The Canadian Civil War: Volume 5 - Carbines and Calumets

  Chapter 31 –

  On to Lafayette

  We were showered, bandaged, and dressed early the next morning. There was a determined look on Elise's face. I suspected she would be taking calls today, and some people would not be happy with what she had to say. We had a quick breakfast, found our driver, and were headed west across Arkansas before eight.

  Elise worked the phone while we drove. Her first call was to her mother. Her mother cried, Elise cried, it wouldn't surprise me if her sisters were crying in the background. In between the tears and the sniffles, Elise explained she was safe, I was with her, she was going to a meeting, the ministry had sent a car, but she did need one favor. Her clothes had been left behind when our car had been damaged. Could the girls pack her a bag and send it to the conference hotel? Having established that the main issue now was missing clothing, her mother seemed much more comfortable and promised to get things packed and shipped yet today.

  Her second call was to her boss. Yes, she had talked with the rebels, no, she would not apologize for interfering, yes, she would accept a disciplinary hearing, in fact she welcomed the chance to talk about the attack. I couldn't hear all of his side of the conversation, but I could hear his tone - neutral. I guessed he hadn't decided yet which way the wind was blowing, but at least he hadn't already come down against her. She ended by thanking him for sending a car, and told him she would be at the Lafayette meeting for at least the next two days.

  Her third call was to "Uncle Claude." She inquired about his health, asked how things were going in Lafayette, and said she would be there in several hours. He apparently asked about the attack on Highway 17, and he got her version unvarnished. Did I ever mention that the French have a really extensive array of profanity? I had no idea Elise was as well schooled in the art as she was. I was waiting for the phone to melt in her hand. I was a little concerned for how Claude Jolliet might take this diatribe. After all, he was suffering from concussion damage, and he was deep into his seventies. But all I could hear of his reaction was mostly agreement, followed by, "I hear you punched him. Good." Eventually they agreed to meet later in the day, and then ended the conversation.

  Now it was my turn.

  "I may not be the world's best professor, but at some point I really should go back to the university. So explain to me why I am going to Arkansas."

  "First, I am going to Arkansas, and you want to be with me." How does anyone turn from tigress to coquette so fast? And of course, she was right.

  "Second, I think you will see something really significant. Lafayette will be our chance to show how civilized people deal with conflict. Arkansas is our opportunity. If we can win them over, we can win over lots of people in Louisiana as well. Now is the time. They have said they need more time to select delegates for the constitutional convention. We know they are having second thoughts about being part of Southland. So we sit, we talk, we negotiate. We end this war before it goes any further."

  "Third, Uncle Claude invited us. This is his idea; this is his hope. So we go to support him."

  "Okay, that's pretty convincing. I do fear for his health, though. I hope this isn't too much for him." Elise just nodded her agreement. What could she say? Claude Jolliet was a great man, but he was old and seriously injured. I really did hope this thing worked, if only for his sake, but what were the odds?

  Meanwhile, Elise was back on the phone calling various department heads who reported to her, getting updates. I didn't keep count, but based on her facial expressions, I think she was getting an even balance of good news and bad news. Whatever the news, she responded with encouragement and occasionally some advice on strategy. As she talked, the miles went by. We were in Lafayette by mid-afternoon.

  What can I say about the meeting? It was in a beautiful old hotel right downtown. It looked huge, and also looked like it probably stood empty much of the year. Whenever its prime years had been, it was several decades past them. But unless it was a firetrap, I was already pleased. It would have a great lobby, beautiful wood work, and some character.

  Our driver let us off at the main entrance, and we went in to register. While we stood in line, Elise was constantly greeted by people she knew. It occurred to me I might be attending a bit of a family reunion. If so, I wasn't sure I was creating the best impression. My clothes barely fit and my comb was somewhere between here and Baton Rouge. But when Elise introduced me, many of the folks knew my name, and a few had read one of my blogs. So I knew already I would be mixing with intelligent and discerning people.

  How can I best describe the people circulating around the hotel? Well, old to start. I wondered if we were sharing the hotel with some aging conference. But Elise straightened me out. President Jolliet hadn't actually formally invited anyone, on the belief that if he invited people, those who had not been invited would feel uncomfortable and even hostile. So he just announced the gathering and said he would love to speak with anyone who was interested in attending. So why all the old people? First, most of the people who knew Jolliet personally were his age. So the first layer of attendees was people who had been in government when he had been president. Second, when he had explained the gathering would be to discuss peace for the nation, it had been community elders who had taken the responsibility to attend, or at least that was Elise' explanation for the stooped shoulders and bald heads I was seeing in every direction. I can't say I was real encouraged by the attendees. Would anyone care what this bunch of former officials had to say? Obviously I kept my doubts to myself. Elise was the epitome of enthusiasm, and of course every aging former official she met suddenly had straighter posture and a brighter smile in her presence. No wonder she thought they might accomplish something -- with her in the room they were all suddenly twenty years younger.

