Robichaud Stories

The Robichaud brothers settled in Roquemaure, in Abitibi - the deep north of Québec, near the Ontario border, a few kilometres south of La Sarre, over 1000 km from their former home in Saint-Aubert.

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Generation 1 - Étienne + Françoise Boudrot  (Port-Royal)

Generation 2 - François dit Niganne + Madeleine Thériault (Port-Royal)

Generation 3 - François + Marie LeBorgne de Belleisle (Nid d’Aigle, rivière Saint-Jean)

Generation 4 - Joseph + Louise Chouinard (Saint-Jean-Port-Joli)

Generation 5 - François + Victoire Jean (Saint-Jean-Port-Joli)

Generation 6 - Augustin + Céline Bélanger (Saint-Jean-Port-Joli)

Generation 7 - Samuel + Vitaline Gagnon (Saint-Aubert)

Generation 8 - Alfred + Derilda Chouinard (Saint-Aubert)

Generation 9 - Wilfred  (Roquemaure, Abitibi)

Generation 10 - Jean-Pierre (Palmarolle, Abitibi)

 

A chapter extracted from the novel: ROBICHAUD, Jean-Pierre, Les Coureurs d’aventures, L’ABC de l’édition, Rouyn-Noranda, QC, 2012, 287 p.

 

(The first paragraph has been translated. This is my first attempt at translating a novel. AR )

 

 

 

ONE

 

St-Aubert, L'Islet County, May 1933.

 

Where is this Abitibi? Inquired Léon to his brother, rising eyes that showed some interest.

 

Maurice had read aloud a short text, which boasted the potential of this area for new settlement. Further, the unemployed are invited to register as prospective settlers. His face slowly appeared above the newspaper and as he lowered his authoritarian gaze for a moment to look where the voice came from. Léon, whose round black eyes like marbles were suddenly illuminated, stared for a moment before returning his gaze to his plate. Sitting at one end of the table, Maurice slowly placed the local paper he held in his hands and ran his eyes, in a more paternalistic than paternal air, over his ten brothers and sisters seated on either side. Being the eldest in the family, he had the chance to go to school until seventh grade and could read the newspaper without stumbling too much over words. Even though he knew sometimes other members of the family glanced his newspaper, he always liked to interpret the news. He assumed, in his authoritarian manner, stern and demanding, the role of head of the family since the death more than ten years ago, of their mother, who died in childbirth and of their father, who died of heart disease. This responsibility was heavy, especially in this time of crisis where everything was missing. There were no jobs. And for some time he felt his brothers, who were all but one adult, at the edge of rebellion against his authority. He demanded that all contribute to farming tasks. And the tasks were not lacking in this land of rock from which the family was painfully trying to make a meager livelihood.

 

  It’s that way, Léon, said Maurice, pointing with his right arm. Starting from here, you cross the river and you go due west for hundreds of miles.

 

Solitary adventurer Léon roamed the woods since childhood. He often spent several days in the forest. He needed these occasional escapes to ventilate the space between his ears, where rang the incessant hum of the family promiscuity. It allowed him to fully explore some fifty miles, from the rounded mountains and winding valleys near his village to the U.S. border.

 

His geographical notions did not extend much further. Léon seemed surprised by the distance indicated by Maurice. Staring into his plate, he tried to assess these hundreds of miles.

 

  But it must take months to get there? he realized all at once, raising his eyes again to Maurice.

 

The train has been going there since the beginning of the century, tried to reassure Maurice. It crosses the Abitibi from side to side and then to Ontario and to the other end Canada. It's called the Transcontinental.

 

Marie-Ange, the eldest daughter, laid on the table a large cauldron, which seemed to have caught leprosy, as the granite coating was so chipped. She was about to serve the steaming soup as first service to the evening meal. She poured a ladle full in Maurice’s bowl of and motioned the other to circulate their bowls. Only the shock of the ladle against the cauldron and bowls clashing broke the respectful silence that had settled around the table. After serving everyone, she poured her portion then removed the pot to a warm corner of the big wood stove. She returned to her place, and remaining standing, began grace. Chairs scraped the wood floor when all rose as discordant voices repeated her prayer.

