Anne-Marie de Parthenay
Massachusetts Bay Colony
It was almost nostalgic. Dressed finely and dolled up, gazed upon by a group of older men. It was a fascinating yet depressing puzzle, to calculate the exact mix of what shone through their eyes. Two parts confusion, two of sympathy, one part lechery, one condescension. That was the recipe of the man in front, the one they called Leverett. He wore his desires on his sleeve—no subtlety, no tact. He’d be eaten alive in Versailles. Some of the others were harder to read, though—Charles Morton and John Goodman. She would need more time to crack their shells.
Still, she needed to be careful. She was in a precarious position here—Black Bird’s fate rested on her shoulders, and, now that they were to be married, their fates were intertwined. She still could hardly believe it, but there was no time to be jubilant or anxious or even think about it now. She occupied a unique space here: a woman (meant to be spoken kindly to, but not fully respected), a noble (exalted to an Englishman but debaucherous to a Puritan) and most importantly, French. She was, by virtue of her birth, an enemy to England, but that did not necessarily make her an enemy to New England. Yes, New France was a competitor in the New World here, but from what little she knew of the colonists here, she was sure the link between them and England proper was a tenuous one. Especially now, while the king was Catholic. Something to keep in mind.
“Well,” The chubby-faced one, Hollis, began. “First, may I ask: are you well? Hungry or thirsty at all? We can fetch something for you.”
I’m a child to him, I think. Someone to be taken care of, doted on. Anne-Marie shook her head.
“No, monsieur,” she said. “But thank you.”
“Well, Charles,” Leverett said. “You’re the one that wanted the audience. What do you want to know from this young lady?”
“A number of items,” Morton mused. “First, I’d like to know if it’s true that you and that man are to be married.”
“Oui, monsieur. We are.”
“And that is your choice, is it?”
Anne-Marie wanted to grit her teeth at the insinuation, but she had been taught better. Still, it maddened her—that it would be unthinkable for her to marry Black Bird of her own volition, that it was not forced against her will.
“Oui, monsieur. We are in love. And so we will marry. Is that not custom for a man and woman who love one another?”
Leverett tried and failed to hide a frown at the admission, one Anne-Marie almost returned. It was unfair that they should look down on her for marrying someone like Black Bird. It was even more unfair that Black Bird carried that reputation based on nothing but where and how he was born. He’s a better man than any and all of you, she thought. Smarter, and kinder, and braver.
“It is certainly a custom.” Morton wore the smile of a fox. “Though it is not, perhaps, so common. Despite John’s… experience in the frontier, It is nevertheless unusual that a noblewoman, of all people, meets and marries an Indian. I would like to know how this all came about. How did you meet?”
Anne-Marie took a moment to gather her thoughts. A brief notion came to embellish the story, or perhaps to invent one. But she had only ever lied to strangers or fools like Le Vicomte. Morton gave the impression that he would see right through it. She also figured it wouldn’t hurt to tell the truth, as long as she could tweak it in the right places, to suit the men’s fancies and prejudices.
“‘Tis a long story,” she began.
“We have time,” Charles returned.
“I will start at the beginning, then. My name is Anne-Marie de Parthenay. I hail from a castle in the West of France. My father, the lord of Parthenay, fell out of favor with the King. His health began to falter, and he could not spend much time in Versailles. Besides… well, he was a huguenot, which did not help things.”
Anne-Marie saved that tidbit for last, lingering on it. The attitude among some of the men shifted—French or not, if she was a Protestant, that went a long way.
“Like I said,” she continued. “My father fell ill, and once he passed, there was no one left to take care of my brother and I. We were placed as wards-in-chancery to another noble who had impressed upon my father before he died. Only, he did not raise us as children. My brother was used as an errand-boy, and… well, my new guardian fancied me to be his new wife, as his current one could not bear him children.”
A few grunts of discontent among the crowd. It was a funny thing—she did not think her age and position as ward mattered as much to them as the divorce Le Vicomte would have gotten to pursue her.
“Only…” Anne-Marie paused for effect. She had learned this trick back at court—how to make your eyes water on command. It did wonders, when she needed it to.
“Only he could not divorce his wife,” she sputtered, tearing up. “It would be a disgrace in the court. Nor could he suffer to not have any heirs. His solution, then, was a gruesome and wicked one. He brought us all here to the New World, this lawless and wild frontier, so that he might murder his own wife, and take me instead with her out of the way.”
Concern grew in huffs and murmurs. Anne-Marie suppressed a smile. I almost have them.
“I could not stop him. He had her killed—worse, he framed the crime on an innocent man, an Indian. I fled Quebéc with this man to escape our fates. But I am sorry to say… we were attacked, and he did not survive. I wandered through the woods alone until Black Bird saved me. We began to travel together, as he too was wandering alone, and the rest… well, we made our way here.”
The men reclined in their chairs, pondering on their story. After a moment, Charles Morton leaned forward.
“So it is safe to say, then,” he began. “That you owe this young man your life.”
