and wild land, but we are not completely deprived of civilization.”

“I hope there are more young men our age than there are young women.”

“There are. So many, in fact, that they are in constant competition to try and woo me. I’ll be glad for you to steal some of them from me–it’s been completely and utterly exhausting.”

“Have any in particular caught your fancy?”

“No, not yet. You know how boys are–their brains are the organs they think with the least. And you should know I have impossibly high standards when it comes to men.”

Jeannine helped Anne-Marie down a set of stone steps to a door on the wooden wall. Two guards stood by it, but opened the door as they saw Le Marquis’ daughter approaching.

“Do you visit this village often?” Anne-Marie asked.

“Every now and then, when I’m bored of the city. It’s always fascinating to see how some people live, don’t you think?”

They walked through the gate and were immediately greeted by a series of huts dotting the grounds outside the city walls. Anne-Marie watched the Indians with a fervent curiosity. As they walked, she found that she couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed. She had heard so many tales of the savages, creatures that were ten feet tall and acted more like beasts than men. And yet here they were, carrying out their day-to-day business like anyone else, with no discernible difference than what she’d expect from French peasantry.

Her eyes focused elsewhere, she didn’t notice Jeannine reach into her purse and fling a large handful of livre into the square before them. All at once the Indians turned and began hunting ravenously after the coins, grabbing them off the floor. Some of them began fighting each other for them, and Jeannine threw two more handfuls before grabbing Anne-Marie by the hand and running straight into the newly-formed crowd. Suddenly, Anne-Marie was caught in a whirlwind of people clawing for coins that were hardly worth anything in France since the introduction of the Louis d'or. Here though, it was as if each coin was a diamond.

After a minute of pushing and shoving, both of the girls broke through the fracas to the other side. Jeannine helped Anne-Marie to sit by one of the huts, safely out of view.

“There,” Jeannine said, dusting off her dress. “Finally we can enjoy some privacy.”

Anne-Marie looked behind them. The guard that had been escorting them was nowhere to be found.

“Are you sure it’s safe for us to be here without the guard?” She asked, panting from exertion.

“Oh, there’s no need to worry,” Jeannine reassured her. “They may be savages, but they’re smart enough to know who I am, and to know what would become of them if anything should happen to me.”

She knelt next to Anne-Marie, taking her hands and cradling them in her own.

“Now that we’re alone, will you tell me something?”

“What?”

“Your ‘accident’. Was it really an accident?”

Anne-Marie’s face grew hot with embarrassment, and she looked away.

“I thought so,” Jeannine mused. “But why would you want to rid the world of such a precious thing? There’s a shortage of beautiful girls in this country, and you should be loath to contribute to it.”

Now Anne-Marie’s face was hot with flattery, and still she could say nothing in response.

“You can tell me things, you know. My lips are nothing if not tight. It won’t do any good to keep secrets from your new best friend.”

Anne-Marie wrung her hands nervously. “Promise you won’t tell a soul?” She asked.

“Of course.”

Anne-Marie bit her lip. She was never one to confide in others, but she was really starting to like this girl, and she figured someone as smart and resourceful as her would find out anyway.

“It’s my father,” she burst out. “Well, he’s not really my father, but he adopted my brother and I after my real father passed. Only, he doesn’t see me as a daughter. I think he plans on being rid of his wife, and marrying me instead. But he’s a slime, and I hate him. So I thought about jumping. I went right up to the edge. But I couldn’t even go through with it. Everyone’s saying I did, that I did it on purpose, but I couldn’t even jump. I just… I just slipped. I’m such a coward.”

Tears began forming in Anne-Marie’s eyes, but Jeannine wiped them away.

“Oh, you silly girl,” Jeannine cooed softly. “I hope you’re smart enough to not try again. Now that I’ve met you, I won’t let you leave me here alone.”

“I won’t… I won’t… but it doesn’t even matter. He still aims to marry me, and there’s nothing I can do about it.”

“Would that be so terrible a fate?”

“What? Of course it would. He’s old, and cruel, and disgusting. What worse fate could there be than to have to marry a pig like him?”

“I can think of far worse. The fact of the world is that all men are pigs. I’ve met and been courted by so many, and none of them, none of them will ever understand you the way a woman can. But does that mean we should despair? I don’t think so. We have a power over them, the mindless and feeble creatures that they are. You have a power over them, over whatever husband you’ll marry. Men believe that they hold all the power, but power to a man means medals and titles to inflate their fragile egos. Whatever you do, whomever you marry, know that you are allowed your own power. Your own wants and desires. Your own… indulgences. Do you understand?”

Anne-Marie’s face and chest grew hot, her hands sweating in Jeannine’s tender grasp.

