Five Roses Read Online Free Page B

times, but tonight she kicked and gagged on the nipple. Thérèse finally bundled her close to carry downstairs. The front room throbbed with music, flickering shadows, drumbeats, and smoke. The kids slumped in a circle around a tableau of mother and child, not unlike the other times the girl had nursed the baby.
    But Thérèse held Rose. A man lay in the girl’s arms, his mouth on her nipple. In the wavering candlelight, Thérèse saw Stilt’s unshaven cheeks pulling draughts of milk. The girl’s dreamy smile. Farther down his body, a head bobbed at his crotch. The other kids lay in poses miming Stilt’s. Some only watched or rubbed at themselves.
    Thérèse charged up the stairs and slammed the door behind her. She stood with her back against it, her heart pounding hard in her throat. When Rose began to wriggle and cry again, Thérèse grabbed the bottle she’d left on the floor by her mattress. This time Rose took it.
    Thérèse paced the room and thought hard about what to do. She flung open her suitcase, crammed in diapers, baby clothes, formula, nipples. Her things didn’t matter. She tiptoed down the stairs with Rose hidden against her, suitcase in hand, and slipped out the door.
    A groundhog sat upright, its snout twitching at the air. The boys playing in the fields near the woods saw the banner of smoke twisting above the trees. They sneaked as close to the cabin as they dared and spied movement at the window. What if robbers were staying in the cabin and they had guns? The boys scrambled home to tell their father.
    Armand paid no mind to their story about robbers — robbing what from an abandoned cabin in the backwoods of Rivière-des-Pins? But he didn’t like intruders so close to his land.
    He didn’t take his gun but snapped his fingers for the dog. More annoyed than curious, he trudged through the swish of high grass, across the fields, into the woods. At a distance, the boys trailed him.
    As he crossed the clearing before the cabin, he wondered if he should holler and tell the person to come out. He decided to knock.
    He stepped back when Thérèse opened the door holding a baby. She hadn’t been gone that long. Was she pregnant when she left? Then who …? He blushed.
    â€œYes?” Thérèse tapped the baby’s back.
    â€œMy boys said someone was here.”
    â€œI’m here. With Rose.”
    He looked away, not sure what to say next. He remembered the land. “I ploughed your field when I did mine. I planted corn.”
    â€œGood,” she said evenly.
    â€œIt’s your land. I’ll give you a percentage.”
    She dipped her head to smell the baby’s hair. It was a protective, yet intimate gesture that reminded him of his wife when their boys had been babies.
    Behind Thérèse the house was scrubbed and swept. She had no electricity or running water. She had already left once. Why had she come back? Especially with a baby. No sane person would choose to live like this.
    But she looked so content, cradling the baby. As if her life brimmed with riches.

 
2005
    Â 

Fara
    The roads didn’t meet at right angles. One shot off on a tangent that curved tight to dip under a railroad bridge. The car slowed, almost stopped, rolled into a crater in the pavement, then — bump! — jolted onto the asphalt again.
    In the back seat Fara felt like she and Frédéric were on a funhouse ride. Which they were, sort of. House shopping .
    The real estate agent had driven them along industrial streets where transport trucks idled, past abandoned factories with corroded metal grids on the windows. Signs with the letters eaten by rust. Sagging heaps of thawed winter garbage.
    The car rumbled across a truss bridge over what looked like a moat.
    â€œIs this even still Montreal?” Fara asked. Frédéric nudged her. Be polite .
    â€œThe original, working-class heart,” Yolette said.