There had been time to think since leaving the party, and once out of Larreau's horrible, dominating presence, Madeleine realized she could not keep their wicked appointment the next day; she just couldn't give herself to that foul beast… yet, if she didn't, he had threatened to bring harm to both Igat and herself. She didn't care about herself… but her baby… her baby meant more than anything in the whole world.
Dear Antoine… Antoine… please come and help me? I need you so badly. Help me tell you my dreaded secret this very night… Be understanding… forgiving… and take us away from here before some terrible thing happens to all of us through that evil man.
Quietly, Madeleine prayed for guidance and strength while she awaited the moment Antoine would join her. She must tell him about Igat… she must! Perhaps she should hold back the horrid secret of Uncle Gaston's outrageous act, for to tell Antoine that would only serve to rile the troubled waters even more so. Certainly, it could serve no other purpose than to arouse hatred… even vengeance of some nature, and God knows, she didn't want to strain their relationship any more than it was at this time, when they were yet to truly know each other, in love.
Once more, she began to toss restlessly on the bed. Why didn't he come now? At this moment she felt certain she could tell everything from the very beginning and make him realize. Yes, she would even tell him about M. Keel, the first iniquitous brute to bring her heartbreak. It was the only way… recount it all in full… everything and pray to God that he would try to understand.
Now, as she waited, her mind began to fill with unwanted memories, and she recalled how she had run away in the night from Mont Du Bane, the small fishing village of her birth on the Peninsule De Gaspe, escaping, she had felt, with the American named Keel, a salesman who passed that way twice a year to sell goods to M. Bidette le Garde-Magasin.
Four years ago, she remembered, but the bitter reveries were as vivid in her mind as if they had taken place yesterday. She had been sixteen, nearly seventeen, the fourth of nine children and by far the prettier of her three sisters, she knew. She recalled that even at twelve, when she had begun to develop her pubescent charms, the opposite sex had always been strongly attracted to her, especially the older men, and she had been pleased, taking pride in her long black hair and the hygiene of her teeth, realizing that if she were ever to be liberated from the destined weary bondage of becoming a fisherman's wife, these were the assets upon which she would have to trade.
The day she had met the American she was physically ripe, a sensually alluring young woman, while he was somewhere in his aging fifties. She had only to smile at him coquettishly to see his small eyes come alive with lecherous excitement, and as she tripped provocatively from M. Bidette's store she felt certain he would follow.
It was difficult to remember all the little lurid details now, even, difficult to recall his features… only a faceless, grey-haired, fat man… taller and bigger than Uncle Gaston in every respect, but certainly his parallel in villainy, she realized now. And how upset she'd been at first when she decided that he wasn't going to follow her, but by the time she'd reached the edge of the village he had come along in his car and offered her a ride.
She hadn't hesitated; instead, she'd climbed in and began an immediate conversation. He spoke French, which had made it that much easier for her to play the flirt with him, and when he'd reached over placing his big, heavy, hair-covered hand on her knee she had pretended at being excitedly flustered, while in truth her flesh had recoiled at his touch and she'd winced repugnantly within her flat little belly.
"N-Not here… not here," she'd insisted, catching at his hand and noticing the obscene bulge to the front of his trousers where his pumpkinlike stomach adjoined his groin. "There's no place here where we won't be seen…"
"Where, then?" he'd rasped, his licentious, bloodshot eyes raking her young curvaceous body hungrily.
"There's no safe place around here," she'd answered him quickly. "And if we were caught my father would kill you…"
Suddenly, he'd pulled off to the side of the dirtroad, his arms enveloping her and his thick lips engulfing hers, wetly, voraciously, sucking her small mouth into his own like a vacuum cleaner. She'd tried to struggle, but his surprise lunge had caused a frightened wave of dizziness to overwhelm her and momentarily she'd thought she would faint. He'd held her so tight that the breath had rushed out of her, and even now she could not remember whether he was deceivingly strong, or she unexplainably weak. His tongue had burst into her mouth like a slimy, wet eel, exploring, brushing obscenely around the inside. She had been nearly overcome with his odor of sweat and cologne, and his massive anomalous body easily subdued her own.
"No, no, no!" she'd insisted. "Let me go… Later! Later!"
She'd fought him furiously, until at last, he'd seemed to regain control of himself and listen.
"What… later? What'd you mean?" he grunted, breathing heavily into her face.
She had bit at her lower lip. "I want you to take me away with you."
He'd stared at her. "Away with me…?"
"Yes. I want to go to Boston. If you'll take me with you… then… then I'll let you… do things to me."
He had continued to gape at her, his hungry, red-rimmed eyes growing more gluttonous with lust at each passing second. "All right… all right, tonight. We'll go tonight," he'd said, perspiration dribbling down his heavy jowls. "Yes, by God… tonight!"
She would have done anything to get away from the decaying hovel of her parents, the absurd poverty of the village, and the inevitable arranged marriage to come. God, she remembered, she had only to look upon the drudge who was her mother, a woman unbelievably aged beyond her thirty-five years to find justification in the way she had run off.
Keel had told her he was not married; she hadn't believed him. Anyway, that had been unimportant; all that mattered was getting to Boston where she could meet a nice American boy and marry him. How many nights she'd dreamed such fantasies… a pretty little house with flowers around it, an automobile of their own, and perhaps one, two, even three babies, depending, of course, upon what her husband would want; and a wardrobe of three or four plain dresses, with as many beautiful ones for best… for this was the way with American husbands, she'd been certain, having seen the pictures and read of their love and generosity in the old copies of magazines Docteur Laprise kept in his waiting room.
So, she'd left the note to her mother, saying little except that she was sorry, and that one day she would return to make them all proud of her… and Grace a Dieu for M. Keel, for she wanted her parents to believe that he was a noble man doing this for her out of the goodness of his heart.
A noble man… indeed… Yet, at first, he'd been extremely kind, performing all the simple things to please her, taking her into restaurants where they were served hot-beef sandwiches after the soup-of-the-day, then little pastries for dessert. She had never known such luxury, and before the first day was over she had convinced herself that she'd misjudged him, and vowed not to show the slightest sign of offense when he put his big hand on her thigh outside her dress as they drove along, or when he playfully squeezed and fondled her firm young breasts at every opportunity… but she shortly had learned that her first opinion was very much correct. M. Keel was a vile brute!
However, she recalled now, that before ever realizing the extent of his evilness, she'd convinced herself to willingly carry out her part of their bargain. A girl had to be prepared to pay a price for such an extravagant life as she sought… an American husband… living in the States… and all of the little luxuries that were actually considered necessities in that great country… besides, it was not as if she had never known Jean Louis Blanchette, son of the avocat who had lived upon the hill and who was betrothed to Docteur Laprise's daughter, Francine. Jean Louis had punched away her virginity with his stubby little penis, and together they had discovered many exciting things in the ways of love, but with him it had been so titillating and romantic, while Keel had made her nausee even with the numbing of the wine…