 

  Bon appétit, she concludes by making a sign of the cross.

 

All sat down again and the clatter of spoons against bowls was immediately heard.

 

  Is there prohibition in Ontario? Léon asked as soon as he was seated.

 

The mocking eye and the smirk of his brother Paul, sitting opposite had him pull his head cautiously in his shoulders. Paul knew that the question of his brother was not devoid of interest. He knew some things about Léon’s secret trade. He had knowledge that Léon had woods behind St. Aubert that allowed him to transport, for a few dollars, shipments of moonshine to the U.S. Unbeknownst to all, during moonless nights, he travelled his horse and cart full of barrels of the precious liquid to the border of the neighbouring state of Maine. Of course, he knew the risks. One night, he barely had time to hide his cargo in a culvert before the police, who did not ignore this traffic, intercepted and searched his cart. He was extremely shaken by this event, and for some time laid low. But then, he thought, somewhat naively, that moving to Abitibi would allow him to continue his trade in a milder elsewhere.

 

  Ontario is in Canada, and in Canada there is no prohibition, responded Maurice, suspiciously.

 

Other family members were not supposed to be aware of the traffic, Léon did not wish to expand on this topic and he chose to remain silent for good.

 

During this dialogue, no one had noticed the little flame that was lit in the dark and misty eyes of Wilfred, the youngest of the five boys. Introverted, reserved, shy, even secret, he still lulled in his own thoughts, deep as the river that he often looked down to, from the Appalachian foothills behind St. Aubert. No feature of his face had betrayed the interest he took in the conversation of his two brothers.

 

Sixteen years old, Wilfred had a peaceful teenage life on the ancestral lands nestled in the foothills of the Appalachians. Lower in the valley, glistening in the sun, one could see the slate roof shingles of St-Jean-Port-Joli, a peaceful hamlet moored to the shore of the St. Lawrence. From the top of St. Aubert, on a clear day one could see beyond St-Jean, to the majestic river, the sea as they say. One could also see Isle-aux-Coudres, an oasis of greenery with shaded banks of rocks, firmly anchored in the middle of the sea. The often stormy sea and challenging waves continually assaulted this small island. In the background, the rounded and blue mountains of Charlevoix completed this idyllic picture.

 

That summer, Wilfred felt he was going to take, despite his young age, a momentous decision that would determine his future. At the moment, he held a listening ear to the words of Maurice.  Comments on this distant country of Abitibi had fueled in him the embers of a fire that had been brewing for some time.

 

After the meal, the prayers recited, each went to attend to their respective occupations before nightfall. Wilfred and Léon went to check if the cows and sheep were all in their enclosure near buildings and to ensure that all gates were well closed. They enclosed animals for the night to protect against wolves who in the evening, came down from the wooded hills in search of easy prey.

 

  There must be roads to trace in this Abitibi? asked Wilfred, in a puzzled gaze.

 

Through relationships that Maurice had with the local member of the Legislative Assembly, Wilfred worked occasionally, on the construction and maintenance of roads as well as ditching. Wilfred had been told that his father Alfred, who he had barely known, was during his lifetime, road foreman. Either by instinct or by recollection, he was also attracted by this trade of roads opener. Strong enough for his age, he didn’t mind removing stones or shovelling these steep paths to level public roads.

 

  If a country is to be opened, someone must first make roads, Léon replied, still very pragmatic.

 

  You're right!, Wilfred bowed before such a clear answer.

 

Léon halted, pulled out his tobacco pouch, inserted the thumb and index finger inside and pulled out a pinch of chewing tobacco. After placing the little bag in his pocket, he rolled the tobacco into a rough ball in the palm of his hand. He slipped it into his half toothless mouth. With his large index finger, he placed the thumb-sized ball behind his single molar, between the gum and cheek. Wilfred glanced at the projection that distorted his brother 's cheek and wondered how he could chew this turd. Léon placed his hands in his trouser pockets and remained silent, looking towards the mountain.

