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below. To his right was the
potager
. He gazed past the cookhouse gardens into the tall pines that tapered like praying hands and smiled contentedly. He had found his way into the wilderness.

SIX
Thomas
    The sound of low mumbling woke Etienne. A freckled, leathery scalp, circled with tufts of brown, shone in the light of a candle. Ambroise Broulet, the cook, knelt beside his own bed, fingering the wooden beads of his rosary. He finished his prayer but did not rise. “Give me grace,” he said, staring at the ceiling, “that I not offend.”
    Etienne rose to his elbows. The sun was not yet up.
    â€œBreakfast after mass,” Master Broulet informed Etienne as he struggled into a worn coat. Then he bellowed at those still asleep. “The Father will soon ring the bell.”
    Etienne threw back his blanket, pulled on his outer clothes and hurried outside. Médard and Pierre stood in front of the cookhouse in the dim morning light.
    â€œ
Au revoir
,” Médard said, clapping a hand on Etienne’s shoulder. “We leave you and your chickens in the hands of the Black Robes.”
    â€œDon’t you stay for a while?” Etienne asked.
    â€œNo room,” Médard replied. “All the Jesuits are coming for council this full moon.”
    â€œWill I see you again?” Etienne asked.
    Pierre’s face opened into a smile.
“Oui, mon petit
,” he said. “We will be back.”
    â€œWhen?” Etienne asked.
    Médard reached into his beaded bag. “Here,” he said, tossing a small leather pouch to Etienne, who caught it midair. “Tonight, carve a full moon. Once you have ten, watch for us.”
    Etienne opened the pouch to find a small carving knife with an antler handle.
    â€œOne moon, one month,” said Pierre. He undid his bright red sash. “Wear this until I return,” he said, tying it about Etienne’s waist. “It always brought me luck.”
    The two men patted him on the back and strode off.
    Etienne entered the chapel, where Father Rageuneau faced the iron altar cross. Brother Douart fixed a candle to a holder sitting on a tray of sand. Father Bressani covered the pewter chalice with linen and lifted the napkin from the special bread used for communion.
    The monotonous recitation of Latin and the soft thud of dropping candle wax took Etienne back to the chapel in their small village. The wooden statue of Mary, sitting in rays of dusty sunlight, always smiled despite her broken nose. Etienne would steal a glance at the strings of his mother’s lace cap, but she could always tell when he was not praying. She would take his hand, unable to keep the smile from her face.
    The breaking of the unleavened bread brought him back to the mission.
    After a breakfast of bread and pea porridge, Father Bressani rang the iron bell that hung by the door ofthe great hall. A score of Huron children gathered. The Father nodded in approval as they recited their Huron prayer in unison. Then he ushered them inside.
    Etienne dragged a bucket of amber water from the well into the poultry house. Champlain greeted him with a squawk and flutter, happy in his new home. Etienne scooped up a handful of meal and held it out to Francine. The hen ran to him, clucking in excitement.
She should begin to lay eggs soon
, he thought. He looked about the coop, but there was no basket to collect the eggs. After watering the animals in the barn, he set out to find Master Gendron, to whom he was to be apprenticed.
    A rhythmic thumping broke the quiet of the morning as Etienne crossed the canal. When the thumping stopped, a scraping took its place. Then more thumping.
    He walked curiously towards St. Joseph’s, the narrow, wooden church built especially for the Huron people. The hospital and apothecary shop lay on the other sides. Etienne stopped at the large doors, peering inside to get his bearings. He glanced first at the fire pit with rows of branch racks