#Traci Sorell
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Congratulations to all of the 2024 American Indian Youth Literature Award honorees! These are the Medalists and Honor books in the Middle Grade (and chapter books) category.
#American Indian Youth Literature Awards#ALA Media Awards#We Still Belong#Christine Day#Eagle Drums#Nasugraq Rainey Hopson#Jo Jo Makoons#Dawn Quigley#Mascot#Traci Sorell#Charles Waters#She Persisted#Laurel Goodluck
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Banned Native-Authored Children's Books (because of MAGA zealots)
Firekeeper's Daughter written by Angeline Boulley (Sault Ste. Marie Tribe of Chippewa Indians)
Unstoppable: How Jim Thorpe and the Carlisle Indian School Football Team Defeated Army written by Art Coulson (Cherokee); illustrated by Nick Hardcastle (not Native)
Look, Grandma! Ni, Elisi! written by Art Coulson (Cherokee), illustrated by Madelyn Goodnight (Chickasaw)
Fishing on Thin Ice written by Art Coulson (Cherokee)
Lure of the Lake written by Art Coulson (Cherokee)
Sharice's Big Voice: A Native Kid Becomes a Congresswoman by Sharice Davids (Ho-Chunk); illustrated by Joshua Mangeshig Pawis-Steckley (Wasauksing)
We Still Belong by Christine Day (Upper Skagit); cover art by Madelyn Goodnight (Chickasaw)
The Marrow Thieves by Cherie Dimaline (Metis Nation of Ontario)
Forever Cousins by Laurel Goodluck (Mandan, Hidatsa and Tsimshian member); illustrated by Jonathan Nelson (Diné)
The Storyteller by Brandon Hobson (Cherokee)
We Are Water Protectors by Michaela Goade (Turtle Mountain Ojibwe); illustrated by Michaela Goade (Tlingit)
A Snake Falls to Earth by Darcie Little Badger (Lipan Apache)
Indian No More by Charlene Willing McManis (Confederated Tribes of Grande Ronde); cover art by Marlena Myles (Spirit Lake Dakota/Mohegan/Muscogee)
Fry Bread: A Native American Family Story by Kevin Maillard (Seminole); illustrated by Juana Martinez-Neal (not Native)
The People Shall Continue written by Simon Ortiz (Acoma Pueblo), illustrated by Sharol Graves (Absentee Shawnee Tribe of Oklahoma).
An Indigenous Peoples' History of the United States, for Young People by Debbie Reese (Nambé Owingeh) and Jean Mendoza (not Native), adapted from the original edition written by Roxanne Dunbar Ortiz (not Native)
Fatty Legs written by Margaret-Olemaun Pokiak-Fenton (Inuvialiut)
Hiawatha and the Peacemaker written by Robbie Robertson (Mohawk), illustrated by David Shannon (not Native)
Mary and the Trail of Tears by Andrea Rogers (Cherokee)
You Hold Me Up by Monique Gray Smith (Cree), illustrated by Danielle Daniel
Jingle Dancer by Cynthia Leitich Smith (Mvskoke), illustrated by Cornelius Van Wright (not Native) and Ying-Hwa Hu (not Native).
Sisters of the Neversea by Cynthia Leitich Smith (Mvskoke), cover illustration by Floyd Cooper (Mvskoke)
Thunderous written by M. L. Smoker (Assiniboine and Sioux tribes of Montana's Fort Peck Reservation) and Natalie Peeterse (not Native); illustrated by Dale Ray DeForest (Diné)
We Are Grateful written by by Traci Sorell (Cherokee Nation), illustrated by Frane Lessac (not Native)
At the Mountains Base written by Traci Sorell (Cherokee Nation), illustrated by Weshoyot Alvitre (Tongva, Cahuilla, Chumash, Spanish & Scottish)
"The Way of the Anigiduwagi" written by Traci Sorell (Cherokee Nation), illustrated by MaryBeth Timothy (Cherokee) in The Talk: Conversations about Race, Love and Truth edited by Cheryl and Wade Hudson
Classified: The Secret Career of Mary Golda Ross, Cherokee Aerospace Engineer written by Traci Sorell (Cherokee); illustrated by Natasha Donovan (Metis)
Powwow Day written by Traci Sorell (Cherokee); illustrated by Madelyn Goodnight (Chickasaw)
Kapaemahu written by Hinaleimoana Wong-Kalu (Kanaka Maoli), Dean Hamer (not Native), and Joe Wilson (not Native); illustrated by Daniel Sousa
[Full List by Debbie Reese]
#banned books#fuck maga#Native American#Native Hawaiian#Indigenous#books#Debbie Reese#Hinaleimoana Wong-Kalu#Dean Hamer#Joe Wilson#Daniel Sousa#Natasha Donovan#Traci Sorell#MaryBeth Timothy#Cheryl Hudson#Wade Husdon#Weshoyot Alvitre#Frane Lessac#Dale Ray DeForest#Natalie Peeterse#M. L. Smoker#Cynthia Leitich Smith#Floyd Cooper#Robbie Robertson#David Shannon#Monique Gray Smith#Danielle Daniel#Cornelius Van Wright#Ying-Hwa Hu#Andrea Rogers
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“The elaborate narratives common in popular histories and the custom of calling [Agnès Sorel] the first “maîtresse-en-titre” or the first “official royal mistress,” as the expression is typically rendered in English, make it is easy to overestimate her visibility during her lifetime. But despite the claims of modern historians, the expression “maîtresse-en-titre” was manifestly not invented for Agnès Sorel. No contemporary document refers to her in that way. Indeed, the word “maistresse,” to designate a beloved woman whom one was courting or hoping to marry, begins to appear only later. [...] The composite expression “maîtresse-en-titre” becomes common only around the mid-eighteenth century as a general way of designating a favorite or current mistress, used to refer to the king’s favorite mistress but by no means restricted to this use.
Agnès, then, is never referred to as anything like official mistress. The titles that she held were associated with the properties given her by the king: she was the Dame de Beauté, Roquecezière, Issoudun, and Vernon-sur-Seine, although it is not clear that she actually exercised any real control over these towns. Another thing that the documents do not say is that Agnès was publicly acknowledged as the king’s mistress; it is not true as one historian writes, that in 1444, the king “publicly designated Agnès Sorel as the first official royal favorite” during a joyous entry. There is no trace of such a presentation in any document. Nor was she ever mentioned as the center of attention at any festival [...]
Still, chroniclers were aware of Agnès, and the attention that she receives from them far surpasses that devoted to any other woman of comparable rank of her time. As a basis of comparison, we might take the mistress with whom Charles VII’s father, the insane Charles VI, was supplied to protect the queen from the abuses that he showered on her. Odette de Champdivers figures in exactly one chronicle and then not even by name. The chroniclers who mention Agnès and were either rough contemporaries or active within about fifty years after her death and therefore able to consult people who had known her include Thomas Basin; Jean de Bourdigné; the Bourgeois of Paris; Jean Chartier; Georges Chastellain; Jean Le Clerc; Jacques Du Clercq; Mathieu d’Escouchy; Robert Gaguin; Nicoles Gilles; Jean Juvénal des Ursins; Olivier de La Marche; Thierri Pawels; Pope Pius II, Aeneas Sylvius Piccolomini. With one exception, Jean Chartier, who claims that the king never touched Agnès below the chin, they affirm that Charles VII loved Agnès madly, that she was beautiful, and several note that the king bestowed inappropriate material favor upon her.
For a hint of her political activity we can turn to Olivier de La Marche, Burgundian memoirist and chronicler, who writes in an entry about negotiations that took place in May and June 1445 that the king had recently taken up with a beautiful lady and that she did much good for the kingdom “by bringing before the king young men-at-arms and excellent companions, by whom the king has since been well served.” This suggests that she was able to influence the king’s appointments. In addition, we have mentions of her influence over the king in three depositions, each related to court factionalism and plots to overthrow the king along with Pierre de Brézé, his righthand man and the dauphin’s nemesis. One recounts, for example, that Pierre de Brézé controls the king through “that Agnès who serves the queen.” In another set of depositions relative to a different bit of political intrigue, the deponent refers to Pierre who has the king’s ear partly through the help of Agnès, “from whom Pierre has whatever he wants.” The same document says that the deponent had been instructed to inform the king that the dauphin was so upset with the king that he, the dauphin, was going to put things in order himself and chase Agnès away. In addition, the deposition lists code names for members of the court. Agnès’s is Helyos: Héloïse? The sun?
Agnès unexpectedly joined the king in Normandy in January 1450, having crossed France, pregnant, to tell him, according to one chronicler, that he was about to be betrayed by some of his people and turned over to the English. She then fell mortally ill of what we now know was a sudden ingestion of a massive amount of mercury. Certain chronicles reference the dauphin’s hatred of Agnès and a handful of sources suggest that he had her poisoned. Simply the fact that contemporaries thought that the dauphin might have done her in indicates a perception that she was influential.
The evidence adds up to what may have been clout with the king, but a profile so low that no ambassador was ever given instructions to seek her out, or, at least nothing indicates that any ever did. Nor is her presence ever mentioned at festivals, something that would have suggested her importance. Ambassadors to François I’s court, for example, routinely mention that François’s most significant mistress, the Duchess of Étampes, was present at court festivities, often mentioning where she was seated and with whom she spoke. But Agnès’s presence at such events was never noted.
-Tracy Adams, "Queens, Regents, Mistresses: Reflections on Extracting Elite Women’s Stories from Medieval and Early Modern French Narrative Sources"
#historicwomendaily#french history#agnes sorel#Agnès Sorel#charles vii#I keep seeing these myths of Agnes getting thrown around so mindlessly and it's incredibly frustrating#Tracy Adams is 💜#15th century#my post#queue
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Petit repas en amoureux au bord du Saint Laurent gelé. ❤️🍾🥂
Romantic diner along the frozen Saint Laurent river. 🥂🍾❤️
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Hot Vintage Stage Actress Round 1
Katharine Hepburn: Tracy Lord in The Philadelphia Story (1939 Broadway); Rosalind in As You Like It (1950 Broadway and National Tour US); Coco Chanel in Coco (1969 Broadway)
Lauren Bacall: Charlie Sorel in Goodbye Charlie (1959 Broadway); Stephanie in Cactus Flower (1965 Broadway)
Propaganda under the cut
Katharine Hepburn:
cmon it’s Katharine Hepburn, does she even need propaganda?
Lauren Bacall:
#vintagestagehotties#vintagestagepoll#vintage poll#vintage tournament#katharine hepburn#lauren bacall#ladies round 1#vintage ladies
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Fairytale of New York
Taglist. Masterlist.
Anthony Beauvillier x reader
For @swissboyhisch for the Hockey Girlies Discord Christmas Fic Exchange
A/N: Merry Christmas Erin!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Hope you have an a amazing one!!! Sending so many hugs!!!!! This was so fun to write! I’m going to put the masterlist and the taglist in a little while my laptop is being stupid
You wake up to a couple big snuffs in your ear. And when you opened your eyes you saw a big sleek brindle mass. “Ollie you need to go out?” You ask and his tail starts to wag faster. “I’ll wake up daddy.” To wake him up you hit Anthony on the chest. “Your son wants to go outside.”
“He’s your son now.”
“Since when is he my son?” You asked rolling over to face Tito.
“Since he woke me up at 2 am wanting to go outside.”
“That’s not my problem. I’ll make coffee while you take him out.”
“Fine.” As you followed him out the bedroom, him heading to the back door and you to the kitchen to start the coffee maker. As you start pulling mugs and creamer out you hear the back door open and close and Tito coming into the kitchen.
“Why is it so cold outside?” He asks while grabbing you from behind.
“Holy shit your hands are cold.”
“Yeah, it's cold out there.”
“It’s not that cold, it’s New York, not Sorel-Tracy.”
“Are you ready to do presents?”
“Yeah give me five minutes to finish my coffee, I’ll meet you by the tree.”
————————————————————————
“You ready?” He called.
“Yes.” You come walking in with a brindle shadow following you into the living room. “Can we do mine first?” Grabbing a small box with blue wrapping paper with snowflakes on it and handing it to him.
“What is it?”
“I can’t tell you, just open it!”
As he rips the paper open he sees the box that he’s been wanting to get for months.
“You got the watch I’ve been eyeing!” He says as pulls out a simple gold watch and starts to put it on. ”It’s perfect.”
“I knew you been wanting it”
“Thank you.” He whispers as he pulls you into a hug. “Now yours.” As he grabs a large box from under the tree.
As you rip open the slightly bad wrapping job you see at the bottom of the box two pieces of paper. “You got me the concert tickets I’ve been wanting.” You launch into his arms.
“It’s down in New Jersey though.”
“I don’t care.” “Thank you!”
“You’re welcome.”
“I have to go start lunch and the pies. I’ll put these in the bedroom so I don’t lose them.” As you stand up from the couch you grab the tickets to put them in a safe space.
From the other room Anthony heard. “Ow, fuck, fuck, Fuck!”
“You good?”
“I stubbed my toe”
“I know.” As he had felt the soul bond radiate with pain from his foot up.
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After you had gotten changed and started the pies and put the ham on the smoker. You started on the sides. “Hey Alexa, play my Christmas playlist.”
“Ok, playing your Christmas playlist.” As the first song came through the speakers you heard Fairytale of New York come on.
“Tito, can you start the green beans?”
“Sure.” He answers. As he starts the green beans, you start the macaroni and cheese by putting the macaroni on to boil.
“Tito, can you grab the pie out of the oven.”
“Which one?”
“Pecan, the sweet potato has about 10 more minutes left.” As he reaches into the oven to grab the pie out he hits the side of his arm on the oven door causing him to burn his arm. As you had your back turned towards the oven you didn’t know he had burned himself until you felt the searing pain radiating throughout your arm. You spin around quickly clutching your arm even though you hadn't burned yourself the soul bond screamed in pain. “Oh shit, come here!” You hiss, pulling him backwards towards the sink. “Soak your arm, it'll make it feel better.” As he soaks his arm you go get the small first aid kit from the bathroom. “Here, sit on the counter.” As he hops up you open the first aid kit and start getting the gauze and Neosporin out. “It should be ok enough to not have to go to the ER tonight. I can’t even imagine the wait in there from all the people burning themselves.” As you finish patching him up his phone starts ringing.
“That’s Matty, probably saying what time he’ll be over.”
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“Matty, it’s so good to see you!” You say as you give him a hug.
“Good to see you too!” “What the hell happened to you man?” He asks turning to Tito after seeing the bandages on his arm.
“I burned my arm on the oven pulling a pie out.”
“Oof that sucks.”
“Is this for me?” You ask, seeing the bottle of wine in his hand.
“Yes, I hope I picked a good one.”
“It looks perfect.”
————————————————————————
“This is some of the best food I’ve ever had!” Matt said, pushing his chair back.
“Are you ready for pie?”
“Yes!!”
————————————————————————
“I’ll see you later man, get home safe.” Tito said, walking Matty to his car.