 

We are like dead wood here, Wilfred continued, pursuing the thread of complaints he was reciting for some time. There is not enough on this farm to make us live. Worse, when Maurice will marry we will have to leave, knowing that Maurice would soon marry with the Simoneau girl.

 

For Wilfred, it was obvious. He knew that there was no room for him, the last of the boys on the family farm. Besides the small sugar maple stand, the farm consisted of a herd of a dozen emaciated cows, twenty-two sheep, five pigs and a few chickens and turkeys in the backyard. Rare revenues were struggling to support the family in this time of the Great Depression. Wilfred slowly glanced around him. He did not feel particularly attracted to farming. Only the period of maple sugars, each spring, was one of fond memories that furnished his childhood and where he still found satisfaction. He had to leave school early in the third year, to add his arms to those of his older brothers and contribute to the needs of the family.

 

  There's no steady work around, he said to fill the thickened silence at this twilight time.

 

Wilfred glanced at Léon, always stingy with words, who persisted in his contemplation of the mountain. His silence and apparent lack of interest began to exceed Wilfred. Léon didn’t seem to understand that he needed him to sort this out.

 

  You the occasional smuggler, you know as well as I do!, he suddenly blurted.

 

Léon stiffened at his remark. His little brother was not supposed to know about his illegal activities. A brownish squirt was ejected from his pursed mouth and went rolling into the earthy dust ten feet in front of them. For a few moments he stared at Wilfred sideways. His brother was already looking elsewhere, believing that Léon would finally say something. Rather, he rested his right arm on a fence post and pouting, turned his gaze back to the mountain. He was like a snail when he entered inside himself, no one could any longer reach him or draw any response.

 

Tired of talking in the void, Wilfred returned to his own thoughts. Hands in his pockets, staring blankly at the emerging dawn, he stared at an imaginary point beyond the river. He enjoyed a gentle excitement that was twirling butterflies in his stomach, as when he found himself alone with the beautiful Eugenie a few days earlier. She blew him a kiss on the cheek before running away giggling playfully and left him hanging with a pain that twisted his stomach.

 

Then his gaze was drawn to the enclosure, where the old horned ram was pounding a sheep with vigorous blows to the kidneys. A delicious unease enveloped him and at the same time, a strange feeling of frustration overwhelmed him, he who had not even kissed a girl. With a big kick he sent a pebble flying into the pen that stirred up the animals. The sheep bailed suddenly and the ram fell awkwardly on his front paws and remained breathless, his penis dripping. The frightened bleating sheep who went in all directions seemed to bring Wifred back on earth and like the snail, he pointed his head out of his shell.

 

I am saying to myself, Frid you would like to go there? he jabbered, his slurred speech and words obstructed by his quid.

 

After spitting again, he finally looked up at his younger brother who was already a good head taller than him. He was quite stocky and solid. "Not big, but built tough! " as would joke another brother. Wilfred still had an eye on the sheep who slowly calmed down. To give Léon his own medicine, he pretended not to have heard.

 

  Frid are you listening to me?

 

  Have you talked to me? replied the other, pretending to emerge from the clouds.

 

 I understand that you got want to get away from here.

 

 Yeah! We could go together, Wilfred went on quickly, relieved that the other was finally paying attention to his words. We would make a good pair.

 

Léon slowly looked down at his feet and seemed to think. Wilfred felt an opening and waited for his brother to speak again. Léon sketched a mischievous smile. He was simmering revenge for the comment that his brother had thrown him regarding his smuggling. He moved his tobacco quid in his mouth and spat once.

 

 We should talk to Maurice, he said in a deliberately condescending tone. You know that he still is your tutor and that you're still a minor ... for a long while. You're still a flo, he nailed.

