31. Georgian Bay, 1855She was already twenty-seven years old and time was flying by. All Angélique Legrand knew was life at the Point, the life of a small community built on a rock pounded by the waves.
“Tomorrow I’ll go check my trap line.” Angélique’s father, François, went to the wood stove, where he lifted the tea kettle and poured himself a cup of the piping hot liquid.
The young woman watched him. His stride was still steady, but it had lost its vigour. In a year or two, François would no longer have the strength to go trapping. And she, a spinster, would have to take care of her father without any support, financial or otherwise.
As she often did, she thought of how much she missed her mother, swept away by acute pneumonia three years ago. Since then, Angélique and her father had
