Free Promised to the Crown by Aimie K. Runyan Page A

so kind as to marry me.”
    A hole now appeared at her sleeve and she clasped her hands to avoid making further damage. You knew this was coming. Peltier had singled her out, and the time had come for him to declare himself. Rose had seen more than one suitor disappointed by waiting too long to make his intentions clear. Why can’t I have Elisabeth’s conviction? Or at least her decisiveness.
    â€œMonsieur, I . . .” Rose paused. She could think of no rational reasons for accepting or refusing this man. He looked at her, expectant and hopeful.
    His manners may be a bit stiff, but he is a good man. Can I do better? Could I share my life with him? Try though she might, she found no ready answers to her questions.
    â€œI know these things happen quickly here,” Peltier said, with a gentle smile. “If you need more time, I can wait. It would have to be several months before we marry, in any case.”
    â€œ Remember your first and only duties in New France are to take a husband and mother as many children as God sees fit to populate these new lands. ” Sister Charité spoke the words before she left the Salpêtrière and she’d heard a dozen variants since her arrival. It does not matter how you feel; you must do your duty. He’s as good a man as you can hope to expect here.
    â€œI appreciate your consideration, but it won’t be necessary,” Rose said. “I accept, monsieur.”
    Even as she said them, Rose wondered how the words found their way to her lips. At least you made a decision.
    He smiled. “I am so pleased. We can have the contract drawn in the new year and marry just before Lent. I am sorry my home prevents us marrying earlier.”
    â€œDo not worry, monsieur,” Rose said. “In the grand scheme of things, four months is very little time.”
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    By the time the first of December’s storms shook the convent, four girls remained in residence with the Sisters. The rest of the residents had been plucked by eager suitors, who wished to be married before Advent. The parlor was the only comfortable room in the house that night; it was too much trouble to keep all the house fires lit. The parlor air was thick with the smell of burning logs.
    Rose sat, enjoying the warmth of the fire as she embroidered a dress collar, when a banging at the door shattered the pleasant quiet.
    Sister Mathilde opened the door, revealing a half-frozen man.
    â€œ My wife, ” he panted. “She’s gone into labor. The baby is coming too early and I don’t know what to do.”
    â€œWhy have you not gone for the doctor, Monsieur Laurier?” Sister Mathilde asked, her tone scathing.
    â€œYou were closer, and I was afraid the roads might not be passable.” Joseph Laurier stood in the doorway, shaking from cold and fear. He seemed willing to accept the nun’s abuse if doing so might win assistance for his wife.
    â€œGather sheets, blankets, and firewood,” Sister Mathilde barked. “Rose, you’ll come with me.”
    Why me? What use can I be? Rose wanted to open her mouth, to shout to Sister Mathilde that she had no useful training, but no words emerged from her mouth. One of the Sisters loaded Rose’s arms with a pile of clean sheets. Another came with an assortment of infant clothes. Taking a breath, she fetched her market basket for the linens. I guess it doesn’t matter if I can help or not; I suppose I’m going to.
    She made her way to Joseph Laurier’s horse and cart, where a line of freezing girls and nuns loaded a giant heap of firewood into the open cart bed. Sister Mathilde was already seated in the cart, with a case on her lap. Rose assumed the case contained medical supplies.
    The moment the last stick of wood was thrown into the cart, Joseph Laurier jumped in the driver’s seat and whipped his horse into movement. Rose held on with a death grip as the rickety carriage rattled at a breakneck