“I… I think so,” she said. “But I think you’ll need to show me.”

Jeannine smiled. It was such a beautiful thing, her smile.

“I intend to,” Jeannine said. “Come. I have something in mind.”

Hand-in-hand, Jeannine led Anne-Marie to the outskirts of the savage village. She navigated it so confidently, like she had been here a hundred times. She found a particular hut, and walked in. Inside was an Indian man, sitting cross-legged in the center of the room. He must have been thirty or forty, his long black hair tied behind his back. Across from him sat an Indian woman around the same age, but she quickly stood and left the hut upon seeing the two girls enter.

“What are we doing here?” Anne-Marie asked nervously. She had heard many rumors and stories of what Indian men were said to do with young girls their age. She was surprised to see Jeannine so calm, and even more surprised when Jeannine produced another handful of coins from her purse. It was only a few livre compared to the ones she scattered in the square, but the man reached out his hand, taking them with a knowing understanding, like this transaction had been made before. He curled into a ball, prostrating himself before the two of them. Jeannine smiled before reeling her foot back and kicking him sharply in the side. A muffled groan of pain escaped the Indian man’s lips, and Anne-Marie’s eyes widened in horror as she kicked him again, and then a third time.

“What are you doing?” Anne-Marie asked.

“I’m blowing off some steam,” Jeannine said calmly as she kicked him again. “Join me, won’t you? It’s quite therapeutic.”

“But you’re hurting him.”

“No I’m not. You wanted to meet a savage, and so I’m introducing you to their kind. They don’t feel pain, not the way we do.”

The grunts the man made every time her foot met his ribs made Anne-Marie doubt that claim.

“But… he just takes it? Aren’t you afraid he’ll get angry and attack you?”

“Of course I’m not afraid. I told you–they know who I am. He does it of his own accord–I pay him honest money, more than he’d make in a month’s labor. He’s got a family to feed, you know. If it wasn’t worth it to him, he wouldn’t let me do it. Now come, so I can get my money’s worth.”

Anne-Marie just stood there, paralyzed. Had she misjudged her new friend? Had she made some horrible mistake?

“Listen, Anne-Marie,” Jeannine said, her breath starting to grow short. She paused her assault momentarily to look Anne-Marie in the eye, laying her hands on the frightened girl's shoulders. “All our lives we are told to never be angry, to never be violent. While men can yell and scream and hit us and kill each other in their silly wars, we are molded to be quiet and obedient. It will drive you to insanity if you don’t have ways to cope with it. You know that better than most–you flung yourself into the sea, for God’s sake. I want you to live, and to be happy, and you should want the same. Now close your eyes.”

Anne-Marie’s heart beat quickly from fright, but she did so. Jeannine guided her to take a step forward, and to raise her right foot.

“Now picture that lying at your feet is not a savage, but someone you hate,” Jeannine explained. “Someone you wish to destroy, who you would never get the chance to do this to. Picture him in your mind’s eye, and strike.”

Anne-Marie’s mind raced, her heart torn in two from conflict. This was wrong. She knew it was wrong. Yet the image of Le Vicomte curled up pathetically before her crept into her mind. How she wished it was him lying in a ball on the floor of this hut. How she wished she could beat him into a pulp, to make him whimper and beg for her forgiveness. And before she knew what she was doing, she felt her leg rush forward in a swift kick. She felt her foot make contact with the man’s stomach, heard a gasp for air escape his lips. And with her eyes still closed, it was Le Vicomte’s stomach she was striking, his gasp of pain. And so she kicked again. And again. And again. And it felt… good. Even though it was a horrible thing, and she was horrible for doing it, she could not help but feel a sick, twisted thrill at picturing Le Vicomte as her victim instead of this poor Indian.

“See?” Jeannine purred. “Now, let’s not get too carried away. We need him in good condition for the next time you feel like coming back.”

Jeannine took Anne-Marie by the arm, leading her out of the hut. Outside, the woman who was no doubt the beaten man’s wife rushed inside to dress his bruises. The two girls walked together back through the savage village, towards the gate to Quebéc. Jeannine prattled on about something or other, but Anne-Marie could not focus on a word she said, her mind still lingering in that hut. She could not help but feel that a part of her had changed today, that some portion of her heart had grown that much crueler.

She wished she had the willpower to rebuke what she’d done. She wished she could resolve herself, swear off ever doing something like that again. But she could not ignore the catharsis it granted her, the strange peace of mind of knowing that she did have power, and more, that she could wield it over someone else as it had so often been wielded over her. Maybe Jeannine was right. Maybe, in this world where monsters ruled, she needed to become one herself.