“Come here I want to cuddle.” You said from the couch.
“Want to watch a movie?”
“Yess.”
“What do you want to watch?”
“What do you think.” You say looking over at him.
“Nightmare before Christmas.”
“Duh.” As he starts the movie and the opening credits roll you cuddle up closer, and Ollie joins you on the couch by your feet. You wake to someone softly shaking you.
“You fell asleep on the couch. Come on, it's almost 11:30, it's time for bed.” As he pulls you up off the couch he ushers you to bed. As you get into bed and get settled in. Tito speaks up. “Good night, Merry Christmas I love my watch!”
“Night, Merry Christmas, I love my concert tickets!”
“Love you.”
“Love you too.” As you say that you hear a big huff. “Love you too Ollie!”
“Love you Ollie.”
Taglist: @studioreader @honethatty12 @slafgoalskybaby @swissboyhisch @topguncultleader @wondershells @cixrosie
I know I have a few new people I need to add
#nhl x reader#anthony beauvillier#anthony beauvillier x reader#nhl fanfiction#nhl discord#nhl imagine#hockey girlies discord#hockey girlies fic exchange
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Favorite History Books || The Creation of the French Royal Mistress: From Agnès Sorel to Madame Du Barry by Tracy Adams and Christine Adams ★★★★☆
This study explores the sociogenesis and development of the position in France, examining the careers of nine of its most significant holders: Agnès Sorel, Anne de Pisseleu d’Heilly, Diane de Poitiers, Gabrielle d’Estrées, Françoise Louise de La Baume Le Blanc, Françoise Athénaïs de Rochechouart de Mortemart, Françoise d’Aubigné, Jeanne-Antoinette Poisson, and Jeanne Bécu. Although kings had always had extraconjugal sexual partners—some of them powerful, such as Alice Perrers or Jane Shore—only in France did the royal mistress become a tradition, a quasi-institutionalized political position, generally accepted if always vaguely scandalous. And yet the position has been studied only in popular narrative histories intended to titillate. Other powerful female roles central to royal family life, such as the queen, the queen’s entourage, and the female regent, an unofficial role once considered somewhat illegitimate, have received serious attention in recent years, as have individual mistresses. However, the important and enduring position of French royal mistress per se has not been explored.
The study’s point of departure is a simple question: What was it about France? We would like to be very specific about our approach to this question. The creation of the role could be examined from any number of valid and enlightening perspectives. For example, it could be approached through a psychoanalytic lens, to hypothesize about the hidden emotional reasons why the role emerged when it did. Or it could be examined within the context of the Querelle des femmes, that long-term debate over the merits and faults of women, which corresponds, chronologically, to the appearance of the powerful royal mistress in France. However, given our own critical inclinations, we have opted to examine the intellectual, emotional, and physical environment that made emergence of the role possible.
We take as the basis of our analysis Fernand Braudel’s three-part schema of history, which differentiates long- from medium-term structures and both of these from short-term events, and, in this introduction, we initiate the study by applying the schema to the period between 1450 and 1540. Agnès Sorel, often considered to be the first significant French royal mistress, died in 1450; around 1540 Anne de Pisseleu d’Heilly, the Duchess of Étampes (1508–1580), begins to appear in ambassador reports as a central figure in court politics. As we will see in chapter 1, although indirect evidence attests to Agnès’ political influence, it was not widely recognized during her own time. In contrast, no one doubted Anne de Pisseleu’s power. Between these two dates, then, something occurs that makes it possible for the king’s mistress to be taken seriously as a political adviser.
#historyedit#house of valois#house of capet#french history#european history#women's history#history#history books#nanshe's graphics
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pairing: marc-andre fleury x ofc
words: 18.6K
warnings: cursing, mentions of bullying, light underage drinking, light violence
this is my story for @callsign-denmark as part of the 2K23 summer fic exchange.
when demi first messaged me a month ago that i would be writing for you, i immediately jumped out of bed and screamed because you know i'm excellent at coming up with story ideas, but i'm terrible at forcing myself to sit down and write. so this will be the first story i have ever shared with anyone, and i'm so delighted you are the person i received.
although, that may have been a good thing because, as you can see from the notes, this ended up being 18.5k because i really wanted to flesh out marc's relationship and explain why he chose what he chose at the end. but like marc's psycho-babble, once i started, i couldn't stop. i actually had a sex scene that i had to cut because of crunch time, and the story was already getting super long. i may write an epilogue once i finish birthday bingo.
as a result, take all the time you need to read this. additionally, another by-product of my hyperactive brain is that i was able to edit it truly. i ran it through grammarly, so i hope i got most of the grammatical errors. but grammarly isn't perfect, meaning there may be a word or two missing or a plot hole, for which i hope you can forgive me.
additional tags: @kurlyteuvo @hoesforthecanes @behoright @wyattjohnston @comphy-and-cozy
the radiant sun reflected in the gentle waves of the richelieu river as the tributary snaked its way through southwestern quebec from lake champlain to the st. lawrence. verdant branches of trees on the street corners gently danced in a refreshing spring breeze, guiding the sorellers strolling down the sidewalks on a gorgeous friday afternoon. the pedestrians pass modest, middle-class homes inherited through generations, where parents stood on their driveways and monitored their children playing with a football in a minuscule adjacent field.
"bonjour! ça va?" they greeted their neighbors, stopping to have a quick tête-à-tête about the town's local gossip or their plans for the weekend.
such was life in the hardworking french-canadian community of sorel-tracy, domiciled on the richelieu's eastern bank.
across the river, on the western bank, a looming metallurgy complex stood in contrast against the town's quiet, idyllic existence. massive gray and brown buildings with multiple wires and large copper ventilation pipes, stretching upward and scraping the clear azure sky, produced a steady stream of dark gray smoke. inside, men and women threw large bricks of titanium into an industrial furnace to smelt it and turn it molten before joining it with liquid oxygen to create titanium dioxide. the metallurgists then set aside the compound to cool before grinding it into a fine white powder and shipping it to suppliers.
several large, black clocks ticked away on the factory's cement walls, slowly inching to the long-awaited shift end. when the hour hands finally reached five, a loud alarm resounded through the factory, signifying the end of the workday. the filthy and exhausted employees wiped the sweat from their foreheads with their arms as the factory foreman instructed them to cool their machines down. once everything was off and tucked away, a crowd exited through a pair of large doors into a barren white hallway, where some excitedly chatted before entering their respective locker rooms.
andré fleury, a tall, burly man with crystal blue eyes and statuesque features, wandered the rows of metal lockers until he arrived at a door with his initials written in big, bold letters. unlocking it, he set his hard hat, eye protection, and heat-resistant gloves onto the little shelf inside and ran his fingers through his dark brown hair, which grew increasingly gray each year.
a small polaroid hung by a magnet inside the locker's door depicts andré's children — his son marc-andré and his daughter marylène. the photograph showed the children swimming together during the first summer the family had their above-ground pool. there were tons of photos andré could've had in his locker, but this one was special because it represented why he went to work every day to perform hard labor in the metallurgy factory. the siblings begged their father to get them a pool, but andré insisted they could go to the local sports complex if they wanted to swim.
but his gracious wife, france, took her quiet husband aside and reminded him that their children were getting older. marc would likely go off to play hockey in the quebec junior hockey league or the canadian hockey league. furthermore, there was only one cegep in sorel-tracy, meaning marylène may have to move to montréal or québec city to continue her education after grade 11. andré rubbed his callous hands together as he reflected on his wife's words; it would be nice for the children to have another opportunity to make memories before they flew the coup. after a few moments, the fleury patriarch finally relented and promised to save enough money to get his kids a pool, earning him a kiss from france.
he tied the laces of his steel-toed boots, took more hours at the factory, and carefully budgeted his family's money so they could have a little left over to set aside for that pool. it took a few months, but andré finally found enough to install the structure in the backyard. when the day came to reveal the surprise, marylène emitted an ear-bleeding scream that startled the entire street as she leaped off the back porch and raced to embrace her father. a disoriented marc eventually regained his senses and rushed to envelop mr. fleury in a tight embrace.
"thank you! thank you! thank you!" they chanted in quebecois, nearly knocking over andré with their combined weight.
the siblings eventually dashed back inside to change into bathing suits and grabbed a pair of fresh towels. marylène also scooped up her vintage polaroid camera from the desk in her room as they flew back down the stairs and into the backyard. marc immediately climbed the ladder and dunked into the pool's crystal waters.
meanwhile, marylène extended her polaroid camera to her father. "papa, will you take a picture of us?" she asked.
andré took the camera from his daughter and waited as she climbed the ladder and lowered herself into the pool. marylène waded around for a bit, getting acclimated to the temperature, when she felt a hand grab her ankle underwater.
"marc!" she shrieked as she attempted to shake her brother from her leg.
the imp suddenly rose to the surface. "i'm sorry! i couldn't resist!" he said between giggles, earning him an admonishing splash from marylène.
"behave, you two!" andré commanded. "now, come over to the edge so i can get a good shot of you."
marc and marylène followed their father's request, made their way over to the pool's wall, and flashed their pearlescent fleury teeth as the camera's shutter clicked. there were a lot of memories surrounding that pool, good and bad — from the neighborhood parties andré and france hosted to the time they had to stop marc from hurting himself because his stupid teenage brain wondered if he could get a better splash by launching cannonballs from the roof. regardless, andré's heart filled with warmth whenever his eyes glanced upon that picture. wherever his children ended up, whatever they did, he would always have them immortalized as youths grinning ear-to-ear because of his labor.
andré would walk to the earth's ends to make his children happy. and he was so grateful to france for keeping him focused on that path.
dragging his mind back to reality, he focused on the pack of marlboro's at the bottom of the locker. his eyes widen at the thought of getting another lecture from his wife about how he would meet an early grave if he didn't quit smoking, causing him to unzip his work bag and shove the box into a hidden pocket where france couldn't find it. andré wiped the dirt from his face with a towel before undoing the top half of his heat-resistant suit. at the other end of the row, a group of workers discussed how springtime meant that a new generation of kids would soon join the factory.
"i just hate that another generation of young ones will be stuck at this factory for the rest of their lives," someone grumbled.
"you know they could always leave the factory to study at university, right?" another person responded.
"you know as well as i do that this place is like a black hole — once you get sucked in, you can't escape."
"i wish my son was as good a goaltender as andré's son. maybe i could get out of this dump."
a few men at the other end of the row turned and looked at andré, who downcasted his eyes to avoid their glares as he threw on a plain white t-shirt. like many so-called young ones, he joined the factory shortly after receiving his college diploma, as there were only a few career choices for sorellers in 1972. some would leave for higher education and return with engineering, chemistry, or business administration degrees to secure one of the more lucrative positions at the factory. others would come home with expensive doctorates, like a juris doctorate or a doctorate of medicine, to open up a practice or work at the local hospital. but it seldom lasted as the lure of bigger and better positions in one of the neighboring metropolises proved too tempting, leaving people like andré and his fellow manual laborers behind.
andré operated nearly every machine in the complex over several decades since his employment, and he was always ready to lend a hand to anyone who needed it. but despite his affable nature, there were always whispers that haunted him about how marc would be able to use his goaltending skills to get out of this small town and break the cycle that so many other families found themselves in.
the men must've been talking loudly for the other rows to hear because from around the corner came another worker who rested his hand on andré's shoulder. "it's not his fault he spent weekends teaching his son to skate instead of hanging out with the other guys in the cantine," the kind worker said.
"and at least your houses didn't smell like sweat almost every afternoon," jested andré, attempting to lightning the mood.
some of the guys gave andré half-hearted smiles to show they had no hard feelings against him as they continued packing their things.
"don't worry!" the kind worker said. "they're all jealous that you'll get front-row seats to see a professional hockey game one day, and they won't."
"thanks. i appreciate the help," andré replied as the kind worker bid him goodbye with a nod and turned around the corner again.
he stripped himself of the bottom half of his suit, stuffed it into his bag, and replaced it with a pair of old blue jeans. gathering his lunch box and belongings, andré locked his locker door and headed for the exit. the hallway separating the factory floor and the locker rooms was now almost barren, except for a straggler or two still engaged in their conversations nearly 15 minutes later. they waved goodbye and wished andré a pleasant weekend as he passed by and exited the building.
as he stepped onto the dirt road, andré took a deep breath of fresh air, grateful that he could finally breathe after spending hours surrounded by titanium dioxide fumes. he opened his eyes again and focused on sorel-tracy's skyline in the distance. near the horizon, his eyes made out the oval outline of the colisée cardin's roof. his mind couldn't help but reflect on what those men had said in the locker room about marc, who was more than likely at the arena right now for practice. he hoped his son's hockey abilities would propel him to be more than a simple factory worker, but only time would tell. shaking his head, andré dug out his keys from an outer pocket and headed toward the parking lot where his pickup awaited him back in town.
opened in 1954, the colisée cardin was small but functional, like most things in sorel-tracy. it sat about 3,000 people in hard maroon seats, often leaving most spectators standing on the upper levels by the end of the game. there were banners dedicated to various quebecois businesses all around the concourse. in one of the rafters above were a few black and red banners with a logo resembling an indigenous man, similar to the chicago blackhawks. they read the numbers that the sorel-tracy éperviers, the town's north american hockey league team, retired. marc's large brown eyes stared at them, wondering to whom they belonged and what their stories were — what positions they played, who they were as people, and where they ended up.
he shifted his gaze to his teammates, who laughed as they chased and checked each other after a productive practice. the champlain saints felt rejuvenated and prepared for their upcoming game against the quebec high falcons in a few days. marc and the saints had seen a lot of success over the past couple of years, making them one of the best teams in both quebec and canadian scholastic sports. their spectacular goalie tandem and foisting defense often made scoring hard for opponents.
but ice hockey would always be a chaotic sport. you never knew what momentum and spark a team would bring into the arena. for example, the saints faced the harold sheppard cavaliers at the cardin several days ago. the two clubs played each other a few times during the season, and the saints easily won the series. the cavaliers couldn't skate or keep control of the puck against the saints' impressive roster. however, along with warming weather and gorgeous flowers, springtime also brought the arrival of the canadian nationals, the country's most significant academic hockey tournament.
scouts from canada's nine junior hockey teams attend the tourney to search for players that display that special sparkle of growing into something beyond high school ice hockey. every team in school sport canada gripped their twigs a little tighter, made their skates sharper, and worked to make their dekes a bit smoother for the right to compete in nationals. the cavaliers, who sat just below the playoff threshold, could qualify for the post-season if they could turn their record around. that is why the cavaliers had an extra bounce during their previous match against the saints.
the saints had almost all the momentum in the first period. they locked their eyes on whichever cavalier had control of the puck and tried to isolate him, like a hunter stalking its prey.
a panic began to set in as the defenseman surrounded the player, forcing him to cautiously handle the puck as he looked around for any open teammates before someone him up for a check. the cavalier had no choice but to risk a dangerous pass if his team ever wanted an opportunity to get the puck on marc's net. but the wrong timing, direction, or velocity would cause the biscuit to stop in open ice, allowing one of the saints' defensemen to scoop it up and send it down to one of their attackers.
the saints' aggressive strategy impelled the cavaliers into a 4-0 hole by the end of the first period.
but the cavaliers refused to go down without a fight and resolved to fight fire with fire during the second period by using the saints' aggression against them. their defensemen began making the opposing forwards increasingly uncomfortable with controlling the puck in their zone. in contrast, the forwards lured the saints' defensemen away, exposing marc for a snapshot or a wrist shot. the team's valiant effort closed the deficit to 4-3 by the sound of the final buzzer, but the saints remained steadfast. an excited cacophony erupted through the cardin as the cavaliers sighed and bowed their heads as the coveted canadian cup slipped further from their grasp. in the meantime, the saints lined up to exchange appreciative head bumps with marc.
the coaches took the team to celebrate at a north american fusion restaurant in an abandoned 19th-century ironwork factory before the town switched to titanium dioxide. they weren't thrilled that the boys ordered pizza and poutine but promised to look the other way if the guys put in a few extra hours in the gym to work off the calories. skills and talent could only carry a team so far if they didn't also didn't have chemistry. however, the falcons meant a new team, a new match, and a new chance to perfect the faults exploited by the cavaliers.
