The Laundresses

Thank you Porthos10, Hydrogen8, nameyelus, Mium, Microraptor and ThisguyAEl for the power stones!

Enjoy the new chapter!

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The next morning, Adam woke up feeling a dreadful nausea inside a tent he shared with three others.

Right away, he noticed how fresh the air was at this early hour. It felt as if snow might start falling any moment.

"H-hurgh!"

Adam rushed out of the tent without bothering to close his jacket and emptied the entire contents of his stomach at his feet. A strong smell hit his nose, accompanied by a harsh acidic taste on his tongue.

"HURGH!"

He vomited even harder, forcing him to bend over double.

Damn it! Ah... I-I hate v-vomiting!

His face, paler than his coat, changed several times, and after nearly two minutes of staying still, he finally straightened up. His forehead was covered in sweat, and he looked like he hadn't slept all night.

Shaking, he sniffed loudly and spat out a sticky substance onto the damp grass.

Never again will I get drunk. If it ends like this, it's just not worth it.

Adam was, however, painfully aware that this wasn't the first time he had made such a promise. There had been occasions when he drank so much that he forgot nearly everything he had done during the evening.

Of course, he always paid a heavy price afterward with migraines and nausea.

There was even that one time he sang the French national anthem—well, at least the first verse. He had made a complete fool of himself that evening because it was far too early to say such dangerous words.

The people of France, even if they didn't particularly like the current king, were deeply attached to the monarchy.

Even the great philosophers of the Enlightenment didn't want to go that far—they only sought to diminish the king's power slightly to grant more authority to France's parliaments.

Fortunately, the first verse wasn't too incriminating. The tyranny one must guard against could just as well refer to a foreign nation—England, for instance.

Thinking back on it, shame washed over the young lieutenant.

What an idiot I was! Oh, I hope I didn't say anything too strange last night!

No matter how hard he tried to remember, nothing came to mind. Luckily, his memory was clear on most of the essentials.

Adam closed his eyes for two seconds, and when he reopened them, he felt a little better. He glanced at the sky and saw only a few clouds—there was no risk of rain in the coming hours.

Like a zombie, he wandered between the tents and slumped heavily next to a pot over which someone had just lit a fire.

The one who had lit it was Lieutenant Belmaison. He also looked unwell, but far better than Adam.

"Lieutenant Belmaison."

"Lieutenant Boucher."

"What are you making?"

"I'm just heating water to freshen up a bit."

Adam nodded, strongly approving of the idea, even though he thought the pot was quite small.

"How is it? Hot enough yet?"

Instead of replying, Lieutenant Belmaison dipped his finger into the water.

"Not yet."

Adam dragged over a log and sat on it. The small fire made a soft crackling sound that made him want to fall asleep. He might have dozed off if the air hadn't been so cold.

Minutes passed slowly without the two men exchanging a word. Neither of them was particularly bothered by the silence—it was fine just as it was.

The camp gradually woke up, but most soldiers were still sleeping. Like Adam, Thomas, and Albert, they had taken full advantage of their free time to release the tension that had built up over the past days and weeks.

Adam knew how grueling their daily lives were. Without these moments of peace amid the war, these men would have lost their minds.

Letting off steam was important. Perhaps that's why it was so common for towns and villages that fell into their hands to end up pillaged and burned.

Destroying and stealing something seemed to have a numbing effect on the soldiers of this era. For a brief moment, they forgot just how mentally and physically exhausted they were.

Adam, who had endured as much as any of these men, now understood why people of this time acted the way they did. He had understood it for a long time because he himself had felt the need to stop thinking and act like an animal.

Destroy everything to avoid exploding, and drink beyond reason to forget one's problems.

But everything was temporary, and reality inevitably came knocking again.

"It's ready," said Thomas, satisfied with the water's temperature as he poured it into an empty bucket. "We can share the water. I don't mind."

"Thanks."

"I'll just need some help shaving. Is that all right?"

"Not at all," Adam quickly replied, shaking his head.

He had done it several times and found it quite relaxing. However, he didn't have any equipment of his own. Fortunately, the veteran with the serious face had everything he needed—he even had a full kit stored in a very nice box.

The two men removed their long white coats, their red jackets with gold buttons, and their white shirts before starting to clean themselves with simple damp cloths. It was only then that Adam noticed Lieutenant Belmaison's physique wasn't bad at all.

Like him, he was slim but not skinny, and fairly muscular. He had the build of a high-level athlete.

"Is there a problem?" he asked in an emotionless tone upon noticing his colleague observing him.

"N-no, nothing," Adam replied, putting on a slightly embarrassed look.

Lieutenant Belmaison didn't pay much attention to his colleague and resumed his washing. Adam did the same, turning slightly so their eyes wouldn't meet.

