Meeting Molly

Meeting Molly By Samuel Endicott Six year old Peter stood with his parents on the wharf holding his mother’s hand. This sunny, breezy Baltimore spring day had the smell of salt water and shellfish wafting in the air. Wearing his church clothes Peter had been prepped for his meeting with his grandmother – a living legend in the new nation. He had a smattering of appreciation of her importance to his new nation and was aware that “Grandmother,” the national heroine, Molly Lake St. Alembert, had spied for General Wolfe prior to his climatic battle on the Plains of Abraham and for George Washington in New York during the American Revolution. But to young Peter, those events seemed ages ago. “Now, remember what we talked about, Peter? You are not to ask about war. Promise?” reminded his mother. “Yes, ma’am, I promise.” Even with the modern conveniences that the year 1800 offered Peter seldom saw his grandparents; after all they lived in New York City. A wee smile began creeping across his face as the passenger ship nestled against the pier and lowered its gangplank. Everyone on board, from the deckhands that carried their luggage to the ship captain that hurried down to see them off, treated his grandparents like dignitaries. After his mom and dad finished hugging them, his grandfather, Jean-Luc, picked up Peter and gave him a bear hug. Molly kissed his cheek and said something about how he had grown a foot since she saw him last in ’98 and he now needed three socks. He didn’t understand the laughter, but felt wonderful being held by his grandfather next to the person his mommy addressed as, “Mother.”

During the carriage ride home, Peter’s grandparents insisted he sit between them. Both had an arm around him and he felt aglow as he sat quietly listening to the grownups talk. When the carriage halted in front of his home on Main Street, his mother shooed him outside so the houseguests could unpack. Peter decided to climb into his tree fort in the backyard and play with his tin soldiers. The family dog, Lafe (short for General Lafayette), contented himself during this arboreal interlude of his young master’s by curling up at the base of the maple and napping. Lafe interrupted his slumber only once to utter a guttural bark at a scampering squirrel. Immersing himself in a make believe battle Peter did not notice his grandmother as she approached the tree. Madame St. Alembert startled him back to the present when she said, “Would you like to go for a walk with me, Peter?” Surprised, honored, and thrilled to be invited by his famous relative, Peter stammered, “Yes, ma’am.” He hurriedly began to gather his soldiers, but he had placed them on several limbs and inside the various knotholes in the trunk. Madame St. Alembert said, “I do believe it would be easier if I came up there, don’t you?” Surprised, Peter watched bug eyed as she firmly grasped a low limb, put a foot against the trunk, and lithely pulled herself to Peter’s branch… and sat as easy as you please like she had been climbing trees all her life. Just then, Peter’s mother raised the window closest to the tree and said, “Mother! What are you doing?” “I’m going to enjoy some ‘Peter Time.’ I don’t see my grandson as often as I’d like.” “Oh, Mother, do be careful, won’t you?”

Madame St. Alembert inspected Peter’s tin soldiers and said softly, “Boys and soldiers.” Peter could see his grandfather standing behind his mother and smiling approvingly. A warm glow flowed over him as he looked up at his grandmother. He asked, “Grandmother, tell me about Quebec… I want to know about the battle.” Then Peter gasped and said, “Oh, no, I promised Mother I wouldn’t ask.” Molly’s eyes lifted to the sky as she recalled in her mind’s eye distant events. “Of course, Peter, there are some events I’d rather not remember. But, I did meet my husband… ‘your grandfather’… in Quebec and that is a wonderful memory. For me, that compensated for the horrors that took place that summer.” “Oh, tell me the story. Please.” “Well, Peter, your grandfather and I got off to a shaky start -- a wet one, too, that I recall.” Molly laughed softly at the memory. “Before he even met me, he tried to shoot me with his musket. What do you think of that for a courting method?” “Huh?” “Yes, it was a moonless night and quite late. General Wolfe was sending Captain Spain and I into Quebec. We were walking down a forested ridge on the south bank of the St. Lawrence…” “Was it just you and Captain Spain, Grandmother?” “Oh, no, Peter. The ship’s captain, two of his officers, and several of the crew accompanied us that night to see that we safely crossed the river. When we heard a loud ruckus of noisy French soldiers coming our way we fell to the ground and became really quiet.”

“Was Grandfather with them?” “Why, yes he was, Peter. But we’re getting ahead of ourselves.” “Oh, sorry.” “In a matter of seconds they would have surrounded us, but at that time, they still didn’t know we were there. You see, the French had split into two groups and were moving toward the heights across the river from Quebec. Brigadier Monckton had placed his artillery there and would begin shelling the town the following day.” “Did you know Brigadier Monckton, Grandmother?” “I met him, yes.” Molly laughed and put her finger to her mouth trying to stop. “I don’t recall making much of an impression on him, though.” “Didn’t he know how famous you are?” asked Peter innocently. “Oh, Peter, at the time, I was a powder monkey on the Pembroke.” Molly gently patted her grandson’s head. “I only wanted to free my mother… your great grandmother, Peter.” “Golly, did you ever fire the cannon, Grandmother?” “I was present on several occasions when they were fired, but my gun captain, Lannie O’Cleve, never actually let me yank a lanyard… I would have liked to however. But now I’ve drifted off course.” “Oh, right, I remember, you and the others were in the woods surrounded.” “Yes! And we would have been captured within a minute, had Captain Spain not suggested a daring plan. He convinced our small group to attack the two formations of French.” “How many were in your group, Grandmother?”