  We arrived in time for a reception. There was no formal agenda for this gathering, but there were loosely scheduled events, all of which seemed to be in a large ballroom, and all of which involved standing around and talking to people. Before dinner there was a reception. Then there would be dinner. Then there would be an assembly. The morning would see a convocation. Call it what you will, people basically were to spend time together in the ball room.

  We found the ballroom and I found the ballroom bar. Both were crowded. Were there eight hundred in the room? A thousand? More? The room was huge -- but full. If there was one person in the room not talking, I didn't see him. It appeared every person was engaged in conversation, sometimes with one or two people, often with larger groups. These folks had come to talk, and that is what they did. I finally managed to get a couple glasses of wine, and I went looking for Elise.

  Who did I meet along the way? Lots of people. Start with Marguerite Joubert. She had two other HBL officials in tow, and was working the room, explaining to all how terrible borders were for business. They even had a pamphlet explaining how customs costs raised prices. She must have thought the people in the room were idiots or second graders, because the pamphlet had simple illustrations showing money disappearing into the sky at each border crossing, while sad-eyed workers found they had fewer jobs and higher costs. On second thought, maybe she had the right literature for the audience. I took a pamphlet, promised to show it to Elise, and kept walking.

  Next I ran into several people I had met in Desmet. The first thing they wanted to tell me was that Tilden Foster had been killed. They were practically gleeful, and who can blame them? I explained I had been nearby when he was killed, and they wanted to know every detail. Clearly he had not been forgiven for the deaths he had caused in Dakota.

  Who else did I run into? The room was practically a who's who of people who had been prominent twenty years ago. Did these people really have any influence now? I wasn't so sure, but I shook hands, was introduced to dozens of people, had the start of a dozen conversations, all of which were interrupted as others came up and wanted to introduce someone to someone e
lse. The room was flowing, people were mixing, and I had my glass of wine long gone before I finally spotted Elise. She was with Claude Jolliet, of course.

  He was sitting in a wheel chair. I stopped dead in my tracks when I saw it. He was in a wheel chair. I knew he was pretty unstable and really couldn't walk, but they had made such an effort to mask his condition back in Green Bay, I was surprised they had been so open about it here. But maybe he felt he was among friends and need not pretend around them.

  He and Elise were involved in the most intense conversation I had seen during my time in the reception. I understood the intensity the minute I was close enough to hear the conversation.

  "It was a massacre. Nearly a thousand soldiers blown to pieces. Yes, they were deserters, but they were Canadian soldiers." The speaker might have been the youngest man in the room, and he was the only one who was wearing anything that resembled a political statement -- a blue and white Heritage Party button. I wondered if he was practicing lines for his next campaign stop.

  "Minister DuPry was there," Jolliet responded. I was hoping to hear strength in his voice, but I heard little improvement from the voice I had heard earlier in the summer. His words were clear, but very soft. "She can tell you if the bombing was necessary." At this point more than a dozen people who were engaged in the conversation turned to Elise. I saw from the look on her face, she hated the very idea of responding.

  "I drove to the encampment just before the attack and tried to get the men to surrender." It looked like every word pained her.

  "You lie. You were never there. Those men never had a chance to surrender." The Heritage punk hadn't finished that sentence when I dropped the wine glass I had and grabbed him by the front of his shirt.

  "She was there, I was there. Those stupid bastards had every chance to surrender. When Minister DuPry warned them they were observed by drones, they fired a missile at the drone. Everything that happened, happened because of choices they made." My face was maybe an inch from his. "She risked her life to give them an option. What the hell have you done worth a damn?"

  "Let me go or I'll.."

  "What, shoot me? LeBeck already did that. Want to see the wound? You Heritage Party punks are a disease on Louisiana. Just remember, if it is good for a show, you will even shoot each other. You might want to think about that." I let go of his shirt, but I kept my face just an inch from his. I was so hoping he would take a swing at me. Unfortunately, he took a step back, smoothed his shirt, and left the room.

  "Gentlemen," Jolliet commented to those surrounding him. "This is Doctor Shawn Murphy, a professor at the National University, and the lucky man who will soon marry my Goddaughter." I shook a few hands, and nodded to a couple people across the space. Meanwhile, Elise stepped over to me and kissed my cheek.

  "I had a glass of wine for you, but I dropped it."

