The Seamstress by Allison Pittman

Author:Allison Pittman
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: FICTION / Christian / Historical, FICTION / Historical
Publisher: Tyndale House Publishers, Inc.
Published: 2019-02-05T05:00:00+00:00

As in all things, Gagnon’s words proved true. The first song of the lark still pierced the blinding shafts of sunrise when Marcel, pack thrown over his shoulder, disappeared on the horizon. The last weeks of winter had been unbearable—oppressive cold, cavernous hunger, and a physical closeness for which God had designed sheep, not human beings. Laurette had found herself spending hours in bed—sometimes close to entire days—for the sole purpose of solitude. And warmth. And a burning hope that she might dream of food and be a little satisfied in sleep. But she arose the morning Marcel left, giving him half a loaf of bread and a wedge of cheese for his breakfast while Gagnon and the boys attended to the morning chores. The house itself exhaled in his absence.

Spring came with the promise of eight new lambs, five goats, and sweet new grass sprung up in the absence of winter’s snow. Somehow, as only boys can do in times of hunger, both Nicolas and Philippe managed to grow a full three inches over the winter, making even Nicolas tall enough to handily wrangle a sheep when the time came for shearing. The flock had thinned so, there’d be no need to hire even a single set of hands to help, which was fortunate because Gagnon had neither the funds to pay them nor the food to feed them.

Every day during that week in April, Laurette listened to Gagnon giving special instruction to Philippe: how to hold the ewe, to direct the blades, to speak calmly and maintain control while she completed her task of cleaning the wool, trimming out clumps of dirt and other, smellier masses. She tried to pass this task on to Nicolas, but Gagnon laughingly refused.

“He’s better suited to walking the animals into the barn.”

“And what does that say of me?” Laurette asked, indignant. “That I’m better suited for snipping around the bottom half of a sheep?”

“Look at him.” Gagnon pointed with his shears at the mud-speckled boy whose hair grew out as sharp as his bones. “Would you trust him to clean anything?”

They laughed, and another chip of winter fell away.

On the day he decided to take his wool into Mouton Blanc, Gagnon left before dawn to go to Girard’s to borrow a cart and horse while Laurette made other preparations for the day’s trade. Flour, of course—though she dreaded what price they’d pay for it. If rumors and all that Marcel railed about proved to be true, that expense alone could take half of Gagnon’s pay. And seeds for her garden, a little sugar if there was any to be had. She’d also have to get word out that they needed to buy or trade for chickens, as their brood had been all but decimated over the winter. There’d be no luxury of clothing or shoes, though she’d see if she could find leather scraps to mend the ones they had. All of this she recorded in her mind, envisioning the market, seeing

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