“Oui, monsieur. He has saved my life more than once, in fact.”
“Quite the chivalrous individual. Well, in that case… would it be safe to say that your infatuation with him comes in part from the fact that he saved you?”
“A part, perhaps. Why wouldn’t it?”
“Well, even now. You travel together. He provides for you. I assume he shepherded you through the wild, seeing as how you know little of the frontier. Don’t you rely on him, then? Even now, your life and future are in his hands. Do you feel pressured by that arrangement?”
That was enough. Anne-Marie stepped forward.
“Forgive me, monsieur,” she said—hard and firm. Anger boiled in her throat, but she would not lower herself to succumb to it. Still, she met Morton’s eyes, steeling her own, making her gaze cold and unwavering.
“I know you are a man of importance here, and I know my soon-to-be husband’s admission relies on your approval. That is why I have taken your insults and your implications once. But I will not suffer them again.”
“Of course, madam,” Morton stammered. “I only meant—”
“Do you not provide for your own wife, Monsieur Morton? Or do you leave her alone and suffering, so that no one might think that she relies on you? Does she feel pressured by your arrangement?”
You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.
Morton’s casual demeanor faded for a moment. Anne-Marie pressed her advantage while he was on the back foot.
“Or perhaps,” she asked. “Do you only raise this trifling inquiry because my betrothed is an Indian? I wonder—If he was born as pale and ill-mannered as you, would you even think to question the honesty of our love?”
Those last words were more aggressive than she’d intended—not at all ladylike. Still, she could not help herself—a second more, and fouler words would have burst out straight from her chest to defend her man.
An uncomfortable quiet sat in the room. She decided to use it.
“What am I saying? It’s a ridiculous question. If he were not an Indian, we wouldn’t even be having this conversation. He would be admitted already, thriving among his fellows, soon to be the top of his class.”
As she spoke, she tried to glean more from the men’s gazes. Morton couldn’t even look at her right now, sheepish and ashamed. Her eyes fell on John Goodman. Inscrutable before, perhaps because he had carried no strong emotion, she could see through him now, clear as day. His eyes glistened with what she could only think was resolve. He’ll fight for me, she realized. He’ll fight for Black Bird. Some may be swayed, some might not care either way, but he does. He’ll fight like hell.
“Well,” Hollis managed, patting his coat uncomfortably. “I’m satisfied. I have no reason to doubt the partnership—nor does it matter much, either. What matters is the young man’s ability, and this is still to be put to the test. Gentlemen? Have you any other questions for the young lady?”
“I have one,” Leverett said. He turned to Anne-Marie.
“I mean to ask about the young man’s faith. He claimed he is a Christian. Is this true?”
“Of course,” Anne-Marie lied.
“Was he a man of the faith before your meeting, then? Or did you bring the word of Christ to him?”
“He had already heard of Christ before he met me,” she said, truthful this time. “I assume from his old teacher, the one who suggested he go to Harvard in the first place. But I did help him with certain concepts, however—he did not know the difference between Catholics and Protestants, for example, before I met him. During our trip here, I taught him important things about the faith, and of course, about our histories, to better prepare him for this place. He has a knack to learn like I’ve never seen—he devours knowledge so rapidly. It’s honestly startling the first time you experience it.”
“And he is rightfully Protestant, then, after learning the difference?” “Oh, yes. It was the selling of indulgences that tipped him over to our side. He said it made no sense why the church would take part in such acts, when it was Jesus himself who took a whip to the merchants corrupting the temple of Jerusalem.”
Leverett smiled at that. I might have him too, now, she thought. She was surprised—her first impression was that he would be the toughest to sway.
“Indeed,” Leverett mused. “Quite the hypocrisy.”
Leverett sat back, still amused. Anne-Marie sat there awkwardly, expecting another question.
“Thank you for indulging us, my dear.” The words came from John Goodman, who smiled through his thick beard. “I think we have what we need. If you’ll excuse us while we deliberate.”
“Of course.” Anne-Marie curtsied, and made her way out of the room.
As the doors closed behind her, she let herself finally breathe. She paced down the hall where Black Bird and Dalton were sitting on a bench.
“Well?” Black Bird asked. “What did they say?”
“They are deliberating.” Anne-Marie shrugged. Robert Dalton stood to make space, and Anne-Marie took a seat next to Black Bird. Dalton walked to the wall across, leaning on it.
“Is that good or bad?” Black Bird asked Dalton.
“Impossible to tell,” Dalton said. He looked to Anne-Marie. “What did you think of them at the end? Did they give you any impression?”
“I think Goodman is on our side,” she said. “No, I know it. There was something about him—I have no doubt he will support us.” “That’s good.” Dalton nodded. “Though half to be expected. Goodman’s known to be among the most sympathetic to any Indian in the colony. Though I was surprised to find him among the panel.”
“Why?”
“Because he’s not a member of the admission panel,” Dalton said. “Well, he’s a graduate, and technically an honorary member… but he hates these kinds of meetings. He’s a rather adventurous type, hence his time on the frontier—gets bored easily. He couldn’t have known you were an Indian beforehand, so it makes little sense why he would show up to something like this. Unless he’s filling in for someone.”
