Waiting for the Queen by Joanna Higgins

Author:Joanna Higgins
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
ISBN: 9781571318770
Publisher: Milkweed Editions
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

1794

Janvier / January

Eugenie

We learned of the confrontation from the marquis himself—and how the Kimbrells are now guarding Estelle. So that is why Hannah abandoned us! It spoiled our New Year’s Day fête, as we had to be satisfied with the indifferent offerings of Mary Worthington. I confess that my pique was at first quite selfish. We made to suffer. Our misfortune. Then I began to think, No, Hannah is nothing if not reliable. And she isn’t necessary for guarding Estelle from Rouleau. It must be something else.

When it is time for Sylvette’s morning excursion, I dress warmly and walk in the direction of the Kimbrells’ cabin at the far end of the clearing. No one is anywhere about. The air is so cold that walking through it feels more like pushing through frigid water. No wind troubles the air today, and except for smoke rising from chimneys, all is still. A thick pad of snow lies atop each roof like a featherbed. Tree limbs hold white replicas of themselves. The earth, white. The river, white. The stone walls, white humps. But the sky—ah! The sky a piercing brillant blue. Hope steals my breath. The very colors of Versailles—and Marie Antoinette. Surely a fortuitous omen in this new year.

But not much smoke is rising from the Kimbrells’ chimney. If I have learned one thing at all, in this America, it is that on such a morning smoke should be rising.

There is no answer to my knock. And the door is barred. “Hannah?” I call. “Hannah Kimbrell? Monsieur Kimbrell?”

Again, no answer.

“Hannah! It is I, Eugenie de La Roque.” In French I ask her to open the door. I am suddenly ashamed. Hannah has been speaking our language, yet I have not made the slightest attempt to learn hers.

Estelle may be there, so I call out in French, “I have come by myself. I and Sylvette. What has happened? Why can you not open the door? I wish to speak with Hannah. I must know if she is well.”

Inside, the bar slides off, and as the door opens slightly, a terrible stench emerges, the same as when Maman was so sick. I cover my nose and mouth.

“Hannah!” I whisper, raising my handkerchief. She is so pale, and her dark eyes appear huge. Her mouth is stained, as is her usually clean apron.

“We are ill,” she says in French and motions for me to leave. Before she can bar the door again, I push it open. The maison is dim; the fire low. Hannah goes to her bed and lies down, but it is more like falling into it. Estelle lies near the hearth. Hannah’s father and her brother are in beds along the opposite wall, both asleep—or worse.

I force myself to remain standing there, quite still. Should I go summon our abbé? But with Maman, I recall, he wasn’t the least helpful.

The fire, then.

Courage, Eugenie.

I look for wood. There is none near the hearth. “Hannah? Le bois?”

She points to another door. I go there, open it, and find a storeroom.

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