 

I am old enough to decide what to do with my life, the other snapped, annoyed by the remark.

 

Satisfied, Léon turned back to the mountain. The mountain top was still flooded by the sun, like an orange hat seated on a shaded base. Wilfred quickly regained his senses.

 

Keep this quiet … for a time Léon, will you? We 'll talk later, he wanted to conclude.

 

He knew that he had to first talk with Maurice and that he needed to reflect on how best do this. And he was already thinking about consulting their brother Paul. The family joker knew how to rally his brothers when there were problems, he had the respect of Maurice, even if they had arguments on occasion. Paul had taken Wilfred under his wing, with whom he shared a strong bond. "If I can convince Paul to accompany us, for sure Maurice will be okay" deduced Wilfred. But a big cloud was still casting a shadow: the farm would suddenly lose three good pairs of arms.

 

**

 

  What’s up Frid! Is this Eugénie always on your mind?

 

Wilfred, sitting next to Paul on the front of the cart, seemed distracted as the horse 's hips swayed to the rhythm of the road. The remark caught his attention. He turned slowly towards his brother Paul striving to remain unperturbed. The latter, his eyes twinkling with mischief, had this way full of sly remarks to approach people. Small, wiry, he was mischievous, tongue-in-cheek, rarely serious.  Rather talkative, he mastered the art of the smart reply. If he had had the chance to be born into a wealthy family, his solemn tone, with his sense of reply and lapidary sentences, he would have made an excellent speaker of the Legislative Assembly, claimed some of his friends. This allusion to Eugénie was intended to open Wilfred’s valve. It was Paul’s way of opening the shell of his little brother, because he foresaw that he had something to say. Wilfred was a little taken aback with his ​​question, his cousin must have talked.

 

She is just ... a friend ... nothing more, stammered the other, shrugging his shoulders.

 

Paul knew the rumour. The village girls told that Wilfred was the prettiest guy in town, and a most mature 16 years old. One of the girls, who was kind of indifferent, said that he was the best bull currently on the market. This remark embarrassed Wilfred and he preferred to ignore these creatures a little too eager to roll in the day. However things were different since this Sunday of spring, after church, when his cousin Médée introduced him to Eugénie. He liked her immediately. She was not like the others. He noticed, her dreamy look and her large dark eyes full of innocence. When, on occasion, they met, they spent long periods without speaking, just holding hands. When she moved her fingers between his, he suddenly felt his pants too small and made him realize that he had become a man. Then there was that kiss on the sly that left him speechless, stomach completely distraught, his heart pounding in his chest. This new relationship combined with his desire to go on an adventure had put him, for the first time in his life, in a dilemma. Seeing, over the horse's head, the entrance to the village of St-Jean-Port-Joli, and beyond, the river and the mountains of Charlevoix, behind which he guessed a vast country to be built, he knew at that moment what would be his future.

 

The young widow Daigle sat, as usual, on her front porch, eyeing passers by. Wilfred found her annoying because every time he passed by, she always teased him, rolling unequivocally her eyes. His friends laughed at him and called him "the comforter of widows" which exasperated him to the highest point. When driving on his bicycle, as he saw the house of the widow, he pressed harder on the pedals and pretended not to see or hear.

 

Fortunately, this time, Paul was there and he would take care of things. He wished that one day he could corner the widow, and take things into his hands. Still quite pretty at age 31, she had not taken another husband. Some insinuated that she preferred the company of men too much to engage with one.

 

So creature, are you still fishing? Any bites? Paul gave her his most mocking tone, with a toothy smile on his face.

 

 I have not yet found the bait to catch you, she replied, speaking clearly to Wilfred, to whom she threw a lascivious look.

 

The baits are still too wrapped, quipped Paul casting a lustful eye on her too small blouse overflowing with big promises.

 

He laughed, proud of his shot, bowing a bow, noticing that the widow’s lips were still moving but could not be heard. Wilfred appreciated and admired the smart replica of his brother. Then he finally decided to tell him about his project.