"heads up, marc!" someone shouted, diverting marc's attention from the rafters to a teammate moving the puck through the zone. he lowered himself onto his haunches as the player lifted the puck onto the blade of his stick and tried launching between the pipes, but his makeshift spear went wide and clattered into the wall behind.
"so close, but close on counts in horseshoes!" marc giggled as he removed his glove to pick up the twig and return it to its owner.
"and grenades!" pointed out marc's goaltending partner, charles, resting on the goal frame.
charles-antonine de fumée was the peanut butter to marc's jelly, the eggs to marc's bacon. the two goaltenders first met a few years earlier when they tried out for the division 2 team upon graduating from primary school to secondary i. marc still recalled the butterflies that floated around in his stomach when he opened the door to the cardin and headed to the homely locker room with his hockey bag. he hoped that arriving thirty minutes early would mean nobody else would be there so that he could give himself a pep talk in front of the mirror and reassure himself that the coaches wouldn't kick him off the team after only a few bad performances. as marc opened the door, his shoulders tensed upon seeing the calm, poised charles lacing up his skates in the opposite stall.
the sound of the door banging on the door frame caused charles to look up from his skates. "hey, you must be marc! i'm charles!" he said with a smile.
marc readjusted his circular wire-frame glasses as he silently nodded and took the stall next to his future goaltending partner. the two boys talked about their lives as charles waited for marc to put on his socks and skates before taking the ice to shoot some pucks. slowly but surely, cracks began to appear in marc's reticent facade, and the seeds of friendship took root.
a whistle resounded through the rink as marc handed the stick back to his teammate, turning every head toward a middle-aged man standing on the rink near the door. he had fair skin, a greying full beard, and medium-length gray hair underneath a black team cap. the matching black tracksuit had the team's fleur-de-lis logo and the phrase "t. dallaire, head coach" embroidered on the upper left breast.
theodore dallaire has been around the cardin as long as any could remember. it was where he first learned to skate and got his start in hockey. faded pictures of him lifting the canada cup and different rosters throughout the years, from playing for the saints to his seasons as an épervier, filled the trophy case in the arena's lobby. he had a fledgling professional career, having made a few appearances in the nhl with the pittsburgh penguins and the canadian men's national team at the olympics. but mostly, dallaire saw action as a member of the penguins' 90s affiliate, the cleveland lumberjacks. it took him some time and a couple of therapy sessions to rationalize that he would never be as good as gretzky and messier, and that was okay. he was theodore dallaire and had plenty of stories that only theodore dallaire could tell. after he retired from competitive hockey, coach dallaire spent a few years as an advisor to hockey canada before securing a position as the division 1 hockey coach at the école samuel de champlain, where he could teach the next generation of quebecois players the skills and experience gretzky and messier wish they had.
for marc, it meant fighting through sweat and tears to put the team on his back to try to catch a scout's eye. and for charles, it meant grappling with the ghosts of insecurity as he devised a contingency plan for the next two years after secondary school. but to dallaire, they were boys who wanted to play hockey, and he wanted them to carry that memory forever. he often arrived early in the morning when the rising sun painted the sky in blue and orange hues until late at night under a sea of stars. the staff of the cardin would often try to shut down the arena, powering down the lights, when the bulb of dallaire's office shining in the darkness caught their eyes. they would find the head coach nursing a cup of coffee while watching game tapes and tell him to go home and get some rest. dallaire put in countless hours, tailoring custom game plans to each player's need to help push them to be the best athlete they could be within their boundaries.
the result of his dedication not only showed in the multiple awards he brought home to the school, how his players looked upon him, and the tone of their voices.
everyone on the ice slowly approached where dallaire stood, forming a half-circle around him. "good work, everyone!" he commended. "i hope you're excited as i am to show the falcons why the champlain saints are the best team in the league. go home, rest, and i'll see you back next week for the game!"
with that, dallaire reached over the bench, unlatched the door, and swung it open as the players rose. he encouraged every player as they lined up to exit the ice and head into the locker rooms.
as he waited for his turn, marc turned his attention once again back to the rafters. everyone told him he would be amongst the next generation of nhl players, but would he ever be good enough to see his name on a banner at the end of his career?
"is everything okay, marc?" dallaire asked, noticing the young goalie lost in thought.
"oh, yes. everything's fine. i think i'm just tired."
"well, like i said, you have nothing to worry about. you are one of the biggest stars on the team, but you're still human. and the guys now understand that they must be adaptable to change like a goalie must constantly change his position in his crease. we'll be fine, especially if you keep that charming smile."
marc couldn't help but curve his thin, heart-shaped lips into a small smile as dallaire got him a few reassuring pats on the shoulder. he watched as the coach turned and meandered past the seats toward his office, leaving marc to head into the locker room.
he walked down the hallway, decorated with a beautiful mural displaying sorel-tracy's ice hockey history, and placed his twig in the rack before entering the locker room to join half-naked teammates chatting happily. to marc's immediate right, charles undid his dirty blond shoulder-length hair from the little ponytail he always had during practice and ran his fingers through his messy locks. marc sat beside him and untied his goalie pads from his skate, which had a beautiful pink and blue cherry blossom pattern designed by marylène.
"are we still going to see star wars this weekend?" charles asked as he set aside his own smokey blue and white pads.
marc sighed. "we can try, but my english essay will finish by next friday. and if i don't get a good grade, i'll get a 1 in english studies."
"well, maybe phantom menace can help your english comprehension," teased charles.
"starting an essay with luke skywalker returning to tatooine will not win any favors with our esl teacher.
"that's because that's the plot to the return of the jedi, not the phantom menace."
"my point is, charlie, that some of us have more important things to do than think about intergalactic space battles."
charles nodded his head. "alright, how about this? we get some takeout and spend the weekend tackling this paper," he offered, extending his hand.
another grin spread across marc's face as he and charles did their secret handshake. "that's a plan i can get behind!"
marc continued to undress, dumping his padding into his hockey gear and making himself decent with a pair of gym shorts. he then gathered his shower essentials, contact case, and a fresh change of clothes before heading into the shower room. the showers were relatively unimpressive, just four or five white tile stalls facing a large mirror and a series of sinks built into a gray granite counter. a few of the guys studied their reflections, brushing or applying deodorant, while little plumes of smoke emerged from four of the five stalls. marc noticed charles' black slip-on sandals outside the fourth stall and immediately took the one beside it.
he quickly dumped his shower stuff onto the little wooden bench in the attached changing booth and turned the shower nozzle. marc placed his shampoo and body wash on a small white floating shelf opposite the shower head as the water warmed. the contacts he wore during practice returned to their solution and placed on a neatly folded t-shirt and pair of sweat pants. marc dropped his shorts and stepped into the water, allowing the rivulets to wash away the sweat, dirt, and worries from his muscles. some time passed, and marc stepped out to dry himself and change into his sweatpants. he freshened up a bit before throwing his plain white t-shirt over his head and returning to the locker room.
the locker room was empty except for charles, who bid his time by looking over his new messages on his nokia while marc finished his shower.
"are you ready? the guys are out in the lobby," charles said, looking up from his phone as marc placed the rest of his belongings into his bag.
"let's go!" marc responded, swinging his hockey bag over his shoulder.
charles mimicked marc's actions as marc let him out and through the maze of hallways to the lobby. compared to most of the rink, the entrance had a warm design with mismatched yellow and white walls and wooden accents. a pair of fellow seniors — a defenseman and a forward, who were friendly acquaintances of charles and marc, lounged in two of the many blue chairs interspersed throughout the space. they greeted marc and charles, grabbed their bags, and headed out to a van that was just large enough to transport four sets of hockey equipment. the group climbed in and fired up "livin' la vida loca" by ricky martin as they headed back into town.
marc was always the first to get dropped off because his house was the closest to the coliseum. but as the boys turned onto the appropriate street, the curious sight of a large moving truck quickly dampened their jam session. the house next to marc's was a vintage, square brick duplex with black siding. a lovely little older lady who sometimes watched marc and marylène when they were younger lived on the lower level. but the family on the upper was a younger family that marc didn't know well aside from brief interactions to gift his mother's homemade maple pudding. one day, the fleury family returned home and discovered a man they assumed was the landlord, staking a fence post with a red for rent sign into the lawn. no one knew or saw anything, and the home remained vacant for several months until now.
the moving truck didn't block the fleury home, a medium, two-story home with grey siding, a white trim, and a blooming magnolia tree out front. however, the vehicle did make it difficult to turn into the driveway. "you can stop here," marc instructed, saving the driver the headache of squeezing past the truck's bumper.
marc climbed out of the back seat and retrieved his hockey gear from the rear of the van before walking around the back of the moving truck to his front lawn, where his mother and father conversed with a man and woman that marc could only assume were his new neighbors.
the man carried an air of savoir-faire with his white button-up shirt and capri jean pants. he had his dark brown hair parted to the side and a trimmed beard. on the wrist of his right armed, marc espied a fancy gold watch, suggesting that whatever he did for work paid well. his left arm draped over his petite wife.
she looked like a model ripped from his mother's fashion magazine pages. her stature was tiny, and her features were soft. one of her delicate hands rested on her husband's arm, whereas the other reached up now and then to brush the light brown curls out of her face.
"marc, come over and meet our new neighbors!" andré shouted, interrupting his son's thoughts.
marc swallowed and gripped his bag tightly as he walked to join his parents, who stood on the neighboring lawn.
"it's a pleasure to meet you, marc." the gentleman greeted. "i'm etienne rhéaume, and this is my wife, ilidia. from what i heard from your father, you will be in the same grade as our daughter, idalia.
"have fun with your new neighbors, marc!" the defenseman called from the passenger's side, and the driver put the van back into drive and sped.
"papa, may i go inside to put my hockey gear away?" marc whispered to his father, earning him a nod from andré. "it was a pleasure to meet you," he addressed the rhéaume with a bow before disappearing inside.
but as he turned to enter the home, he noticed a young girl standing in the driveway, watching the movers walk various furniture and boxes down the unloading ramp. it was evident that she got her beauty from her mother. she wore a pastel blue romper with a small brown accent belt and white sneakers. light brown hair sat on top of her hair in a messy bun with adorable little curls poking out from behind her ears, framing her heart-shaped face. eventually, she noticed marc staring at her, forming her full rose-colored lips into a smile and giving him a little wave. marc's freckled cheeks blushed as he realized he was caught staring at his new neighbor and gave an awkward back before heading into the house.
the entrance to the fleury home led into a small mud room, where the family stored their shoes and other miscellaneous outdoor items like scarves and mittens. marc sat down on the little white and dark mahogany bench to unlace his boots and store them in the shoe rack underneath. one of france's many rules in her home was that marc's hockey gear must stay in the laundry room for proper cleaning. the family's washer and drier were stored in a little annex off the entryway, where marc dumped his hockey bag on the floor. he dug out of his socks and gave them the old sniff test, trying to determine if they needed an immediate wash. it didn't smell too putrid, meaning he could leave it alone for a few days before giving it a good scrub.
entering the kitchen, marc grabbed the blender out of the kitchen and plugged it into one of the outlets. he retrieved frozen blueberries, strawberries, bananas, milk, yogurt, cinnamon, and protein powder to make his after-practice smoothies. once his smoothie was secured, marc took it upstairs to his room.
"hi, marylène!" marc called out to his sister as he ventured down the narrow hallway past her room. he received no response, figuring she was probably doing something on her computer while listening to her cd player.
he closed the door behind him and set his drink on his tidy desk, using his foot to turn on the modem in the leg space underneath. as he waited for windows to boot up, his mind couldn't help but drift back to idalia. it was a bit strange that a family with plenty of money would suddenly move to a small town like sorel-tracy, especially considering that their daughter is probably weeks away from earning her secondary studies diploma if what mr. rhéaume said was true. there was a story there, but one marc needed to set aside for later as he opened microsoft word and watched the blinking, searching every synapse in his head for a glimmer of inspiration for his english essay.
the weekend dashed by without little progress made on his project as marc stood at the entrance of the école samuel de champlain. charles proposed that english is often used as a lingua franca to build bridges between different people, given that 1.35 billion people speak it. marc wrinkled his nose at such a boring idea but quickly acquiesced, given that he was running out of time.
students dressed in dark blue sweaters with white collared undershirts and khaki pants passed marc as he watched the crowd. he didn't know why, but he wanted to escort idalia to her first class and show her around the school.
"she's probably already in class, marc," charles stated as the swarm of students began to thin out. "and if we don't get going, we'll be late too."
marc sighed and turned, walking past charles into the aging academics building. the boys trekked down the hallway until they arrived at a large brown door with a brass nameplate that labeled the classrooms as english v. kids sat at their desks and on their desks, engaged in their little conversations as they waited for the bell to ring and their teacher to begin the lecture. marc found his seat in the back of the room but soon stood in his tracks upon discovering idalia sitting at the desk behind him.
"um, hi!" a sheepish marc stammered after a few moments of fighting to vocalize.
"hi! you're marc, right? marc-andré fleury?" she asked in a sweet soprano voice.
marc nodded as he hung the straps of his backpack on the back of his chair and took his seat, warning his inner conscious not to mess this interaction up.
sensing his friend's anxiety, charles helped break the tension with a gleeful, "i like your bow!"
"oh, thank you!" idalia responded, touching the silk hair accessory which sat above her ponytail. "my mama bought it for me as part of my uniform and said it would help make a nice first impression."
"so, you're in english v, too?" marc finally managed to ask.
"yeah, it's one of my best subjects. i have enough credits to graduate, but i need one more course for the semester and thought it wouldn't hurt to have a refresher."
marc bit his lip as the opportunity to ask the question on his mind for several days finally presented itself. "i hope you don't mind my prying, but your family seems a little … "
"out of place in a small mining town?"
