Last Summer in Louisbourg Read Online Free PDF Page B

was she supposed to do? Smile back or what?
    â€œYou sort of ignore them,” said Justine with a shrug. After one week on the job, Justine was already indifferent to the curious stares. “Working here is something like being in a play. We’re part of the cast, but we’re still ourselves, if you get what I mean. If somebody asks us a question we answer them, but otherwise we just go on about our business.”
    Andrea followed Justine past a long, wooden building with neat, shuttered windows. “So, I hear you won a writing contest,” Justine remarked.
    â€œHmm-mm,” Andrea acknowledged as casually as she could, uncertain whether her achievement would make Justine admire her or hate her. “That’s how I got this job. The winners were offered summer jobs with Parks Canada.”
    â€œWhat a brain,” Justine said in a voice that was neither praising nor condemning.
    â€œI chose to come here. It’s where I most wanted to be. So, what about you? How did you get the job?” Andrea asked.
    â€œI heard about it because one of my cousins worked here a few years ago. So I applied. I guess I got lucky, because they hired me.”
    â€œAre you in French immersion?” Andrea asked.
    â€œNo, I want to specialize in science.”
    â€œDo you speak French at all?”
    â€œSure I do. Back home just about everybody speaks French as well as English. My great-grandfather spoke only French, but I didn’t know him because he died before I was born. Now, my grandfather, he switches back and forth between English and French. But my mom…Hey, look where we are! Perfect timing,” proclaimed Justine, abruptly changing the subject.
    Andrea followed her down a lane leading into a yard, then in through the back door of a building. It was dim and warm inside and smelled delicious. This was the town bakery, known as the King’s Bakery because the King of France had owned it, along with almost everything else in Louisbourg. As her eyes adjusted to the gloom, Andrea could see two men dressed in loose, white shirts and baggy pants, hauling loaves of fresh bread from an enormous stone oven. One of them was Joe, the man who had given them a ride earlier that morning. Joe was stacking dozens of loaves onto racks where they would cool. The other man poked a long-handled shovel into the interior of the great wall oven to retrieve more round loaves. They were twice as big as the loaves people buy in supermarkets now.
    â€œMmmm. Do I ever love the smell of fresh bread.” Andrea sighed.
    â€œJoe! Joe!” called Justine. “Can we have some, please?”
    Joe looked up and recognized them. His face, hair, and clothes were dusted with flour. He ambled across the room with two chunks of warm bread and gave them to the girls. “There you go, eating up all the profits again,” he chuckled.
    â€œWhat did he mean?” asked Andrea as they headed down the street again, munching as they went.
    â€œThey sell this bread to the visitors,” explained Justine.
    â€œMaybe we shouldn’t be eating it.”
    â€œAre you crazy? They’ve got tons of the stuff. They bake it every day. Anyway, I know Joe. I go to the same high school as his daughter. They’re from L’Ardoise, not far from where I live.”
    â€œWhere else can we go?” asked Andrea, wanting to see as much as possible.
    â€œWell…let’s see…” pondered Justine. “We could go and look at the parade square. There might be some soldiers hanging around. Or maybe the stables…that’s kind of fun. Or the storehouse. Wait till you see the storehouse. You know, back when people really lived here, they brought over absolutely every single thing they needed from France so they could live as if they were in a town back home. You’d think they were heading into outer space; as if there was nothing here that anyone could use.”
    â€œSo just what is