 

  Did you hear Maurice yesterday talk about the Abitibi? he ventured cautiously.

 

Like you, said the other briefly.

 

In conversation, Paul always preferred to let the other make the first move.

 

Would you like to go see? Wilfred ventured again.

 

Bah! I don’t know. To do what? Paul responded, even if he knew very well where the other was going.

 

Wilfred seized the opportunity and rushed.

 

You know, Ti-Paul, you're my favourite brother. You and me we work well together. We always think the same, trying to flatter him.

 

Paul thought. " Frid 's right, " he admitted to himself. They shared the same tastes and always drew the same side. Wilfred slowly ran his right hand in his face from his forehead to his chin, as always when he was thinking before speaking, as if to remove a veil obstructing his thoughts.

 

  There's no future for us here, he continued. I 'd like that we could leave together. Abitibi is a country to build. There is lots of things to do there. I’m sure you can get used to a future ... And after a brief hesitation ... get married, have children, he spoke with a lost look.

 

Paul alone was entitled to the timid confidences of his little brother and, without openly manifesting, it made ​​his heart warm to think he would reveal his emotions. That Wilfred suddenly discovered the vocation of a settler, surprised him a little. He had not shown much enthusiasm for the work of the earth. And he himself did not see a great future for agriculture, this misery, whether here or elsewhere.

 

  Do you plan on bringing Eugénie?, he blurted, pleased to change the subject. This blurred the magic of the moment.

 

Girls do not interest me at the moment, replied the other rapidly, annoyed that his brother did not take him more seriously.

 

In fact, are you still a virgin?, he breathed, still sporting a smirk.

 

Wilfred remained stoic and did not answer. The state of his foreskin was nobody’s business but his. Paul stared carefully at the corner of the eye and decided he should take his younger brother more seriously. He was no longer the misty teenager who sat at his side, but a confident man, who showed maturity and determination.

 

 You seem very serious, Ti-Frid, as he suddenly changed tone, slamming a rein on the rump of the horse, which slowed without reason.

 

I’ve never been so serious, Ti-Paul, he assured, obviously relieved that the other finally lent him an attentive ear. But I am only sixteen years old. I have so many things to learn from you. That's why I'd like you to accompany me, Wilfred insisted in a coaxing tone.

 

  Yeah! It is true that Maurice would not let you go on your own, he admitted.

 

 Only you can convince him, responded Wilfred. Léon is also interested in leaving, he continued. We talked last night near the cow pens.

 

Paul never missed an opportunity to tease and he jumped on the occasion.

 

  Oh my boars! That's why you took all this time. Usually your tour is much faster. Even sometimes we question if you had the time to go to the bullpen, he pretended to reprimand, half-serious, half- mocking.

 

He savoured a moment his reply, then serious again, he continued:

 

Yeah! I know Léon would like to be away for a while, he admitted, looking worried.

 

He also was aware of the illegal trade of his brother and he thought of the risks that he took and the dangers that threatened him.

 

Léon also thinks you could talk to Maurice, Wilfred finished, getting ready to get off the wagon, because they were now arrived at destination.

 

He bustled to attach the horse at the general store. After a long silence, Paul cleared his throat, put his thumbs in his belt, drew the shoulders back and adjusted his pants from one side to the other, as was his habit when he was about to give answer. In addition, it drew attention to him and it gave more importance to what would follow.

 

  You're right, he confessed. We will move away from one day or the other. I'm gonna talk to Maurice as soon as I have the chance.

 

Wilfred smiled with satisfaction. On the way back, he was dreaming of wide-open spaces and roads to trace. His thoughts turned back to the old Acadie of his ancestors.  Elders told stories of these adventurers and Indian traders, which knew no boundaries. He and his brothers would continue the adventures, building roads of exile to other countries, giving birth to new villages. They returned to St. Aubert.

 

*****