THE UNWEAVING

ISBN 9781990160400

By Cheryl Parisien

SAMPLE CHAPTER

For three days, Julien helped with the hay and hated every minute of it.

Henri rode up, fast, his horse in a lather. “We need to go, come on!”

Julien was walking toward the rest of his family in the meadow, a rake over his shoulder. Already his hands were raw from the scythe. Today he was going to rake up the cut hay; Henri had arrived just in time. He dropped the rake where he stood and ran inside to get his capote and sash.

In a flash, they were galloping toward the church. “What’s going on?” Julien shouted to Henri as they rode.

“They’re here! In St. Norbert! On the Nault property!”

Julien sat taller in his saddle and spurred his horse. This was it! Finally!

Half-way there, they ran into Florian and the rest of the brigade. Wordlessly, Julien and Henri joined the group and galloped with renewed vigour.

When they arrived, they came upon a small group of men and a surveyor sputtering in English. Julien and the other riders halted their horses and arrayed themselves around the group in a big semicircle. The surveyor grew quiet and took a step backward, away from them.

One man, a stranger, stood out from the rest, his black trousers, white shirt and black frock coat a sharp contrast to the He was tall, with dark curly hair that waved out from his face and a thick mustache with long pointed ends. Julien wondered if he could grow one like that too.

The man stood carefully balanced on both feet, with one foot slightly in front of the other—a fighting stance. Even though he looked to be only a few years older than Julien, perhaps in his mid-twenties, he held the attention of everyone there.

“You have no right to lay these chains here,” he said to the surveyor in English. His French accent was less pronounced than everyone else’s, but it was still there.

“I’m just doing my job.” The surveyor was pale. He looked from one end of the gathered men to the other.

“But you are disregarding the fact that these lands are already settled, as you can see.” The man gestured toward the surroundings.

“The government simply wants to know what’s here.”

“Understand we have no quarrel with you specifically,” the man said in a calm, soft voice. “But we can’t have this. This action goes against the law of nations in the name of an alien authority.”

The surveyor seemed surprised to encounter this sophisticated and charismatic Métis man. Julien was also a little surprised to hear him speak this complicated legal talk so smoothly. In English, yet.

“We must ask you to leave and trouble us no further.”

“Yes, well, but the Canadian government—"

“Again, they have no business here. No one consulted us when the transfer of Rupert’s Land took place. Never mind our Indian brothers and sisters. We’ve been here for generations and should be recognized as such. Now, it would be best if you would pack up your things and return home.”

The two men stared at each other.

One end of the surveyor’s chain was still in his hand. “Let me just finish this one measurement, and I’ll be on my way.”

The man stepped on the chain, pulling it taut in the surveyor’s hand.

“Perhaps I was not clear. You need to leave, now.”

The surveyor held the chain firm. The man stayed where he was. The two stared each other down. Then Florian dismounted and stood on the chain, pulling it tighter. One by one, the other men climbed down from their horses and stood on the chain until it was yanked from the surveyor’s hands. It clinked as it fell. In silence, the surveyor gathered his things and mounted his horse. He rode away fast, looking over his shoulder as he faded from view.

The brigade erupted in cheers. Florian lifted the chain above his head in triumph.

“Who is that?” Julien asked Henri, gesturing toward the man in black.

“That’s Louis Riel,” Henri answered. “He came back recently from Montreal. He’s been away for a long time. I think he’s a lawyer now.”

“The Riels with the mill? Their son?”

Henri nodded. “He came back at exactly the right time.”

“I’m glad he’s on our side. I wouldn’t want to argue with him.”

He watched Riel as he smiled at the men rallied around him. With a man like that as their spokesperson, things should turn out well for sure.

***

After celebrating with the brigade at the church, Julien rode home to tell his father about all the excitement. He felt light as he galloped home, as if wind at his back was speeding him along.

He found his father in the barn.

“Papa! We pushed the surveyors back! They ran away like scared rabbits! You should have seen it!” Julien was breathless.

His father nodded but didn’t look up. He said nothing.

“You should have heard the man who’s leading us, Riel. He speaks like no one I’ve heard before.”

At this, Clément looked up. “Who?”

“Louis, son of the Riels in St. Vital. With the mill.”

“I remember the stories about his father, Louis Senior, about a big court case. My own father talked about him a lot. Now the son is a leader too? What happened?”

Julien told about stepping on the chain, his admiration for the young Riel ringing in every word. Clément didn’t share his enthusiasm.

“I know this seems exciting,” Clément said. “But I don’t want you becoming so involved. We need you here.”

“I’m already involved,” Julien said. “They’re talking about building a barrier on the Pembina Trail, near La Rivière Sale. To keep the new governor from coming. We’re going to govern ourselves, and he can’t come without permission.”

“Keeping the governor out? Governing ourselves? It’s fine for you boys to have fun riding in your matching coats, feeling important. But this is something else! Who’s making these decisions? This Riel?”

“Not just him! There’s a whole committee, set up just like the buffalo hunt. Father Ritchot is part of it too. We know what we’re doing, Papa. We’re taking a stand.”

“Bah, a stand! What happens when they kick your legs out from under you? I think you should step away from this now and stay here. I’ve been thinking of building a winter hunting cabin in the bush near Lac du Bois. I could use your help. We could get things started before the snow comes.”

“How can you ask me to leave now, when things are just getting started? Maybe in the spring, when you really get building, I could come. But a lot could happen between now and then. Maybe I’ll be an officer or something.”

“Spending some time working with your hands would help clear your head,” Clément scoffed. “You think you’re a man, but you’re still a boy. Look at this patchy beard you’re growing. All of this business with the surveyors and Riel, it isn’t for you. You need to grow up first.”

The tendons in Julien’s neck pulsed. “This is me growing up! You have no idea what you’re talking about. I thought you’d be proud of me.” His hands balled into fists. “I don’t need to stay here—I don’t need any of this from you.”

Julien left the barn, stamping his rage into the ground with each step. He opened the door to the house with a bang, ignoring the surprised looks of everyone inside, took the stairs two at a time and gathered his few belongings into a pillowcase.

Back in the yard, he faced his father again. “This is something important, something big. More important than some useless cabin in the bush.” He slung the pillowcase over his shoulder, jumped back on his horse, and left without looking back