  "We can get more." She took my hand. "Uncle Claude, do you mind if I take Shawn off and get him some dinner?"

  "It gives me great pleasure to see the two of you together." I thought he was going to get a bit weepy. "Go, but do come see me later, will you?" Elise agreed, and we worked our way out of the room, still hand in hand. I scanned the space for the Heritage fool or anyone else wearing a blue and white idiot button, but there were none around. That was just as well; it was past time to take my antibiotics, change bandages, and spend some alone-time with Elise. Our room was beckoning.

  About eight we were eating a room service dinner when we got a call from one of Jolliet’s attendants. He would like to see us in his room, but we were to keep our meeting short. President Jolliet was very tired and he should be resting. We agreed and went straight up to his suite.

  We were met at the door by a woman I could have sworn was my cleaning lady from New Orleans. But maybe all hundred and ten year old women look the same. This one sure had the same attitude. President Jolliet was very tired (where had we heard that before) and we should not stay more than five minutes. We agreed and she stepped out of the way so we could get in to the room. Jolliet was sitting in an easy chair, and it almost looked like he was napping. The ancient attendant was right – he was very tired, and we knew we should make our visit brief. But at the sight of us, suddenly he was alert and ready to talk.

  “Thank you for coming. Please sit.” He motioned to a couch opposite him. “I wanted to speak with you alone, first to thank you for all you have done. Elise, they have told me what you did the night of the attack on my house. That was very brave of you. And Shawn, I am aware of all the risks and injuries you have endured. All I can say to both of you is ‘Thank you’. But that is not why I invited you both to visit me. I value your insights, and I wanted your appraisal of where we stand.”

  “Where we stand?” Elise asked.

  “I am trying to determine if this war is ending, or just beginning.”

  “Ending,” was Elise’s immediate response. I hoped she was right, but right or not, I liked the change that came over Jolliet’s features. Clearly it was the answer he was hoping for. “If the best the Heritage Party can send to this gathering is that puppy we met in the ballroom, they are done, and that takes out most of the political beneficiaries of the war. As for war profiteers, one Foster brother is dead and the others are hiding behind tax lawyers. It is harder to know about the American involvement (sorry Shawn), but we know they let us bomb their chief mischief maker, and the many of their mercenaries were killed in the bombing. As I see it, most of the worst actors are off the stage.”

  “Well put.” Jolliet replied. “Now Shawn, you present the other side. Where are we still vulnerable?” Ouch. Why did I have to present the bad news? But when asked…

  “There are still plenty of unknowns. We think the main actors are done, but we can’t be sure. For instance, we still don’t know who staged the two attacks in Green Bay. If there are more attacks like that, people will want revenge, and that means pressure to punish Louisiana. At the same time, while the bombing near Baton Rouge stopped a joint attack on the city, it also created nearly a thousand martyrs. Remnants of the Heritage Party, and others, will use those deaths. Worse, the massive desertions showed the Canadian army is not united. What will happen to those soldiers who walked away? Every trial will be a public wound for the country.”

  “You are right about all those problems.” Jolliet replied. I was waiting for one of his attendants to shut me up. Clearly I was not helping his condition. But he had me started, so I continued.

  “The biggest problem is the one we have yet to address. We have done nothing about what started all this. We put a huge Catholic cathedral in one of their sacred sites, and then we cheered when a lacrosse thug with a stick killed a man on national television. Put another way, each side hates the other – and it could be argued there is reasonable cause for the hatred.”

  “Yes,” Jolliet was nodding his head as he replied. “We have been so caught up in the momentary events, we have not addressed the larger issues. Thank you for that insight.” Elise was looking at me, and at him, and I think she wanted to say something, but in the end, she held her tongue. She said nothing, Jolliet said nothing, and we sat in silence.

  At that point the ancient attendant walked up to us and put a hand on my shoulder. She had a pretty good grip for someone her age. “Mr. President,” she said. “You promised, and they promised, this would be a short visit. You know how intense your schedule is for tomorrow.”

  Jolliet looked about to argue for a minute, but then changed his mind. “Yes, tomorrow will be important. Will you two be attending the convocation in the morning?”

  We agreed we would. Meanwhile, the attendant was pulling on my shoulder. There was no doubt it was time to leave. We said our goodbyes and headed back to our room.

  “I was angry that you presented such a negative case,” Elise said as we boarded the elevator. “But I also appreciate that you did it. He is old and tired, but he i
s not an invalid, and so should be told the truth. You showed respect by telling him the truth.”

  “You told him the truth too. We are near the end, or at least we could be. We just need to manage these final days.” Both of us spent the final hours of the evening wondering about that question – how do we heal some of these wounds?