“I recall there were seven of us.” “Seven? And how many Frenchmen?” “I don’t rightly know, Peter, but I assure you there were a thousand, at least.” Peter whistled and slapped his forehead. He was beginning to understand why grownups paid such respect to his grandmother. “Was that when you met Grandfather?” “Oh, my, no. My Jean-Luc was still minutes away from entering my life. I remember being frightened, but then Lieutenant Andrews and Putty Gordon placed their reassuring hands on my shoulders and that steadied me.” “Then what happened?” “In the darkness Captain Wheelock ordered us to stand and fire in both directions. You see, we wanted to sow confusion and get the French groups firing at each other.” “Did it work?” “Indeed, and that is the sole reason I’m able to sit in this tree with you today. But when the French began to fire wildly in the dark, a musket ball found Captain Spain and he was killed.” Molly dabbed her eye with a handkerchief at the memory of Captain Spain’s lifeless body on the forest floor. “The French began running back to their canoes, I jumped to my feet and took off after them. It was my intention to mingle amongst them.” “Is that when you met Grandfather?” “Well, he was in the group farthest away from the river, but the men he was with panicked and the riverbank was a scene of chaos. I hadn’t gone fifty feet when an Huron brave jumped me. He grabbed me by the throat and raised his tomahawk, and would have

bashed in my brains, but someone in my group shot him clean though. I later learned it was the ship’s captain.” Peter had become so immersed in his grandmother’s story that he lost his balance and teetered on the limb. Molly deftly grasped his shoulder and steadied him. She said, “Careful, Peter! That could be nasty fall. When you’re up high, remember the old saying, ‘one hand for the ship and one hand for yourself.’” Molly and Peter looked at the ground and then at one another with relieved smiles. Molly continued, “The French got themselves stacked up at the canoe site… it was a wild scene… yelling and shoving… and the last thing I wanted was to be shot. With it being dark I collided with someone from behind. Well, Peter, that frightened man grabbed me and shoved me away… and that is when I met your grandfather.” “Who introduced you to him?” Molly laughed. “No, there wasn’t time for introductions. I was shoved into a man standing on the riverbank. It was your grandfather and he took me by the arms to stop me from falling into the chilly river. Besides he made me so mad.” “What did he do that made you mad, Grandmother?” “He grinned at me like I had run up into him on purpose. He said, ‘What have we here?’ or something like that. And I told him to let me go, but we lost our balance and both of us fell into the river. The man he was with pulled us out and then I went white as a sheet.” “Why? What frightened you?” asked Peter. “I recognized the man…”

“Who was he?” “It was the woodsman that had taken my mother from our cabin and the man who murdered my baby brother. My word, I could barely move I was so scared. I was shaking, but the woodsman and Jean-Luc must have thought it was my being wet and the night chill.” “What happened next? Did you fight him?” “That wasn’t for another two months, and that is another story, Peter. They placed me in a canoe with two seminary students and shoved us away from the riverbank toward the north shore. Those careless men had damaged the canoe and we had six inches of rising water inside our little craft. I bailed with my hands for all I was worth, but I couldn’t keep us from being swamped. When we were about seventy-five yards from the north bank we capsized.” “What happened to the men in the canoe with you?” “I couldn’t say, Peter. I never saw them after that. They must have made it to land, because I heard later that not a single soul had been shot that night (except for Captain Spain). But just then, your grandfather and Tadoussac paddled up to me. My Jean-Luc dove into the river to help me. We somehow ended up, the two of us, beneath the capsized canoe, and when I looked into his face… his handsome face… the cold river water couldn’t be farther from my mind… I just felt so safe and so warm. We didn’t speak, but we smiled at one another and I just knew.” Knew what, Grandmother?”

“It was his eyes. They told me that he was a good, brave man. At that moment it didn’t matter to me that we were on the opposite sides in the war. I sensed his decency. We parted company at the top of the riverbank.” “Is that the end of the story, Grandmother?” “Peter, that was the beginning.” Molly rubbed her palms on her dress. She looked off into the distance thinking of the many adventures she had shared with her husband, of the days and nights she had spent with Jean-Luc in the last forty-one years building a family and life together in their young nation. Spontaneously Peter put his arm around his grandmother’s waist. She smiled and then put her arm around his shoulder. Sitting quietly in the tree they had lost track of the lowering afternoon sun and the time. Peter’s mother raised the kitchen window beside the tree and said, “Hey, you two, it is nearly time for supper.” Peter and Molly looked at one another and smiled. It was a smile between two people that had formed a bond. Young Peter always answered evasively when his mother asked him what he and his grandmother talked about that afternoon. In fact, Peter would not recount that afternoon’s story in the maple tree for forty-five years… and then it was only to his granddaughter. Gentle reader, you now know how Molly Lake met her dashing French Canadian husband one night beside the St. Lawrence River. Do you think learning how your grandmother and grandfather met would be an interesting story? Yes, I thought you would.

The End

Samuel Endicott served in the combat engineers from 1975 to 1995. An army ranger and paratrooper, he trained soldiers to understand the tactical implications of battlefield terrain by using Wolfe’s siege of Quebec as his case study. He is a graduate of the Army CGSC and Naval War College. After holding troop commands, he taught Leadership, Soviet Military Operations, and Intelligence Preparation of the Battlefield at Fort Leavenworth. Born in Louisville, Kentucky in 1949, Endicott earned degrees from the University of Mississippi (BA) and the University of Southern California (MS). His pastimes include tennis, sailing, and hiking with his golden retriever, Lafe. He resides in Hampton, Virginia, with his wife, Elaine.