In the Forests of New France
You laugh at your moment of shameless sentimentality for the companion of your childhood. But that's not the life you want. They say there are more civilized positions in Montreal as well, not just the rough, unwashed and unshaven fur traders. Government and military officials, shopkeepers, and other occupations you've only rarely seen, but know a bit about.
You've heard there has been increasing trouble with the English here in New France, and find the prospect of military life interesting, even if it's not specifically in your plan. Father says it's as rough as life on your little farm, but you're not so sure.
You wonder why he's never taken you along with him when he goes to Montreal to trade. For most of your life you assumed it was because you were too young, and perhaps the threat from the natives--or the English, if they've ventured as far in as some of the stories suggest--was too keen. But nowadays, you're old enough to consider marriage and an occupation other than living in your father's household.
No, Jacques' company and the sort of people he would attract is not what you need. Etienne may be softer and cleaner-cut than you, even, but Mother always had made sure that both her sons would never be ashamed of their appearance should they venture into the city, or so she said. Urging the mare into a slightly faster trot, you continue on toward Montreal.
Several rather uneventful hours later, it is nearly nightfall. You've long since slowed your horse to a walk, and both of you are tired and hungry. You've halted to water the mare a few times, and she cropped some grass then, but you have eaten nothing since you left in the morning. It is possible for you to reach Montreal tonight, but you realize you may have trouble finding lodging if you arrive so late. You wouldn't mind stopping and eating the food Mother had packaged for you, resting then, but you also do not relish the thought of spending a night in the open that could be spent in the comfort of an inn.
You've heard there has been increasing trouble with the English here in New France, and find the prospect of military life interesting, even if it's not specifically in your plan. Father says it's as rough as life on your little farm, but you're not so sure.
You wonder why he's never taken you along with him when he goes to Montreal to trade. For most of your life you assumed it was because you were too young, and perhaps the threat from the natives--or the English, if they've ventured as far in as some of the stories suggest--was too keen. But nowadays, you're old enough to consider marriage and an occupation other than living in your father's household.
No, Jacques' company and the sort of people he would attract is not what you need. Etienne may be softer and cleaner-cut than you, even, but Mother always had made sure that both her sons would never be ashamed of their appearance should they venture into the city, or so she said. Urging the mare into a slightly faster trot, you continue on toward Montreal.
Several rather uneventful hours later, it is nearly nightfall. You've long since slowed your horse to a walk, and both of you are tired and hungry. You've halted to water the mare a few times, and she cropped some grass then, but you have eaten nothing since you left in the morning. It is possible for you to reach Montreal tonight, but you realize you may have trouble finding lodging if you arrive so late. You wouldn't mind stopping and eating the food Mother had packaged for you, resting then, but you also do not relish the thought of spending a night in the open that could be spent in the comfort of an inn.