"i was going to say different, but your description works too."
"it's okay. i knew that kind of question would come eventually," idalia confessed as her manicured fingers rolled the pencil in her hands. a sense of melancholy flooded her jade eyes as she focused on the writing device, opening her mouth multiple times as if looking for the appropriate words. "my father is a doctor and had a good practice in quebec city. but something happened between myself, a boy, and a group of popular girls, leading my father to believe it would be best to open a new office here in his hometown and give us a fresh start."
"aww, i'm sorry!" apologized marc. "if it makes you feel any better, i think you're really pretty. i mean, a really nice person. it's not that you're not pretty because you clearly are. i've seen your mother … which sounded a lot better in my head that out loud…"
charles let out a suppressed laugh as marc continued to vomit words before tapping idalia on her shoulder. "he thinks you're cute."
"well, if being showered with compliments is the worst thing i could expect from sorel boys, then i think i'm going to like it here," idalia responded.
the bell finally runs as an old hag entered the room with an esl textbook and various papers sticking out from the pages. "hello! hello!" she rasped. "today, we are going to continue our conversational skills.
she placed the book on the teacher's desk in the front room before picking up a stick of chalk in her wrinkly hand and writing a bunch of english words on the blackboard. the minutes melted away from the lecture as the esl teacher asked questions about how to say different phrases in english, which became a low buzzing sound in the back of his brain. while marc could only pick up a few words from the crone's harangue, idalia raised her hand to answer every question. but the gorgon quickly picked up on the fact that the same pupils were raising their hands and decided to select a victim from one of the students trying their hardest to slide down into their desk chair.
"marc, answer this question!" she instructed.
his mouth quickly dried up as he frantically searched through his notebook, looking for clues about the teacher's question.
suddenly, he heard idalia's soft voice in his ear, like a guardian angel coming to save him. "she wants to know if you have any plans for the summer."
"i think my family is planning to visit new brunswick," marc stated.
the esl teacher nodded, satisfied with the answer. "very good, miss rhéaume. but please allow mr. fleury to answer the question himself next time."
marc looked over his shoulder and chuckled with idalia, softly thanking her.
after what seemed like forever, the bell finally rang, signaling the arrival of the transition period. everyone packed up their textbooks and grabbed their backpacks as the mulish lecturer reminded her students filing out the door about their deadline at the end of the week. marc, charles, and idalia pushed through crowds of people hanging out in the hallway until they reached an empty area near the foot of the stairs.
"what's next on your schedule?" marc inquired of idalia.
idalia checked the piece of paper in the protective sleeve of her binder cover. "i think i have art next in the laurier building."
"so do i!" charles chimed. "i could show you the way if you like."
"i have mathematics," marc said, gesturing to the upward stairs behind him. "and afterward, charles and i usually part ways for a few classes, but we usually reconvene at the cafeteria. you're welcome to join us if you'd like."
"that sounds nice. i'll see you later!" idalia responded before turning to follow charles down the hall toward that walkway that connected the main academic building with the laurier building.
as soon as the two were out of sight, marc couldn't help but let out a little squeak and make micro taps with his brown loafers. most often, charles brought in girls thanks to his sophisticated and forthcoming personality. he set marc up with a few dates here and there, mostly the girlfriends of whatever lucky lass found herself on charles's arm that week. marc would nod and pick at his food as the chatterbox would go on about some boy band he did not care about, leading him to regret the money he spent. idalia, on the other hand, seemed to be different. she was sweet, kind, and genuinely interested in his well-being, traits he had never seen in a girl before.
could his awkward, babbling personality have had the same effect on her?
suddenly, the second-period bell echoed through the now-empty hallway.
"shit! shit!" marc exclaimed as he flew up the stairs, nearly tripping over the steps as he raced to the second floor.
over the next few weeks, it became evident to everyone around them that romantic feelings started to bloom between the town's meek and quiet star goaltender and the intelligent, elegant daughter of the town's doctor. they fell into a pattern of eating lunch together almost every day at school, where marc retold the tales of his locker room escapades, like the time the equipment managers arrived to find the team's hockey sticks stuck together with a soluble adhesive. charles could see it in how they leaned into each other from across the table or when marc just randomly started wearing a few buttons of his uniform open, earning him a mark or two from one of the school monitors.
to mr. and mrs. fleury, they would sometimes peek into marc's room through the crack of the ajar door to see marc and idalia sitting on marc's bed as idalia worked marc through how to use the oxford comma.
the rhéaumes occasionally look out the blinds of their living room window to see their daughter, who would wake up and prepare herself for school much earlier than anticipated, for the chance to walk with marc to their bus stop.
and coach dallaire would have to remind marc to focus on practicing as the goalie tried to sneak glances into the nearby stands to see if idalia had come to see him play.
it was like a small-town romantic comedy playing out before their very eyes, and they eagerly awaited the moment when the two main leads acknowledged their feelings for each other and shared their first kiss.
eventually, spring slowly turned to summer. thanks to idalia's help, marc earned a 3 in english studies, meaning he wouldn't have to make up the course in summer school if he wanted to receive his secondary education diploma. he gently went over his black graduation robe with a lint roller, ensuring that the numerous photos his mother would take after he received his certificate would look pristine. marc looked at the gown one last time before throwing it over his head and adjusting the collar of his light blue dress shirt and the red plaid tie around his neck. he draped his burgundy and white shawl over his shoulders and grabbed the graduation tam hanging on a hook in the closet.
a realization suddenly dawned on marc that by this time next year, he would have a new life in a new city, playing for a new team. the diminutive bedroom that he called his sanctuary for the past 16 years — filled with collectible action figures, video games, awards, and pictures of famous goalies — will slowly fade into his memories as his junior league thrust him into the adult world of contracts and agents. no more going to the cinema with charles, picnics with his family on canada day, or getting lost in nature at the greves regional park.
but most importantly, he would have to leave idalia.
a delectable aroma of freshly baked cookies beckoned marc from the kitchen, forcing him to place the hat atop his head. various plates of cookies, cupcakes, and other party foods sat on the kitchen island and table, most likely for the block party that the neighborhood planned to celebrate the graduates. marc bit his lip as he looked from side to side for any sign of life before reaching to sneak one of the red velvet cupcakes.
"hi-yah!" marylène yelled as she whacked marc's hand with her purse, causing her brother to wince. "what the hell do you think you're doing? mama and i worked extremely hard on those!"
"it's my graduation!" retorted marc.
"yeah, well, these sweets are for everyone. you can have one when we get back from the ceremony."
"and what are you going to do to stop me?" marc asked, leaning over his sister to remind her that he was at least several inches taller.
whatever bravado marc mustered quickly disappeared as an expressionless marylène pulled her arm back and whipped her brother again without a second thought, this type across the bridge of his grecian nose. marc let out a howl of pain as he stumbled back and gripped his face, removing his hand now and again to double-check to see if the purse's buckle drew any blood. fortunately, his sister didn't break any skin, but his nose still throbbed with pain.
the commotion caused a din of clacking heels marching down the hall. "what is going on here?" mrs. fleury demanded while trying to secure a dangling pear earring in one of her ears.
"marc was trying to steal a cupcake!"
"marylène hit me in the face with her purse!"
"both of you calm down," said mrs. fleury. "marc, please apologize to marylène for trying to sneak a cupcake before the party."
"i'm sorry!" marc apologized, leaning backward and keeping his appendages far away from his sister as he could.
"and marylène, it's a cupcake and doesn't warrant attacking him with your purse. if he does take one, we could always make more. say you're sorry!"
"sorry!" marylène grumbled with her arms across her chest.
"now go outside and wait by the car while i finish putting on my things."
marylène made one final lunging motion at marc before resting her purse on her shoulder and heading out the door. an anxious marc waited a few more moments, nursing his poor nose, until he felt it was safe enough to emerge from the house and step out onto the driveway.
some neighbors were already working hard to raise a giant balloon arch made with the school colors and a message that read, "congratulations, class of 1999." others laid out bright orange street cones to try and direct traffic away from the party or set up grey folding tables and coolers to help store the food and drinks.
at the rhéaume household, a neat row of vehicles that marc had never seen before stood arranged in a way that made him think there was a tetris master in the family. the front door opened, and idalia stepped outside on the porch for fresh air from all the relatives filling up her home. it took a few minutes, but she eventually noticed marc and stepped onto the sidewalk to greet him.
"wow, you look gorgeous!" marc complimented as idalia approached.
"thank you, but am i as beautiful as my mama?" idalia teased.
the same lump that marc felt in his throat several weeks earlier returned. but it wasn't because he didn't know what to say this time; it was because he had too much to say. he wanted to tell her that she was more beautiful than aphrodite, that her eyes were like precious gemstones, that her voice sounded like an angel's, and that her smile filled him with warmth. marc wanted to leave sorel with the knowledge that idalia would patiently wait for him to return, allowing him to work through the trials and tribulations of being a professional hockey player.
"i think you're the most beautiful girl in the world," marc whispered, tucking the loose strands of her chestnut hair in a low-sitting chignon.
marc held his breath as he watched the blood rush to idalia's cheeks and her chin dip down to her chest. a thousand thoughts descended upon him as he attempted to analyze her body language. perhaps he had confessed too early, or maybe she was already dating someone, or she didn't feel like he did. whatever the reason, marc felt the need to example himself, rising in his throat and spilling over like the flood of '54.
"i'm so sorry. i didn't mean to make you feel horrible. i'm likely going to leave for another part of canada in the next few months to progress my hockey career, and you'll probably be going off to college to figure out what you want to do with the rest of your life. and i don't know where you'll be in twenty years, but i hope i can be there for you like you were there for me. the problem is that i've liked you for the past few weeks and wanted to tell you. but i didn't want to mess up our friendship, make things awkward like i did a few minutes ago…"
to silence marc's psycho-babble, idalia pulled him in by his tie for a gentle kiss. a warmth spread across marc's chest as he adjusted to the new but welcomed session of idalia's lips on his. they were just as soft as he imagined them to be, and he could also detect the faintest hint of strawberry, most likely from the chapstick that she liked to wear. marc wanted to wrap his hands around her waist, pull her in closer, and savor the sensation — let idalia know it was okay to go deeper.
but marc and idalia quickly separated upon remembering that their families were around.
"i want you to be in my life twenty years from now," idalia said, gesturing to the waiting car behind marc. "but i think we should save that until after we graduate."
"marc, stop exchanging saliva with your new girlfriend and get in the damn car!" marylène screeched with the finesse of a foghorn.
idalia gave marc one last peck on his cheek. "i'll see you at the campus."
the still-stunned marc nodded and returned to the family car. as he climbed into the back next to his sister, he prayed that only marylène had seen the kiss, sparing him questions he didn't have answers to. thankfully, the ride was relatively uneventful, with mr. and mrs. fleury mostly talking about how proud they were of their son.
the family arrived at the school and drove around the campus, searching for the perfect parking spot through the families and graduates making their way toward the ceremony fields. eventually, after some time, mr. fleury discovered a good slot near the stands where the spectators would sit and where the students gathered for their procession. marc joined the other students in the fieldhouse, who stood around chatting in groups organized by their last names. he looked around, noticed a few classmates with similar surnames, and got in line. sir edward elgar's "pomp and circumstance" started to play through speakers outside as the doors to the fieldhouse opened, and the a group filed to their chairs.
it was a beautiful ceremony with a large red runner decorated with white flower petals, a velvet curtain backdrop, and large simple vases filled with wisteria branches. still, most attendees would've been content with the faculty handing out the diplomas and wishing the students the best of luck in therapy. some students fell asleep in their seats as the school's principal and valedictorian gave uninspiring speeches about the future or something. marc was one of the fortunate ones, as someone in his group had snuck in shell-less pistachios under their gown and started sharing them.
everyone had lost years of their lives by the time the school was ready for the graduating class to walk across the stage. marc, idalia, and charles received their diplomas and shook hands with their teachers when the master of ceremonies offered them their cue. once the certificates changed hands, a surge of hats flew into the air as the now-alumni shared hugs.
a few people tried to find their tam as things began to quiet down, and marc took off toward his party's designated meeting spot — a massive oak tree where he and charles sometimes skipped class. he was the first to arrive, but over time, the fleurys, the rhéaumes, and de fumeés wandered over to the rendezvous point for photographs. once the families used their film rolls, they returned home for the party.
the fleury family immediately jumped out of their sedan and flew into the house to change their stuffy formal wear into something more comfortable. marc tossed his regalia on the floor, making a mental note to hang it up later so his mother could preserve it, and grabbed an old band t-shirt and pair of cargo shorts.
outside, the neighborhood came to live with music and meat sizzling on the grill. the young ones ran around the street, blowing bubbles at each other, while the adults stood around discussing boring topics like lawnmowers or the appropriate amount of spices to use during your grilling. a good buzz, however, was going amongst the graduates as someone worked to create a secret stash of light beers disguised as rootbeer bottles. festivities continued well into the evening as the sun began to set against the horizon. people distributed take-home portions of the leftover food and took down the decorations. family friends congratulated each other as they packed their cars or escorted the children into their homes for bedtime.
marc sat on the back porch, watching the sunset with charles, as he picked from the cake portion of the red velvet cupcake marylène brought him as a peace offering.
"have you decided what you will do in the fall?" marc asked charles, whipping buttercream frosting off his mouth.
"well, i know i'm not going to have a lucrative hockey career, unlike someone i know," charles confessed, giving marc a quick elbow in the side to tell him no hard feelings. "so, i thought i may find a different route, like going to college for biology studies and becoming a sports trainer."
"i like that idea. maybe you could stitch back up the egos of the nhl players that i stop," marc laughed with a wiggle.
"what are you going to do about idalia?'
marc narrowed his eyes. "what do you mean?"
"i saw you and her kissing before the ceremony," a smirking charles revealed, causing marc to smack himself in the forehead with a groan. "it was about time too. we were about to start taking bets on how long it would take for you two to recognize your feelings for each other. but now that we're graduated, you need to sit down and figure some stuff out."
"well, we did promise to speak afterward," marc suddenly remembered.
charles rested his hand on marc's shoulder. "go find her and tell her how you really feel, but try not to psycho-babble this time," he instructed.
marc nodded, shoved the last bit of cupcake into his mouth, and stood up to set off to find idalia.
"give me the details when you're done!" charles called after him.
but marc rolled his eyes and wandered between the houses for his lady love. it didn't take him long to find idalia standing in her driveway, saying goodbyes to the family members that had come to the ceremony. marc watched as she exchanged some words and hugged everyone. upon giving her final, idalia turned and locked eyes with marc. a smile appeared on her face as she sauntered over to marc.
"i believe we have some unfinished business, you and i," she said.
"i believe we do," marc replied. "i think you're kind and gorgeous, and i hope we can be more than friends. but the problem is that we may have to go our separate ways within the next couple of months, and i don't want to do that."
