Chapter 27: A River Journey

St. Lawrence River. April 1656

The canoe glides over the St. Lawrence like a dark leaf carried by the current. The great river is wide here. Snow melt makes the fast flowing water bitterly cold. Ice still clings to the shaded banks, but the sun is warm enough to soften the air. Agnès sits in the bow, paddle dipping rhythmically into the water. Her breath is steady and her posture relaxed in a way I hadn’t seen in Trois‑Rivières.

Even my ethereal form, I can sense that Agnès belongs to this river, to its challenges and rhythm. Father Lambert sits behind her, stiff and uncomfortable, unused to canoe travel. He mutters prayers under his breath each time the canoe tilts in the turbulent water. Agnès hides a smile. I float beside her, unnoticed by Father Lambert.

“You’re different here,” I say.

She doesn’t look at me, but her voice is soft. “I grew up on this river. My mother taught me to paddle before I could walk.”

Her strokes deepen, confident, strong. The river bends, narrowing into a corridor of pine and birch. Birds call overhead. The air smells of thawing earth and cedar. Agnès breathes it in like medicine. I feel her pulse through the bracelet. She’s calmer and more certain. She is returning to herself.

By midday, Agnès and Father Lambert reach a small Abenaki encampment comprising of three long lodges with smoke rising from their roofs. Children play near the water’s edge, while women scrape hides, and hunters mend bows. Heads turn the moment Agnès steps ashore.

An older woman, with braids wrapped in red-dyed cord, approaches. Her eyes widen. “Agnès‑Waban,” she says in Algonquian. “You return.”

Agnès’s breath catches. “Auntie.”

Their embrace is tight, familiar, and full of a warmth that Agnès rarely receives in the French settlement. Her aunt touches her cheek, murmuring blessings. Children gather around, tugging at her mantle, asking questions. Hunters nod respectfully. She isn’t ‘too French’ here. She is simply Agnès. I watch her shoulders loosen, her smile softens and her voice brightens. Belonging somewhere looks good on her.

Later, Father Lambert sits stiffly around a council fire with his hands folded, trying not to appear nervous. The three Abenaki leaders gather. They are stern, cautious, and protective of their territory. They eye the Jesuit with suspicion. Agnès sits between them.