As soon as the warm water touched his dirty skin, Adam felt a surge of emotion overwhelm him.

It was so gentle, so pleasant, that he felt as though graceful fingers of a young woman were caressing him. He was no longer accustomed to such luxury, though it was such a small thing.

He felt like crying with joy.

But, as Thomas had said, the water cooled quickly. The air was also quite chilly, so neither officer lingered.

"I'm done. Can you shave me? Here's the foam."

Adam slipped on a somewhat clean shirt—meaning the least dirty one he owned—and walked over to his colleague, who had seated himself on a large dark stump. He whipped up a foam that resembled a fluffy cloud and applied it wherever needed with a kind of brush.

Then, he picked up a sharp, long blade and brought it close to the neutral face in front of him.

"Turn your head a bit. Very good, I'm starting."

Slowly, he ran the razor blade across the officer's cheek, the edge gliding without meeting any resistance. Over time, Adam had become quite skilled with such a tool.

It was amusing: his first experience with a razor had been in this era, and it wasn't an electric shaver or a cheap disposable gadget. Everything in this kit seemed valuable.

With a wide and elegant gesture, Adam slid the blade across the man's throat, where the skin was most delicate, but not a drop of blood was spilled. He continued, and in no time at all, he was done.

"Here, a towel."

"Thank you. Would you like me to shave you?"

Adam hesitated and ran a hand over his cheek. It was only then that he realized he was indeed starting to grow a bit of stubble.

"Oh, sure, I'd appreciate that."

Thomas stood and invited Adam to sit on the stump. Following the same procedure, Lieutenant Belmaison finished in less than three minutes.

When Adam ran his hand over his cheek again, it was smoother than a baby's bottom.

"Oh, that feels good. I feel much better."

Lieutenant Thomas Belmaison glanced briefly at Adam but said nothing. He simply and methodically placed the tools back in their slots before carefully closing the kit.

"Do you think it's possible to go into town? Or do we have to stay in the camp?"

"No idea. I'm not the one to ask about that."

Adam nodded, slipped on his jacket and coat, and looked around to orient himself. He headed toward the usual area where the officers' tents were set up.

While the Marshal Duke of Richelieu was lodged within the fort, the other officers had to stay in the camp to ensure order was maintained. This naturally included Colonel de Bréhant.

The colonel was already awake and finishing his grooming. With a certain grace, he put on the last elements of his uniform one by one and completed the ensemble by placing an elegant powdered wig on his head.

It was expertly made and perfectly fitted, likely because it was custom-made. It was so well-crafted that every hair—since it was indeed real human hair and not horsehair—looked natural.

"Good morning, Colonel," Adam said, offering a stiff salute. "I apologize for disturbing you, but I'd like to know if it's possible to go into town."

Colonel de Bréhant turned to the young lieutenant he had supported in achieving his current rank and thought for a moment.

"At ease. Well, after discussing it with the major, we've decided not to conduct training today and to postpone it until tomorrow. Likewise, we'll hold a troop review in the presence of the Marshal and the Governor. All men have leave until then, provided they don't cause any disorder. You may go and do as you wish under that condition."

"Thank you, Colonel!"

"But take this opportunity to have your laundry washed. We represent the King. When one of His Majesty's soldiers appears as poorly as you do, it reflects poorly on His image."

"Yes, sir! I'll take care of it immediately!"

"Good. Will that be all?"

"Yes, Colonel! Have a good day, Colonel!"

Adam returned to his tent, where the other occupants were beginning to wake up, and hastily packed all his laundry. He informed Lieutenant Belmaison of his plans so he could notify Captain Fontaine in turn, and then left the camp.

In fact, the camp wasn't located precisely outside the walls but between the old rampart and a new line of fortifications under construction. The growing town had become too cramped behind its long wall dotted with bastions.

Behind this second line lay the vast plains of Abraham. They were partially occupied by fields, though some wooded areas remained.

Adam had no trouble entering the town, already fully awake and bustling with activity.

The settlers went about their business peacefully, as if the war were merely an illusion and would never reach them. The colonial women, dressed simply like those in France or Germany, helped their husbands with all their might.

As soon as he reached the upper town's center, he was plunged into a tumult that grew louder as he approached the market, where numerous temporary stalls had been set up.

Adam's worn, mud-covered shoes no longer kept his feet dry, but as he had for weeks, he ignored the discomfort. He was focused on finding someone to wash the pile of dirty laundry he carried firmly under one arm.

Even with a nose dulled by exposure to the foulest odors, he had to admit his clothes reeked. As for his body, it wasn't in much better shape. A quick wash with warm water hadn't improved the situation.

"Hey, watch it, boy!"