"i want that too."
an awkward silence permeated the air as marc rubbed his neck, and idalia shuffled her feet.
"i have an idea!" idalia exclaimed, breaking the silence. "how about if you get a shutout during the canadian nationals, we can go on a date? give you a little motivation for the tournament."
marc tilted his head. "you think i'm good enough to get a shutout?" he asked with a stifled laugh.
"of course. i've you seen play. you're andré fleury — the next star goaltender from quebec. if anyone could get a shutout, it's you!"
"and if i don't get a shutout, what happens then?
idalia hummed and taped her finger against her chin. "if you don't get a shutout, we have to bring along charles."
"okay, sounds fair enough. i guess i should start practicing my goaltending, then. could we … um … seal the deal with another kiss?"
idalia stepped closer, allowing marc to place his hands on her hips and pull her in for another kiss. marc still felt little butterflies floating around his stomach because having a girlfriend — or, at least, the beginning stages of a relationship — was a new experience for him. he didn't know how to nurture his feelings or whether this new path would leave, but idalia was willing to give him a chance, which was good enough for marc.
"dali, my love!" mrs. rhéaume called from the front entrance, causing marc and idalia to separate. "it's getting late."
"i should get going," a coy idalia stated to marc as she turned to meet her mother at the doorstep.
marc watched as she disappeared into her house. once the door closed, he quickly returned behind the house to tell charles he had a potential date with idalia.
a few families decorated their homes in blue and grey to cheer on the harold sheppard school, scheduled to face new foundland in the nationals. others had black and gold banners to cheer on quebec high against new brunswick. but most of sorel-tracy wore the champlain red and white to support école samuel de champlain against the earl haig royals from toronto. the royals played in the ontario scholastic sports association during the regular season, meaning quebecois teams didn't encounter them often. but whispers on the wind from the border towns suggested they were the team to beat in ontario.
sorellers surrounded the terminus de sorel, waving their flags and shouting their best wishes to the players as they loaded their hockey and overnight bags into the undercarriage compart and loaded on the bus. the marquee on the front labeled their destination as the bell centre in montreal, courtesy of the canadiens. marc and charles sat at the back of the bus and dug out their chargers and headphones as they settled in for the hour-long trip.
outside the window, marc saw idalia wearing his letterman from beyond the crowd control barriers and unhooked the tiny window from his latch. "bye, idalia! we'll see you in a few days!" he and charles yelled out the window.
the players gave their final goodbyes to their friends and families as the bus driver put the vehicle in drive and pulled out onto the main road toward la metropole. others also cracked their windows, sending a welcomed draft rippling through the stuffy bus. snacks got passed around as the boys discussed what they wanted to do when they arrived in the city.
"look, we're here!" someone shouted, pointing to the window.
everyone got up from their seats and made their way over to the left side of the bus, where glimpses of a massive red and yellow sign reading "bonjour montreal" passed them by. prominent glass skyscrapers came into view and stunned the guys into silence as they admired the modern city and its residents. the bus turned onto rue de la montagne, where the magnificent brick and steel centre bell sat on its corners. gasps fell from the guy's mouths as large red and blue signs with motifs of their favorite canadiens smiling back at them, welcoming them to the arena.
the bus pulled off into the parking lot of a nearby marriott and put itself into park. dallaire and a few other coaches stood up from the seats in the back and instructed the team to stay in their spots while they got everything squared away with the receptionist. after some time, dallaire returned to the bus and gave the boys the all-clear to deboard and grab their luggage. everyone took off individually to their rooms as they received their hotel keycards. true to form, the saints roomed charles with marc.
"this place is huge!" charles exclaimed as he dropped his suitcase on the floor and flopped onto the bed.
"you haven't been to a hotel before?" marc giggled as he pocketed the keycard.
"i have, but it just feels so good," charles mumbled into the sheets.
marc shook his head as he walked to the other bed, sat down, and untied his shoes. the team gave the boys an hour to rest and relax before a call went out that it was time for the team to walk across the road for practice. they entered a garage under the rink, where a kind arena attendant greeted them and led them toward the locker room. as expected, the centre bell was about five-time the size of the cardin. there were all sorts of equipment tucked away in various nooks and crannies — cameras, brooms, microphones, trollies, trunks.
call it bias, but the canadiens had to give up their home locker room to the team from quebec. the arena attendant stopped at two double doors bearing the le bleu-blanc-rouge. as she pushed them open, the boys rushed in, ignoring dallaire's request not to break anything. they marveled at the large wooden benches with their uniforms and equipment arranged under their nameplates. attached to the locker room sat a sizeable hang-out room with comfy lounge chairs, multiple tvs, a billiards table, and a small kitchenette.
"alright, that's enough! gather around!" dallaire called out after letting his guys have some fun.
the players eagerly listened as dallaire gave a rousing speech about how it was usually the montreal canadiens that served as the pride of quebec during the nhl season. but now that summer had arrived, it was their turn to lead the province to victory, to show the others not to mess with the quebecois. and it will take everything within them to get them there. everyone dawned their jerseys and pads, like soldiers putting on their armor for battle, and took the ice. blades clashing against the ice and pucks hitting the rink boards echoed through the empty stadium as the players tried to commit the earl haig habits to memory and steeled themselves for the chaos awaiting them.
the following night, several sorellers, montréalais, quebecois, and torontonians filled the 21,000-seat arena as the saints hyped themselves in the tunnel for the game. they could hear a man over the loudspeaker give safety instructions to the spectators in english and french as the remaining minutes until the game began to countdown. in the corner of the room, marc continued to stretch and try to get his head in the game.
"are you ready for this?" charles asked marc.
"i am," marc responded.
"and who is going to be the next nhl star?" asked charles at a louder volume.
"i am!" cried marc.
"and who is going to get a date with idalia tonight?"
"i am!"
"that's right! let's go!" bellowed charles as he banged his blocker and mitt onto marc's chestpad.
"let's go! c'mon! let's go! go, marc! go, charles!" the players echoed, offering fist bumps as they exited the locker room onto the ice.
a hush fell over the crowd as the first line skated onto the ice while charles and the other three lines took their spot on the bench. the fans rose to their feet as the lights dimmed, and a single spotlight illuminated members of the royal canadian mounted police carrying the flag of ontario and the flag of quebec, separated by canada's maple leaf. the canadiens' national anthem singer, who agreed to lend their melodious voice so long as a quebec team remained in the tournament, began to sing the french lyrics to "o' canada."
marc closed his eyes and let the anthem's lyrics settle in his heart as he silently sang along, inspiring him to stand guard for the école and quebec. the english words, however, were an enigma to him, though he could pick out a few choice words here and there. marc's eyes fluttered back open, and looked around at the crowd. through the darkness, he could make out a faint group of familiar outlines — his father, his mother, charles' parents, and idalia. idalia blew marc a kiss, which marc envisioned floating through the glass and landing on his fleur-de-lis on his chest, like a love interest empowering a superhero to go off and fight his archrival. suddenly, the melody to o' canada ended, and the lights came back on. marc placed his helmet over his, skated back to his crease, and turned to face the face-off at center ice. after a few agonizing seconds, the linesman dropped the puck, and one of the saints forwards passed it through his legs toward a defenseman, giving marc a little reprieve.
if there was one thing that the saints would take away from this tournament, it's that the earl haig royals lived up to their reputation. they had spent many hours studying tapes of the saints as they were able to match the team in every aspect of the game, from their physical on-ice presence to their playmaking. marc had many close calls that probably made a few hearts skip a beat. but with the assistance of his chaotic goaltending style, aptly named "fists of fleury" due to all of the kungfu movies he and charles watched over the years, marc kept the puck out of the net through two play periods.
beads of sweat dripped down his face as the minute left in regulation ticked away on the game clock. the scoreboard reflected a saints' lead of 2-0, which the team tried to hold onto by playing keep-away with the royals at the other end of the ice. then, a missed pass caused the puck to scatter past the blue line and got picked up by a royals' forward. marc assumed his defensive position, watching the opposing player enter the offensive zone. his positioning showed that the royal would attempt to cut across and try a wrist shot on marc's left side once he got close enough. but fortunately for marc, the player choked and shot the puck too early, causing the biscuit to land safely in marc's glove as the final buzzer sounded.
a din of excitement erupted through the arena as the saints' found themselves a third of the way to moving onto the next round. the saints' coaching staff exchanged fist bumps as marc's teammates lept over the bench to offer him helmet boops. after everyone had a chance to thank you, marc turned around to remove his helmet and gloves and formed a heart with his hands, letting idalia know he loved her while she gathered her things. she mimicked marc's gesture and over-enunciated that she would meet marc outside.
marc nodded, grabbed his equipment, and joined his teammates to return to the locker room. he went around the room once more, giving everyone congratulatory high fives to everyone before sitting down in his stall and removing his jersey.
"way to go, guys! way to go! that's what i like to see," dallaire said as the players relaxed. "that's the kind of drive that will win us that trophy. but things will only get tougher from here, so we need to bring that performance every night. get washed up, and i'll meet you outside, where we'll head back to the hotel, have a nice dinner, and get some shuteye."
the boys started stripping themselves of their gear and throwing their jerseys into the laundry bin. marc gathered a fresh pair of boxers, trousers, and a dress shirt as he headed into the canadiens' bathroom to go through his shower routine.
like most things in the centre bell, the bathrooms put the cardin's shower room to shame. marc took a fresh white towel from the gold-plated towel rack, took one of the gray stalls roughly the size of his bedroom at home, and locked the door.
"are you going out with idalia tonight?" charles inquired as he ran mousse through his hair with his fingers.
"no, i think it would probably be best if we did that when we get back to sorel," marc explained as he attempted to brush a few misbehaving strands of his dark brown hair out of his face. "but we were planning to meet outside, and i figured that clean marc would be better than stinky marc."
"here, give me your head!" charles said, noticing marc's dilemma. he squirted another dollop of mousse into his hand and gently applied it to marc's scalp. "try it now!"
marc attempted to comb his hair once more and watched in amazement as his hair began to flatten down. "charles the suave strikes again!" he said with a click of his tongue.
"that's what i'm here for!"
marc put his glasses back on his face, threw his toiletries back into his little pouch, and adjusted his shirt sleeves. "how do i look?"
"you should be teaching french history at cegep sorel-tracy," teased charles.
"well, that's good because idalia is considering studying that in the fall. don't take too long, beauty queen!" marc replied, grabbing his bag and tapping charles on the shoulder as his best friend accidentally sprayed a cologne onto his reflection in the mirror.
marc gathered his belongings and stepped outside. the rest of the team gathered around the garage door, waiting for charles and a few others to finish cleaning up.
"this is rhéaume's chance to score the game-winning goal," marc heard a female voice say as if the person was narrating a game. "but she'll have to get the puck past the up-and-coming goaltender, marc-andré fleury."
marc turned his head to the attention of the sound where a playful idalia displayed a crumpled-up piece of paper in her hand, pretending it was a puck.
"she jumps dekes left. she dekes right," idalia said as she jumped back and forth. "and she fires…"
but before idalia's imaginary puck could score, marc allowed his bag to fall off his shoulder and dramatically caught the paper ball in his hand like he did the puck during the game, earning him a giggle and a small round of applause from idalia. he quickly embraced her and gave her a quick peck on the lips.
"did it satisfy your expectations?" marc asked.
"you did," answered idalia. "and i do believe that i owe you a date."
"i believe you, but i wanted to wait until i finished all of this to go on our date. we only get one chance to go on a first date, and it should be somewhere special that we can make our special little place."
"so, you're kind, funny, and handsome? do you have any flaws?"
"aside from the psycho-babbling? umm, sometimes i can be a little bit boring."
"well, i'll be the judge of that."
"marc!" charles shouted, catching his best friend's attention. he gestured for marc to follow as most of the team had already started to cross the straight and return to the hotel.
"i have to go, but can i call you tomorrow?" mark asked idalia.
"do you even have to ask?" idalia said with a giggle.
"good point!" marc gave idalia one last kiss on her cheek and waved before retrieving his bag and taking off down the street to catch up with his teammates.
as promised, marc called idalia the remaining two days he was away. sometimes, it would be in the morning after the team sat down for the coach's breakfast and discussed their game plan for the day. other times, he would call her at night, either before or after the game, to talk about their days and wish each other good night so that the last thing they heard was their voice. whatever the day held, marc made sure that idalia knew that he loved her.
despite a valiant effort, the earl haig royals fell to the champlain saints 2-1, sending école samuel de champlain to the second round. the team's swift victory meant that the school would have a day or two of respite while they awaited the news if their boys would face the harry ainlay titans from alberta or the sisler spartans from manitoba as they packed up their things to return home. everybody on the team prayed that sisler high school would advance because a three-hour flight from montreal to winnipeg was preferable to a four-and-a-half-hour flight to edmonton. but they needed to prepare for either possibility to become the national champions.
marc and idalia decided that while edmonton and alberta hashed out their differences, it would be an excellent time for them to fulfill their bet. as marc said, he wanted to bring idalia somewhere special, where they could get their kids and grandkids once they age. there was a little diner in the middle of town, tucked away in a small, unassuming building, desperately needing a fresh coat of white paint. the undersized interior only had enough room for a few booths and a row of stools at the counter, forcing many people to get their food to go. but looks could be deceiving as this eatery has some of the best food in town. marc unearthed the cash he had earned from helping his dad mow the lawn and other odd chores around the house from his underwear draw and counted it out — just enough for him to pay for their meals and maybe an ice cream afterward.
he put together a nice business casual outfit from his mother and sister, made himself look presentable, shoved his wallet and cell phone into his pants pocket, and bid his goodbyes. stepping outside, marc crossed to idalia's home and rang the doorbell. he waited until idalia opened the door, dressed in a beautiful flowy lilac-colored dress that brought out her eyes and curled hair. marc, making a humorous display of chivalry, bowed and offered his hand to idalia, which she promptly took.
they walked hand in hand down to the restaurant, discussing what the others missed during their separation. fortunately, upon entering the dinner, only a few souls were grabbing a bite to eat. the waitress tending to the counter greeted the couple and invited them to sit anywhere they wanted. marc and idalia took two of the stools and perused the menu. given that he was still in the middle of a hockey tournament, a dutiful marc ordered a salad and a glass of water with the promise that he could purloin some fries off idalia's plate. idalia indulged a little by getting a soft drink and a chicken sandwich. the two continued their conversation as they dined, like how marc hoped to get drafted by the montreal canadiens or idalia hoped to get a position with a company that would allow her to travel abroad to france. and, of course, no date would be complete at the dinner without a scoop of freshly-churned vanilla ice cream and homemade hot fudge.
once he and idalia had eaten their fill, marc placed a dollar bill on the check and promised the kind waitress they would return. he escorted idalia back home as the sun began to set. the couple soon arrived at the rhéaume estate, exchanged kisses, and agreed that if that tiny dinner remained in business, that would be their to-go spot for dates in sorel.