“Any idea who that would be?” Black Bird asked. Dalton nodded.
“The president wasn’t there,” he said. “A man named Increase Mather. You’ll meet him eventually, if fortune favors us. But a man like Goodman wouldn’t be a replacement for him…”
“The man Leverett seemed upbeat in the beginning,” Black Bird noted. “Maybe he has replaced the president, and Goodman has taken Leverett’s spot.”
“Yes, that’s more likely than anything else, I think. Still, it begs the question as to the nature of Mather’s absence, but we shall count our blessings—he would have certainly been the harshest critic of your admission.”
Anne-Marie swallowed. If he felt so strongly, even if Black Bird was admitted, could it be revoked upon Mather’s return? She shook her head, ridding her mind of the thought. It would do no good to dwell on such things now. Instead, she prayed again, a silent and subtle one. She was thankful, at the very least, that this prayer was not nearly as dire as her past ones.
After an agony of waiting, the doors opened, and Dalton was beckoned inside alone. They closed just as quickly, and silence filled the space he left. Anne-Marie looked over to Black Bird, who was wringing his hands nervously. She placed her hand over his, cupping them together.
“You mustn’t worry,” she said. “It won’t help anything.”
“What else can I do?” Black Bird replied. With Dalton gone, he returned to French, which he was much more comfortable with. He stood, pacing back and forth in front of the bench.
“Take a deep breath,” Anne-Marie insisted.
“You don’t understand what it was like in there,” he said. “They looked at me like I was an animal. Some… specimen, to be examined and perhaps dissected. Is that what my future will be? Will all my fellows and teachers look at me that way, forever and always? Am I eternally damned to just be the Indian?”
The last word came in English, and rang out in the hallway. No less sympathetic than in French, who just called them savages. These were cruel words, meant to belittle, to demean, to reduce to less than human.
“Look at me,” Anne-Marie said. Black Bird continued to pace. She grabbed the boy, turning him to her.
“Look at me.”
He did. His eyes were so afraid, and she would tear down the moon and the stars and the whole of the world so that they would never look that way again.
“You are more than what they will make you,” she told him. “You are more than what they will pretend you are, so they can feel safe and superior. You will challenge them and the lies they have crafted, and they will hate you for it. It will not just be like today—it will be worse. But you must face it. You are here for a grander purpose than all your fellows. I don’t even know what that is, but you do, and it’s important enough that you cannot share it with another soul, not even your bride to be.”
Black Bird looked away, ashamed. She held his chin and pulled him back.
“I do not feel slighted,” she said. “I see how it’s weighed on you. I do not wish to share that burden—not until you want me to. But it is important, and it is larger than these trifles. Larger than us. I know it. Don’t forget it. Whatever they will do to you, whatever you might suffer—it’s all noise, a distraction. Even Christ was made to suffer, and the whole world was redeemed for it.”
“But they killed him, Anne-Marie. He’s dead.”
“Only for three days,” she said with a smile. “Hell, with your fire, you’ll be back up after one.”
She kissed him on the cheek. He smiled, though his eyes betrayed him.
“Come sit,” she told him. “And hold my hand. If you ever waver, hold fast to me. I will steady you again, mon Oiseau noir. And again and again and again, until we are both too old to be martyrs.”
He obeyed her, sitting on the bench. Not a bad quality to have in a husband, she realized. Her right arm wrapped around his shoulder to hold him closer, and with her left she took his, and held it tight—not enough to smother, just enough to keep steady. You keep steady, she thought to him. Because if you falter, whatever am I to do?
The doors opened. The men stepped out with Dalton, each of them shaking hands. The panel began to head down the opposite hall. Dalton turned on his heel and headed straight for the two. He looked serious, perhaps even sullen. Anne-Marie’s heart sank to her stomach. No. No, it can’t be.
Dalton stood for a moment in front of Black Bird. The two stared deep into one another. Then, suddenly, a wide, bearish grin snuck itself onto Dalton’s face. Black Bird’s eyes widened, and he leaped up.
“You are serious?” He asked.
“You take the exam in two weeks’ time,” Dalton told him. “Score in the top bracket, and you’ll be free to enroll in freshman classes once the fall starts. If you fail to meet that mark but still test well, you’ll be invited to attend the Indian college instead.”
Black Bird embraced the man, overjoyed.
“Oh! This is… this is…”
“Fantastic,” Robert instructed, rattling off a list of possibles. “Wonderful. Remarkable. Marvelous. Godsent.”
“All of them! All of them and more!”
Anne-Marie stood, and the two embraced, but only for a moment. Black Bird could not contain his excitement, and leaped away from her, bounding down the hall.
“Fantastic!” He parroted. “Wonderful! Remarkable!”
“Don’t celebrate just yet!” Dalton chuckled. “You will have to know far more words than those if you’re to survive. Come! We have little less than a fortnight of full days and sleepless nights to study.”