Louis Hébert,” the black-haired man said, putting down his spoon. “Why, he was much more than a farmer. He was a famous apothecary.”
Etienne had not heard of this particular Hébert, but he guessed by the glint in this man’s eyes, it would be a good heritage to have.
“You must mean my Uncle Louis,” he said, nodding. “My mother speaks of him often.”
“But,” Father Bressani said, “Father Lejeune wrote you were an orphan.”
Etienne lowered his head, studying the black leather boots before him. “I meant my father and mother used to speak of him often,” he said in a whisper.
“He will work with me,” the man beside Father Rageuneau stated. He reached across the table and shook Etienne’s shoulder. “You can help out in the apothecary.”
“Good,” said Father Ragueuneau. He leaned into Etienne and whispered, “But I must warn you, Master Gendron is very particular about work done around the hospital.”
“What about the chickens?” Etienne asked, giving Francine and Samuel a tender look.
The Father Superior smiled. “You can tend to your chickens as well,” he said.
“You can sleep with them if you like,” Douart added, returning to his meal.
Etienne sat down to eat. The meal, nothing more than rabbit stew, tasted delicious.
After dinner, he carried his chickens with pride to the long, low building beside the palisade. “Tonight we sleep apart,” he told them as he put them on a roost. “There will be no more canoes, no more rapids and no more fires.”
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