within the next few days, word had arrived that the champlain saints would face the sisler spartans in the second round, meaning marc would be farther away from idalia than before. but idalia understood that if marc wanted to soar to hockey stardom, he would need to spread his wings and fly and her right alongside him.
the saints found it tougher to defeat the spartans, who forced a game three to determine a winner. schools and provinces began to fizzle out of the competition — manitoba, alberta, prince edward island, yukon — until only quebec and british columbia remained, specifically the killarney cougars out of vancouver. hockey fans from the eastern provinces found protection in the saints camp, while most people from the western areas decided to go on the hunt with the cougars. wherever a canadian called home, they glued their eyes to their television for mackenzie king cup.
if anyone asked marc or another member of the 1999 champlain saints, they would say that the killarney cougars was their most challenging opponent by far. everything came down to luck, with many periods spent simply trying to get the puck down the ice or past marc. but the saints pulled every trip out of the bag to become the mackenzie king champions in front of thousands of their adoring fans. red and white confetti fluttered down from the ceiling of the centre bell as players nearly broke their legs, toppling over the bench to form an emotional mass around marc. the players took turns raising the trophy over their heads on the ice, relishing their success, while scouts whispered amongst themselves in the media booth.
marc and his teammates brought the mackenzie king cup back to sorel to cheers and applause. the town's mayor organized a parade where residents could see the trophy, and even premier bouchard traveled from quebec city to extend his commendations to the saints. news of the team's victory spread from league to league, commissioner to president, as hockey canada prepared to welcome a new generation of professional hockey players into their ranks. marc sat on top of the draft scores thanks to his impressive performance during the nationals. multiple representatives scrambled to schedule meetings with his new agent, but marc clarified that he would only meet with teams from the quebec junior hockey league to stay as close as he could to home.
the qjhl draft was not as flashy as the nhl draft, just a microphone, a few tables, and a draft board in some random office at the hockey canada headquarters in calgary. but the fleurys, rhéaumes, de fumées decided to make it one. the families assembled their plates from various dishes, like pâté chinois, fèves au lard, pouding chômeur. cape breton's screaming eagles won the first draft pick for the 1999 draft, meaning marc would likely be moving to cape breton unless something went awry. as a result, marc looked incredibly dapper in his black and gold screaming eagles jersey while shoveling beans into his mouth.
"it's starting!" charles yelled from the living room as the families hurried in front of the tv, careful not to drip or spill anything onto france's floor.
after a brief introduction, president corteau introduced the first draft pick. "with the first selection, the cape breton screaming eagles select from the école samuel de champlain, marc-andré fleury."
a hockey canada employee slid marc's name, denoted by a white placard that read "m. fleury," into the spot next to cape brenton as corteau continued with the following selection. three thousand kilometers away, idalia and marc lept from the couch and wrapped their arms around each other in a giant embrace. everyone around them responded with gaiety while andré assisted charles, who had taken a bite to eat as the announcement was made, through a coughing fit.
marc moved to nova scotia the following autumn. he saw idalia off to collège charles-lemoyne in montreal before packing a couple of boxes filled with his memories into charles's car and heading southeast. marc could see the formidable road ahead as the signs turned from french to english. he had to improve a language he had only learned in an academic environment and learn an entirely new culture.
in addition, the opponents in the qjhl were in a league of their own. no longer did marc face shots from high schoolers who may be good enough to secure a spot on a college ice hockey team if they worked hard. these guys were more brutal, faster, and muscular, wanting the same thing marc wanted — a chance to play in the nhl. multiple times, he phoned idalia late at night, crying and saying that trying to become a professional hockey player was a mistake when he wanted to come home.
idalia sat at her dorm desk, surrounded by mountains of books and a desk lamp, and listened as marc sobbed until he finally stopped to breathe. "i know this is hard, but this is the life you always wanted. you've dreamed of being a pro hockey player since you were young, and it will come with its trials and tribulations. why don't you go to bed and call me in the morning after you get some sleep."
marc would sniffle, nod, and apologize to idalia for making her sit and listen to his problems when she should be reviewing the history of the french revolution. but idalia would wave away his concerns and tell him he could call her any time because he was the first boy to treat her as a serious romantic partner and not some party fling like the boys at her old school did. to lighten the mood, idalia would always finish the conversation by relating to marc a funny story that happened to her or a joke. and most often, this would earn her a happy giggle or a smile from her boyfriend that would help him relax and put things into perspective. the couple affirmed their love for each other before disconnecting, allowing idalia to return to her studies and marc to fall asleep.
idalia acted as marc's rock in multiple cases as he transformed from a cherub-cheeked high schooler into a stanley cup-winning goalie. when the pittsburgh penguins drafted marc in 2003, idalia transferred all her credits from charles lemoyne to the university of pittsburgh to support marc's budding nhl career. and when the players found themselves without a league in 2004 due to labor disputes, idalia would rub marc's back after long days of playing wilkes-barre/scranton and tell him everything would be okay.
his draft to las vegas, his trade to chicago, his vezina, and everything in between — none of it would have happened if idalia wasn't right by marc's side.
marc's eyes opened, and looked down the tunnel toward the ice, which flashed with red and forest-green lights. a similar green, red, and white bearing the silhouette of a bear head, overlayed with the scenery of the minnesota wilderness, replaced the red and white fleur-de-lis jersey he had worn all those years ago. but the nerves of stepping out onto the ice in an elimination game remained the same as the ones he felt during the mckenzsie king cup.
"please welcome your minnesota wild!" a man's voice thundered through the loudspeaker as filip gustavsson and wild's starting lineup stepped onto the ice. marc followed the team out of the tunnel and took his spot on the bench, watching the 20,500 wild attend waving rallying towels over their head.
the team's performance against the stars wasn't the best. minnesota and dallas had faced each other four times during the season and split their series 2-2. but the stars still sat five points above the wild, meaning that dean evason and the other coaches had their work cut out for them. there existed a small glimmer of hope that they could find six extra points and usurp the top spot in the division from the colorado avalanche, which would set them up to face the seattle kraken, whom they defeated more easily. but as april approached, it became clear that minnesota would have to do its best against de boer's men.
like the rest of the season, minnesota and dallas went back and forth. minnesota had a lead, and then dallas would dig in deep and claw back into the series, forcing spurgeon and the guys to fight back. marc desperately wanted to assist in the effort. however, his only start during the post-season was a complete disaster, resulting in a 7-3 loss. it didn't affect the team's record overall because it was only game 2, and minnesota still had time to win their lead back.
regardless, the horrendous performance still stung marc to the very core of his soul. he had grown up hearing about how a fantastic goaltender he was, but his prowess didn't show when he needed it most. a lump formed in his throat as he fought back the tears while speaking to the media, telling them he felt embarrassed by his performance. but his words were calculated, cold. upon arriving home to idalia, he unleashed everything he held during the interview in a fit of psycho-babble and tears in his girlfriend's arms — he felt old, broken, and unwanted. he could hear the whispers of the fans that he was past his prime and that the wild would be doing everyone a favor by buying out the last season of his contract.
and as she had done many times before, idalia would hold him and calm him down.
marc's fears were reasonable as he was nearing the typical retirement age and would be an unrestricted free agent next summer. but those issues could wait until the wild became stanley cup champions or die trying. everyone in attendance stood up as de causmeaker steeped onto his red carpet and began to sing the lyrics to the "star spangled banner." marc didn't know where the words came from or their significance to the american people, but his english skills had improved enough to sing along silently. the fans and some of the players offered de causmeaker a round of applause as the lights turned back on, and the officials began the game.
the wild did their best to keep their energy up. but from the moment roope hintz scored dallas's first goal halfway through the first period, a sentiment that they were fighting a losing battle began to set in. evason pulled gustavsson after the second period, and the team found themselves in a 3-0 deficit, hoping that marc's multiple years of stanley cup experience would allow them to hold on and force dallas to a game 7. at first, their plan seemed to work when frederick gaudreau snuck a puck behind oettinger, causing a roar of excitement in the arena.
sadly, despite minnesota's bravery, the stars closed out the series as the final buzzer sounded with a score of 4-1. the vigor guaderau's goal inspired quickly fizzled out as the wild players stared in silent disbelief, watching the stars celebrate their series win at their end. a few of the remaining wild on the ice glided over to marc's crease to offer encouragement and thank him for his help before skating off to the locker room together.
high up in the xcel's luxury boxes, the wives and girlfriends also exchanged defeated looks. after some time from the suite, one of the wild attendants arrived and escorted them through the back hallways, where their significant others mulled around, not saying a word. idalia found her 6'2" giant standing against the wall and ran over to wrap her arms around his torso. at first, marc didn't respond, still numb from the idea of elimination. but he eventually rested one of his large, strong hands on her head and bent down to kiss her.
"are you okay?" she asked, receiving no answer — only a simple nod. "let's go home and get you cleaned up."
marc languidly allowed idalia to pull him through the side security door and into the personnel parking lot. a slight drizzle had arrived over minneapolis-st. paul, matching the melancholy marc felt in his soul at the idea of losing possibly the last post-season of his career. idalia started their bmw, pulled out of the parking lot, and joined the traffic leaving xcel energy. marc watched the cars passing them by as the couple made the 30-minute drive back to their apartment in minneapolis's gateway district. he recalled how warmly the minneapolitans received him when he touched down in the twin cities after word broke that he accepted a trade to the wild. memories came rushing back as he stayed in a hotel room for the first couple of days while he and idalia waited for the paperwork for their new apartment to go through. despite not having his lodgings, spuregon and some other guys made marc feel at home by inviting him on a morning jog or bringing him some homemade meals. he wanted to repay them by helping bring lord stanley to the state of hockey, but he failed and failed miserably.
eventually, idalia pulled the car into their spot in the parking garage and turned off the vehicle. marc unbuckled his seatbelt and followed her to the elevator. upon stepping into the foyer, he tossed his keys into a little catch-all bowl, entered the bedroom, and sat on the bed. idalia appeared from the bathroom with a tub of muscle rub and placed it on the side table.
"let me see."
marc sighed as he carefully undid his white button-up, revealing the soft indentation of his abdominal muscles. a few small red spots from when marc blocked the puck with his body began to form on his pectorals, undoubtedly in the process of becoming bruises, which idalia soothed.
"you're extremely quiet. in the 22 years we've dated, you've only been this silent when we received your father's diagnosis. what are you thinking about?" she asked.
"everything, just everything — where i go from here, whether i'm still good enough to play, what's going to happen during the off-season, and what will happen next season," a solemn marc replied.
"as i've said before, you're still relatively young. and if you have to retire, it's not the end of the world," idalia reminded marc as she massaged his shoulders.
"i know."
idalia finished up the massage and gave marc a sweet kiss on the nose. "now, i believe you and i need to catch up on the bureau."
marc's eyes widened as he puckered his lips and looked away, causing idalia to click her tongue and put her fists on her hips.
"marc, did you watch part of the bureau without me?" she demanded like a mother scolding a child.
"i may or may not have watched a few episodes ahead while the team was flying back and forth from dallas-fort worth," he admitted, putting his shirt back on and re-doing a few buttons.
"marc!"
"we can always go back and watch the episodes," marc pointed out as we stood up and walked back into the kitchen.
"fine, but no spoliers!" idalia yelled as she followed him.
idalia sat on the expansive, dark grey couch and turned on the tv using the modern coffee table in front, using the touch screen to select the bureau in amazon prime. the microwave beeped as marc nuked a pre-prepped honey bbq chicken and mac & cheese. he opened the door and rushed to transfer the container to the obsidian countertop behind him. once the dish cooled enough, marc scooped a good portion of the meal for himself and another one for idalia.
"for you, madame!" said marc as he handed idalia a bowl and sat beside her.
"that guy dies at the end," he whispered, pointing to a random character in the intro. idalia lowered her fork back into her bowl and looked at marc in shock. after a few seconds of silence, marc giggled, "no, i'm just messing with you. i haven't gotten that far into the show."
after a few episodes, idalia curled under a grey throw blanket, rested her head on marc's lap, and eventually fell asleep.
"i think it's time for bed," marc whispered as he turned off the tv.
he scooped up idalia, swaddled her in the blanket, and carried her into the main bathroom, where he sat her down before the vanity. his hand gently raised the light lever, giving him enough light to prepare his love for bed but not to disturb her sleep cycle.
"face, please!" requested marc as he dug out a neutrogena wipe from the drawer.
he ripped open the packaging and gently cleaned idalia's face of her makeup with the cloth, ensuring it covered every little corner. "there's that precious face i know and love," he cooed, earning him a soft smile.
marc continued to walk his girlfriend — no, his partner — through her bedtime routine, throwing her hair up into a bun and sliding a chemise over her head. once idalia was in her pajamas, he carried her back to the king-sized mattress and tucked her into the black bamboo sheets.
"goodnight, princess!" he stated as he planted a kiss on her temple.
he removed his clothes and dumped them into the hamper before climbing into bed and pulling idalia close, allowing her to use his torso as a pillow. but as idalia drifted off into rem sleep, probably dreaming about helping her inamorato win the stanley cup, marc's mind continued to race.
she was right. retirement wasn't the end of the world.
he thought about all the times when the people around him sometimes had to make difficult choices — coach dallaire and charles, who understood that they would never be good enough to compete professionally but could still have a hockey career. when he discovered that he had an inoperable lung tumor, his father retired from the factory so his grandchildren could have memories of their grand-père before he passed away. his mother and sister diligently waited long hours at the hospital while his father underwent radiation treatment. idalia uprooted her entire life immediately to follow marc from pittsburgh to las vegas, chicago, and minneapolis-st. paul.
you can't control certain things in life, but you can control how you react to them.
marc leaned over a looked at the digital clock, which read that it was three in the morning, meaning that the time in sorel-tracy would've been 4:00 am. he figured that nobody would be awake back home, but he couldn't wait; he needed something, and he needed it fast. his hands quietly lifted idalia's arms and replaced his torso with a pillow. fortunately, she didn't notice marc's movement as she snuggled deeper into the decoy. he snatched his phone up, snatched up his phone from the wireless charging stand, and stepped down into the hall.
as expected, he received no answer when he dialed his mother's home landline. sorrow filled his heart as his father's voice came over the line, informing the caller that the family could not come to the phone and asking them to leave a message. although mr. fleury passed several years ago, neither his wife nor his children could change the answering message as it helped keep andré's memory alive.
"mama, it's marc!" he said after the beep. "i'm sorry for calling you so late, but i've been thinking. i think i'm ready for the ring, so if you could give me a call back at a more reasonable hour, i would appreciate it. love you!"
marc disconnected the call and turned his attention back to the bedroom. if the following season were his last, he would take control and ensure there was a light at the end of the tunnel as he re-entered the bedroom and tried to get some sleep.
in the ensuing days, marc and idalia slowly adjusted to off-season life. marc shaved his goatee and gave his exit interview, in which he said that he didn't know if he would re-sign for another year but looked forward to spending the summer with his family. they covered their kitchen counter with travel books, looking for a place to visit for a few weeks before spending the rest of the off-season in sorel.