Adam leapt out of the way of a heavy cart carving deep ruts in the sticky black mud, only to realize he'd stepped into animal dung—horse or something larger. He quickly wiped his boots on a plank lying in the road, but the damage was done.

Irritated, he glanced back at the cart, which was piled high with crates and large, iron-banded barrels. Behind it came more wagons, forming what looked like a convoy. The goods had likely come from the lower town, where two small merchant ships were docked.

The streets buzzed with merchants calling out their wares:

"Freshly baked corn cakes! Best in town, just out of the oven!"

"Firewood! Stock up for winter while you can!"

"Salted and smoked cod! Top-quality catch!"

"Fresh fish, caught just for you!"

"Fresh eggs, 5 sous a dozen!"

"Warm bread, 2 sous a pound!"

"Come get my candles! Cheap and long-lasting! 25 sous a pound!"

Overwhelmed by the noise and activity, Adam made his way to the lower town, where goods were still being unloaded. He headed straight for a group of women singing as they worked, scrubbing laundry with vigorous determination.

"Excuse me, ladies, could you wash my clothes? I also have this coat I'm wearing."

A plump woman with rosy cheeks and weathered hands turned to scrutinize him. His striking blue eyes and handsome face caught her attention. If she'd been 25 years younger, she might have tried her luck with him, but those days were long gone.

"Ladies? Hah! Do you see any ladies here, girls?"

"Hahaha!"

Adam flushed as the laundresses burst into boisterous, shameless laughter.

"No problem, handsome. Let me see what you've got. Ah, it's less than I expected. Should be quick, but as you can see, we're swamped. Is it urgent?"

"Quite. I've got a troop review tomorrow, and I don't know how long I'll be staying in Quebec."

"Ah, so you're with those soldiers who arrived yesterday! We can work something out, but it'll cost extra."

Adam reached for his pocket, only to remember he'd spent his last coins on a bottle of liquor the night before.

"Damn."

"Problem, sweetheart? Not enough money?"

"No money at all," Adam muttered, realizing too late how poorly this might go over with the person he was asking for a favor.

"Ah, soldiers. Always broke. No coin, no clean clothes."

Regret weighed heavily on Adam, particularly over his indulgence the previous night.

"C-could I do something for you in return?"

The women, intrigued by the exchange, leaned closer. A few grinned, expecting their colleague, Martine, to take advantage of the soldier's predicament.

Martine sized him up, noting his muscular build and resigned expression.

"Well, as you can see, we've got plenty of work. We could use a hand."

To her surprise, Adam agreed instantly. "Alright. Where do I start? Here?"

"Uh, yes?"

Martine watched, bemused, as Adam removed his coat, rolled up his sleeves to reveal his powerful arms, and joined the women at work. The laundresses paused, gawking at this curious sight.

Men sometimes helped with laundry, but only with the heavy lifting—never the actual scrubbing. But Adam, accustomed to washing his clothes in military camps, dove in without hesitation.

Though less skilled than the women, he made up for it with sheer energy.

Fuck, this water's freezing! How do they do it? These women are machines! he thought.

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Thanks to Adam, the group made progress a little faster, and the mountain of laundry disappeared. With red, trembling hands, he wiped his forehead, which was covered in sweat as if he had been walking for hours under a blazing sun.

Because it was a time-consuming task, he chatted with the women and learned a lot about life in Quebec and New France in general. These women led difficult lives, like the rest of the settlers, but they didn't complain. They had work and earned an income that supplemented their husbands' wages.

There was no shortage of work, quite the opposite. There were many needs, but because there were not enough hands, they had to make up for it by organizing themselves in the smartest way possible.

The arrival of prisoners of war had partly eased the pressure on the settlers. What surprised Adam was that these prisoners, who had arrived in groups over the summer because the marshal didn't want to separate families, had been integrated as ordinary settlers.

Adam feared they might be treated like slaves. He assumed that what had worked in their favor was that most of these people were of Germanic origin.

Among all these people, these new settlers, one man quickly stood out. He was none other than the former mayor of Albany: Sybrant van Schaick.

Despite his condition, he had managed to create a business and was now supporting eight people. As the great businessman he was, he quickly identified the needs of the locals and responded by offering transportation services to facilitate exchanges between the various cities along the St. Lawrence.

He began by investing in sturdy harnesses and was already thinking about improving the river network by building large barges.

When Adam heard this, he was surprised and suggested that he should start by improving the roads so they wouldn't turn into mud pits at the first rain. This was something he had once said to young Martin Morrel of Lusernes.

What he didn't know was that one of the laundresses was the wife of one of Sybrant van Schaick's employees, and the following day, the husband, named Andrew Lewis, spoke to his employer to share this suggestion.

History forgot Andrew Lewis, but not Sybrant van Schaick, who became one of the greatest fortunes in New France.