"what about the bahamas?"
"i'm all for familiarity, but we've been to the bahamas several times over the past year. maybe we should find another vacation spot."
this pattern of discussion went back and forth until marc asked one day, "what about geneva?"
"geneva? why geneva?" inquired idalia.
"well, it has gorgeous scenery. and it's in switzerland's french-speaking region, which would benefit us. plus, i've always wanted to try genuine swiss chocolate. we could fly to montreal, stay over for a few days, see our parents and my sister, and then continue to europe."
"that sounds lovely. let's do it!"
a few weeks passed, and marc and idalia packed their suitcases in europe's playground for two weeks. the weather appeared roughly the same as sorel, so they packed as many clothes as possible for their three-and-a-half-month stay in canada and promised to take what they needed for their excursion over the atlantic. marc chartered a light jet from minneapolis-st. paul international to montreal-trudeau international, which surprised idalia as marc knew that she was perfectly comfortable flying first class. but marc explained to her that he wanted to make this trip memorable because it signified their transition into retirement life. idalia narrowed her eyes at him but appeared to have bought marc's excuse.
they had a pleasant flight to montreal-trudeau, landing in a private terminal. after obtaining a rental car, the couple made where they visited marc's niece and nephew. the children, entering their school-age years, happily chattered about how proud they were of their uncle, all that he accomplished, and how they wanted to become a goaltender like him. marc and idalia also visited andré's grave, asking him to watch over marc during his final nhl season. and charles, who recently had a healthy baby boy with his wife.
upon returning to the airport, idalia's mouth fell open as she saw a heavy private jet sitting on the tarmac. she and marc returned the rental car and got checked in at the small, personal terminal they arrived at. a dedicated team of receptionists helped them book their bags to switzerland and forward their passport information to geneva airport to help streamline the customs process. once everything was in order, the couple used the little set of stairs to board the aircraft.
the cabin was immaculate, with several white leather seats and carpeted floors. a large black table with charging stations and cup holders offered guidebooks on the city of geneva, the canon of geneva, and the country of switzerland. further down, a matching couch with blue pillows sat opposite a small flat-screen tv offering complimentary wifi, almost every movie imaginable, and a full menu. there also was a full bathroom — with a shower, freshly steamed towels, and a pair of bulgari amenity kits — and an extra large twin bed with enough space to fit marc and idalia.
a flight attendant gave the couple a pair of cozy pajamas and slippers to change into while the pilots underwent their final pre-flight walkthrough. idalia went first, changing her pajamas and buckling herself into one of the chairs, followed by marc. after a few more minutes, the pilots stepped on board and introduced themselves, saying everything looked good — the plane was perfect, and the weather looked crystal clear. the couple should be in geneva within the next seven hours. their only request is that marc and idalia stay seated with their seatbelts fastened while they ascend to 42,000 feet. once the aircraft reached cruising altitude, the two could move about the cabin.
marc and idalia nodded in agreement and thanked the pilots as they returned to the cockpit to receive their taxiing instructions from air traffic control. the plane eventually reached its desired elevation, and the flight attendant was kind enough to make marc and idalia bowls of sleepytime oatmeal with banana and almond butter as they watched an episode of their favorite television show on little monitors that rose from the table. after acclimating to their new surroundings, the couple agreed that getting some shuteye for their 9:00 arrival time in geneva was best. they snuggled into their complimentary bed and allowed the gentle hum of the plane's engine to lull them to sleep.
when marc re-opened his eyes, he found idalia peacefully sleeping under his arm. a thin crack of orange light emanated from the window shade in the darkened cabin. now marc, having a lapse in judgment, decided to open the shade to see if he could find any significant landmarks that may indicate where the aircraft was. but he quickly shut it as his pupils were not ready to process the blinding rays from the rising sun. fortunately, the built-in tv screen in the bedroom showed that it was around 6:30 am, and the aircraft currently found itself amongst the clouds over france's burgundy region. marc slowly extracted himself from idalia, replaced the bedsheets over her, and closed the door before heading out into the main compartment.
the flight attendant, who already had her uniform primed and perfect, sat in one of the chairs, sipping from a tea cup and reading a book. "oh, mr. fleury!" she exclaimed upon seeing marc. she quickly rose from her seat and smoothed out her skirt. "i am so incredibly sorry. is there anything i can get you?"
"it's okay. would you be able to get an expresso and start a little breakfast, like some muffins and a frittata, if it's not too much trouble?"
"of course not. is there anything you would like in the frittata?"
"ham and cheese would be lovely!"
"i'll get that ready right away," said the flight attendant as she grabbed her cup and brought it into the kitchen.
marc sat and began searching the travel books for ideas while he waited for idalia to wake up. she eventually emerged from the bedroom an hour or two later and promptly climbed into marc's lap as he groaned.
"good morning, baby," said marc, rubbing idalia's back. "we should be landing in switzerland soon, where we can sleep in a large, soft bed. how does that sound?"
but he only received an unintelligible grunt from idalia.
"close enough!" marc giggled as he stood up and placed idalia down on the ground. "let's get cleaned up and then have some breakfast."
marc helped idalia shower, brush her hair, change, and put on her makeup. by the time both were fresh and clean, the flight attendant had brought their breakfast. marc gave the flight attendant one of the blueberry muffins as a peace offering, letting her know there were no hard feelings for what had happened earlier. the senior pilot soon came over the intercom and asked the passengers to take their seats as they were nearing geneva airport.
everyone buckled in and watched as the plane descended and the alps came into view. a swiss marshal on the ground directed the jet away from the taxiway toward a small gate, where the pilots could open the cabin doors and unlatch the stairs. marc and idalia thanked the flight attendant and their pilots for their hospitality as they exited the aircraft and entered the terminal. a gate agent greeted them with a smile and double-checked to ensure everything looked good on the customs form before bidding them welcome to the peace capital. outside, a driver dressed in a black suit, tie and a pair of white drivers waited for them with a town, courtesy of the hotel woodrow wilson.
marc talked with the chauffeur about his hockey career and how it was hard to accept his nearing retirement, but he's proud of everything he accomplished, while idalia looked out the window. she remembered reading about how the french conquered switzerland in 1798 and turned it into the helvetic republic, which would explain why a city like geneva had so many similarities with montreal and sorel. they both had their rivers, the richelieu and the turquoise rhone. genevans passed small cafes and shops under what idalia imagined were apartments in tall, mismatched buildings with little wrought iron window boxes filled with fresh flowers. the city had charm and a lot of history to share, which idailia couldn't wait to explore and find its secrets.
the rhone eventually opened into lac leman as the driver neared the hotel. he parked in front of an entrance with a large glass overhang that read "royal penthouse entrance" in aureate lettering.
"marc, are we really going to stay in the royal penthouse suite?" an incredulous idalia asked marc, who already had a leg out the door.
"trust me. everything is going to be amazing," marc encouraged as he stepped out of the car to help retrieve the couple's luggage.
idalia shrugged as she exited the car and accepted her suitcase from the diver, who placed it on the curb. inside, a personal concierge greeted them and confirmed their information before handing them a pair of keycards and directing them to a private elevator, where the liftman called for the penthouse. as the elevator rose, a picturesque view of the canton appeared, and the liftman kindly offered tips on some sites that the fleurys would like to see.
the couple entered a little foyer with a little glass table with gold legs that depicted effigy of angels and a tall vase with gorgeous white flowers. multiple doors jutted into the right and left hallways, which the couple assumed were bedrooms and bathrooms. a large living room stood complete ahead of them, with a billiards table and a steinway piano. idalia sat on one of the couches as she continued to look around the room.
"this place is huge!" she eventually shouted.
"do you like it?" a sheepish marc asked, gently scratching his chin.
"it's beautiful!" replied idalia as she hugged marc.
"so, what do you think we should do first?"
"i was hoping we could walk down the lake and see the city?"
"your ladyship?" marc said, bowing and extending his hand as he did on their first date all those years ago.
"such a gentleman!" idalia teased with a giggle, fake swooning over marc's chivalry.
just as planned, marc settled into his off-season self. he would sleep late and eat foods that would make john worley, the wild's head athletic trainer blush. he and idalia biked through the mountains, visited the palais des nations, and took a day trip to liechtenstein. but nothing could compare to the day marc took idalia to the rue de rhone, the jewel of geneva, where the city held its luxury stores — chanel, dior, hermes. he bought her a beautiful knee-length red velvet dress with an off-shoulder neckline and a pair of white gloves, matching pumps, a new diamond necklace and earrings, and chanel perfume. marc also paid for idalia to have her makeup and hair professionally.
the only problem is that idalia couldn't figure out why. he didn't need to spend all this money on her because she would've loved him even if they were in a remote cabin in the woods.
when she returned to the suite, a little card addressed to her sat on the table. marc, who tried his best to write the neatest script he could muster, asked her to wear her dress and follow the rose petals out the balcony. she did as instructed, giving herself a final look in the mirror. upon entering the balcony, she found an ornate dining table with two chairs surrounded by even more petals and marc dressed in his black armani tuxedo that they had picked up earlier in the day, standing with his hands on the balcony and watching the sunset.
"marc?" idalia said, causing marc to look over his shoulder.
marc turned around, allowing his eyes to roam over idalia's complete ensemble. "wow!" he eventually replied. "i mean, uh…. wow!"
idalia couldn't help but cover her mouth to stifle a laugh at marc's way with words. "wow is good. i'll take wow."
"i'm sorry. it's just you look so beautiful. and i'm afraid that if i start talking, i may say something that i'm going to regret," marc explained as he pulled out one of the chairs, inviting idalia to sit.
"well, you haven't chased me away yet, and i find it hard that would you will chase me away now," reassured idalia as she took her seat and allowed marc to push her into the table.
marc took the chair opposite her and grasped the knob of the large silver serving dish in the middle of the table. "do you want to open it together?"
idalia nodded and rested her hand on marc's. on the count of three, the couple lifted the lid, revealing the most beautiful piece of filet mignon cut into pieces. the other dishes held cooked asparagus, mashed potatoes, and a boat of gravy.
"did you make this food yourself?" idalia as she arranged food onto her plate.
"i may have sprinkled some salt and pepper on the meat while the chefs cooked it."
"well, maybe you have a career as a chef after this!"
"call me marc-andré fleury, salt and pepper master," he joked as he bit off a piece of asparagus.
as they dined, idalia couldn't help but reflect on the trip, from the private jet to the suite to the luxury shopping and dinner.
"marc, can i ask you something?" idalia asked as she dabbed food away from her face.
marc, too busy with a mouth full of mashed potatoes, nodded and gave a soft affirmative grunt.
"i don't mean to be rude, and i greatly appreciate everything you've done for me on this trip. but it seems out of character for both of us. we don't really care for this luxurious fanfare. all we need is each other to have a good time, which is why i wanted to ask if anything is wrong and if you're feeling ok."
marc swallowed the potatoes and gently placed his fork on the table before sipping his water and clearing his throat.
"there is something that i wanted to talk to you about. i speak two languages — well, one good and one not so good. but you understand what i'm trying to say. anyway, i don't think i could ever find the words to describe how much i love you. you are so beautiful, intelligent, kind, and funny. and you've given so much to me over the years, from taking me to and from my physical therapy appointments to trusting me when i told you i thought i needed to move on from pittsburgh. now, i don't know what will happen after next summer, but i do know that it will all be ok with you by my side. this ring…" marc began as he dug out a small black box from his coat pocket and opened it. inside was a beautiful but plain marquise engagement ring laid into a golden band. "…has been in the fleury family for several generations. my grandfather used it to propose to my grandfather, and my father used it to propose to my mother. and now i want to use it to propose to you. will you marry me?"
tears threatened to spill out of idalia's eyes as she rested her hands on her heart. "yes!" she eventually managed to squeak out as she stood up from the table.
"yes?" asked marc, also rising from the table.
"yes! yes, yes!" reiterated idalia as he stretched out her palm, allowing marc to place the engagement ring on her finger.
it was almost as if time repeated itself as marc grabbed his new fiancee by the hips and planted his lips on hers. the warmth he felt in his chest on the day of their graduation returned, but marc wasn't afraid of it this time. he wasn't fearful of losing idalia or where he would be in twenty years because there was no point in worrying about something you couldn't control. the only thing you could do was make choices along the way that would steer your future in the right direction, and marc had already made the most prominent choice in his life.
after some time, marc and idalia separated for a breath of fresh air, and marc offered idalia the pocket square from his pock to pat away her tears. they resumed their meal and discussed how they would return to sorel-tracy and tell mrs. fleury, marylène, and charles how they became betrothed as the sunset behind the swiss skyline.
soon, stars appeared and reflected in the gentle waves of the rhone, holding untold plans for the new mr. and mrs. fleury.
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If you were on the bachelorette what hockey boys would you want to be able to date and choose from? And who do you give your final rose to?
Hey Nonnie! This question has to be the most fun question I have ever received in my ask box. I have put too much thought into my list and the reasons why certain players would not be the recipient of my rose from night one to the final rose. So buckle up dashboard, you’re about to watch an entire season of my Bachelorette season in one post.
Disclosure: I have not watched the Bachelor/Bachelorette in a very very long time. This is based on faded memories and quick google searches.
Meet the Contestants
Ross Colton - of Robinsville, NJ. Currently bottom six forward of the Tampa Bay Lightning.
Anthony Cirelli - of Etobicoke, Ontario. Currently top six forward of the Tampa Bay Lightning.
Brayden Point - of Calgary, Alberta. Currently top six forward of the Tampa Bay Lightning.
Andrei Svechnikov - of Barnaul, Russia. Currently tops six forward of the Carolina Hurricanes.
Vince Dunn - Lindsay, Ontario. Currently one half of the top defensive pair of the Seattle Kraken.
Adam Lowry - of Calgary, Alberta (I know he was born in St Louis but he was raised in Calgary, Okay?). Currently Botton six forward of the Winnipeg Jets (and hopefully the future captain).
Timo Meir - of Herisau, Switzerland. Currently top six forward of the New Jersey Devils.
Matt Martin - of Winsdor, Ontario. Currently bottom six forward of the New York Islanders.
Anthony Beauvillier - of Sorel-Tracy, Quebec. Currently top six forward of the Vancouver Canucks.
Mat Barzal - of Coquitlam, British Columbia. Currently top six forward of the New York Islanders.
Tom Wilson - of Toronto, Ontario. Currently top six forward of the Washington Capitals.
Matthew Tkachuk - of Scottsdale, Arizona (this man has lived in so many cities because of his dad). Currently top six forward of the Florida Panthers.
Jeremy Swayman - of Anchorage, Alaska. Currently the backup goaltender of the Boston Bruins.
Pierre Luc Dubois - of Sainte-Agathe-des-Monts, Quebec. Currently, desperately, trying to get traded from the Winnipeg Jets to the Montreal Canadiens.
Nico Hischier - of Naters, Switzerland. Currently top six forward, and Captain of the New Jersey Devils.
Brady Skjei - of Lakeville Minnesota. Currently a defenceman of the Carolina Hurricanes.
Pat Maroon - of St Louis, Missouri. Currently bottom six forward of the Tampa Bay Lightning.
Chris Kreider - of Boxford, Massachussetts. Currently top six forward of the New York Rangers.
Pytor Kotchetkov - of Penza, Russia. Currently the goaltender of the Chicago Wolves (AHL) and a backup goaltender for the Carolina Hurricanes.
William Nylander - of Calgary, Alberta. Currently top six forward of the Toronto Maple Leafs.
Leon Draisaitl - of Cologne, Germany. Currently top six forward of the Edmonton Oilers.
Luke Schenn - of Saskatoon, Saskatchewan. Currently one half of the top defensive pair of the Toronto Maple Leafs.
Josh Anderson - of Burlington, Ontario. Currently top six forward for the Montreal Canadiens.
Auston Matthews - of Scottsdale, Arizona. Currently top six forward of the Toronto Maple Leafs.
Brendan Lemieux - of Denver, Colorado. Currently button six forward of the Philadelphia Flyers.
The First Night
At the end of the first night, the 25 contestants would become 15, with 10 NHL hotties failing to receive my affection in the form of a rose:
Timo Meir - we know his reputation. This man is a womanizer, and it’s clear when he tried to go in for a kiss during our first conversation. But we’re here for love. For commitment. So he had to go.
Pierre-Luc Dubois - speaking of commitment. This man doesn’t know the definition of that. He can’t commit to a team, he can’t commit to me. Au revoir.
Leon Draisaitl - this man is so intimidating to me. I wouldn’t have the confidence to pursue anything of any nature.
Pat Maroon - his energy would be too much for me. Confident, successful, and ready to party. I wouldn’t be able to keep up.
Luke Scheen - is a sweet guy, but wouldn’t do much to set himself apart from the rest.
Josh Anderson - would have flashed his abs at least once during the night - and I would have noticed but it wouldn't be enough to set him apart from the rest of the guys who go the extra mile to set themselves apart.
Nico Hischier - a sweet guy. Very gentlemanly. But he’s a little young for me so he doesn’t receive a rose.
Auston Matthews - Auston would come in so confident he would come off as cocky. Would brag about his friendship with Justin Beiber and would come dressed in an expensive sweatsuit instead of a suit like the other contestant. Would not be a vibe.
Brendan Lemieux - during the first night. Brendan Lemieux and Matthew Tkachuk got into a physical altercation regarding the biting incident with Brady Tkachuk. Production wanted to kick them both off the show, but instead, they were allowed to stay until the end of the night where Tkachuk was the only one of the two to receive the rose.
Pytor Kochetkov - my sweet sweet Pytor. He would have needed Svechnikov to translate for him all night. So kind and sweet, but the language barrier was strong and Svechnikov would have needed to be a constant third wheel to make it work - plus he’s kind I can’t decide if he is baby brother vibes or not. He would not receive the final rose of the evening.
Season Highlights
Andrei Svechnikov secured the first kiss on the first night with his charm, maturity and his kindness in helping Pytor through the night when he could have been selfish
Andrei also received the first rose of the season before the first rose ceremony was held
Vince Dunn would be a quick fan favorite but not without controversy - there would be a call to action from fans that wanted him to be sent home but he would remain on the show after making a public apology at the rose ceremony
Anthony Beauvillier and Mat Barzal would go on a 2 on 1 date with me, some kind of outdoorsy thing with paddleboarding and it would have been a great time BUT they would both go home that same night after Beauvillier refuses the rose on the date. Their friendship ultimately gets in the way of their pursuit of love
Ross Colton would fail to receive a rose after a group date that involved an extensive hike in the wilderness
Tkachuk would continue to be an instigator for the season starting conflicts and pushing the buttons of other contenders. It would lead to Tom Wilson and Matt Martin not receiving roses but he would be the one not to receive a rose when a conflict with Lowry would arise. Lowry would receive the final rose that night, sending Tkachuk home.
Chris Kreider would try to propose midseason and his eagerness and willingness to commit so early would be a red flag, he would not receive a rose at the following ceremony
After regret and complications, Ross Colton would be welcomed back onto the show as I would feel like failing to give him a rose was a mistake
With the welcoming back of Ross to the show, William Nylander would be sent home as a result
On a 1 on 1 date with Brady Skeji things would look to become more intimate than it actually was and viewers would be shocked when he would not receive a rose later than night
During what would be the rose ceremony that would bring it down to the final 4 it is revealed that it would be a final 5 with only 7 contenders remaining: Ross Colton, Anthony Cirelli, Adam Lowry, Andrei Svechnikov, Brayden Point, Jeremy Swayman and Vince Dunn
Viewers would be shocked when Anthony Cirelli would receive the final rose before the final four over Brayden Point who had been a front-runner for your heart since night one
The Final Five
Usually the final four, but would be changed last minute as I struggled to make the decision, it would be time to travel and meet the families of the final 5 contestants.
Ross Colton - the trip would take me to New Jersey where I would meet his parents and his brother Rob. They would be welcoming, and kind, but it would be very clear how many worlds apart we are and it would plant some insecurities of just how well I would be able to fit into their lifestyle and expectations.
Anthony Cirelli - back in Canada, I would meet his family, and very importantly Grandma Cirelli who is known for her tomato sauce. We would cook a meal together in their family kitchen - and she would approve of my cooking.
Vince Dunn - A mere hour away from where we visited Tony’s family, I would meet Dunn’s. It’s a smaller city and feels familiar to what I’ve grown up in BUT everyone seems to know him there. It’s weird being there with a local celebrity because there is no just blending into a big city here. His family would be as kind and welcoming as the others, and I’d get to see more of his emotional side that we would have seen glimmer off throughout the season.
Adam Lowry - in Calgary we would meet his family, a very strong hockey family, with his dad having played and coached and his brother having played as well. It’s their lives, and will always be a part of it. We would see just how good he is with his nieces and nephews and go to see the mountains in Banff.
Andrei Svechnikov - the final trip would take me to Russia where I would meet his parents, his brother and his brother’s family. It would be a breathtaking trip, one like any other seen on the show but it would be conflicting as his mother would show her concerns. I would not be what his mother imagined for her sweet boy, and her approval is very important to him. And the larger age gap would be revisited.
After the trips, it would come to the rose ceremony that would bring the final 5 down to the final two. That night, Andrei would fail to receive a rose, the age gap and the pressure of his mother being too much. Ross, while an obvious favourite for the majority of the season would not receive a rose, the high maintenance feel of his family too much and too intimidating to commit to at that moment - and the goodbye is one not without tears. The viewers would be shocked again when Tony would receive the final rose, sending Lowry back to the off-season. His familiar pressure of their legacy all too much even though seeing him with his nephews would given me absolute baby fever.
Then only two remained: Anthony Cirelli and Vince Dunn.
The Final Rose
The final rose would be one of great controversy with lots of viewers seeming to think I was making a mistake moving forward with my final two. That I had greater chemistry with other players that I had sent walking and that whoever I chose would be a decision made in regret. But I was left to make the choice between the two final contenders.
Anthony Cirelli. The sweet, respectable boy from Vaughn. Who maybe wasn’t as traditionally handsome as the other contestants - but I’m a sucker for those curls. Who loves Kygo and partying in Miami but will always value his family and their traditions above all else.
And then there was Vince. The mildly problematic, handsome man - who also has those oh-so-dangerous curls and those bright eyes. He can be wild, but also sweet - and always so intense with emotions that you can see so clearly written across his face. A man who can enjoy the outdoors as much as a night at the club.
And while Tony and Ross both very clearly have a piece of my heart I need a man who is going to be able to go out there and enjoy nature with me. Someone who won’t care that I don’t spend an hour in front of the mirror to do my hair and my makeup every day. Someone who will love my cooking, and isn’t afraid of his emotions or to have tough conversations.
And for those reasons, I would have to give my final rose to… Vince.
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More Children’s Books by Native American Authors
[via Book Riot]
We need to be reading books by Native American authors year-round. We need to be turning to books by Native American authors to support different themes, as the kickoff to many different kinds of lessons, and as bedtime stories any time of year. November is Native American Heritage Month, and the book world is beyond blessed by more and more picture books being published by authors Indigenous to North America.
We Are Still Here!: Native American Truths Everyone Should Know by Traci Sorell and Frané Lessac
Still This Love Goes On by Buffy Sainte-Marie and Julie Flett
Finding My Dance by Ria Thundercloud and Kalila J. Fuller
Powwow Day by Traci Sorell and Madelyn Goodnight
Sharice’s Big Voice: A Native Kid Becomes a Congresswoman
by Sharice Davids, Nancy K. Mays, and Joshua Mangeshig Pawis-Steckley
...
Click through to see more titles.
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2023-24 Washington Capitals Roster
Wingers
#8 Alex Ovechkin (Moscow, Russia) C
#15 Frank Milano (Oyster Bay, New York)
#39 Anthony Mantha-Pronovost (Longueuil, Quebec)
#43 Tom Wilson (Toronto, Ontario)
#45 Matthew Phillips (Calgary, Alberta)**
#47 Beck Malenstyn (Delta, British Columbia)
#67 Max Pacioretty (New Canaan, Connecticut)
#77 T.L. Oshie (Warroad, Minnesota)
#96 Nicolas Aubé-Kubel (Sorel-Tracy, Quebec)
Centers
#17 Dylan Strome (Mississauga, Ontario)
#19 Nicklas Bäckström (Valbo, Sweden) A
#21 Aliaksei Protas (Vitebsk, Belarus)
#24 Connor McMichael (Ajax, Ontario)
#26 Nic Dowd (Huntsville, Alabama)
#29 Hendrix Lapierre (Gatineau, Quebec)**
#92 Evgeny Kuznetsov; Jr. (Chelyabinsk, Russia)
Defensemen
#3 Nick Jensen (Rogers, Minnesota)
#4 Hardy Häman-Aktell (Kåge, Sweden)**
#6 Joel Edmundson (Brandon, Manitoba)*
#22 Lucas Johansen (Port Moody, British Columbia)**
#25 Dylan McIlrath (Winnipeg, Manitoba)
#27 Alexander Alexeyev; Jr. (St. Petersburg, Russia)
#38 Carl Sandin (Uppsala Stad, Sweden)
#42 Martin Fehérváry (Bratislava, Slovakia)
#57 Trevor Van Riemsdyk (Middletown Township, New Jersey)
#74 John Carlson (Woodbridge Township, New Jersey) A
Goalies
#31 Hunter Shepard (Grand Rapids, Minnesota)**
#35 Darcy Kuemper (Saskatoon, Saskatchewan)
#79 Charlie Lindgren (Lakeville, Minnesota)
#Sports#Hockey#Hockey Goalies#NHL#Washington Capitals#Celebrities#Russia#Canada#Quebec#Sweden#New Jersey#Alabama#Manitoba#Slovakia#Minnesota#Saskatchewan#Ontario#New York#Connecticut#Alberta#Belarus
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A few picture book picks for Indigenous People's Day
Pictured: What Your Ribbon Skirt Means to Me, Just Like Grandma, Remember, We Are Still Here!, Fry Bread, We Are Water Protectors, Finding My Dance
#Indigenous People's Day#Native American picture books#Indigenous books#Michaela Goade#Carole Lindstrom#Ria Thundercloud#Kalila J Fuller#Joy Harjo#Traci Sorell#Frane Lessac#Kevin Noble Mailard#Juana Martinez-Neal#Kim Rogers#Julie Flett#Alexis Bunten#Nicole Neidhardt
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Back home in Quebec with Beau for the first time
I trusted our frenemy Google Translate with some of this one, and we all know how that goes, so much bear with me on any mistakes, y'all. also this exact idea had been on my list with Beau specifically for over a year, and Kerry creepily read my mind per usual. 🤍
_____
Back Home with Beau
Your flight had gotten into Montreal too late last night to visit with any of Anthony’s family or hometown friends – which, you sort of hated to admit, was fine by you, as it gave you more time to mentally prepare to meet them all for the first time.
An unfortunately early end to the season for Anthony and the Isles a couple of weeks earlier meant that summer break was already here. You’d only started seeing Anthony about three months ago, but things had quickly grown serious, and anybody who spent any iota of time with the two of you could see that you were both completely head over heels for one another.
Which is why you now found yourself in the en suite bathroom in Anthony’s house back in Sorel-Tracy, committed to spending two weeks in his hometown before returning back to work in New York. You were excited to meet his family, of course, but more than that, you were nervous – not only were you concerned what they may think about you, but given their background, you felt the need to at the very least brush up on your French. Though they did also speak English, it was not their primary language, and you felt uncomfortable at the thought that they might feel the need to switch their entire dialect for the sake of your understanding their conversation. The last thing you wanted to be to them was a bother.
So here you stood, carefully applying your makeup in the mirror and softly repeating to yourself the French phrases you’d secretly been practicing for days now.
“Uh, Anthony m'a dit… Anthony m'a dit tell-e-ment… ugh, tellement… Anthony m'a dit tellement de choses merveilleuses… sur… sur toi? [Anthony has told me so many wonderful things about you.]" You huffed. You felt certain that wasn’t right, but pressed on. “Merci beaucoup de… m'avoir? Um, yeah. Merci beaucoup de m'avoir invité chez toi. [Thank you so much for inviting me to your home.] Uh…”
“What are you up to, mon ange [my angel]?”
Anthony’s voice in the doorway nearly made you jump out of your skin.
“Babe! You scared me,” you muttered shyly, feeling heat rise from your chest to your cheeks.
He stepped behind you, slinging his arms around your hips and pressing a warm kiss to your shoulder.
“Are you okay, bébé?” he asked, lips still resting against your skin.
You groaned softly, head falling backward. “I just don’t wanna make a fool of myself trying to speak French in front of your family,” you admitted bashfully. "I've been... practicing a little. Which is totally embarrassing."
He gently turned you to face him and sweetly brushed your cheek with his thumb.
“You don’t need to worry about speaking French with them, my love,” he assured. “Trust me, they speak English perfectly well.”
“No, no, I know that! Of course. I didn't mean to imply... That’s not it at all,” you fumbled, shaking your head. “I just want them to feel comfortable. And feel like I give a shit about speaking their native language.”
Anthony nodded, his big eyes full of understanding, and gave your hand a good squeeze.
“You’re very sweet for even thinking about that, but please don’t let it stress you out,” he said, pulling you closer and kissing the bridge of your nose. “I like you for exactly who you are right now, and I know they will, too. Okay?”
You forced a smile and wrapped your arms around Anthony’s neck in an appreciative hug, turning your head to kiss his jaw.
“Thanks, Anth,” you said, releasing him with a sigh.
“Of course,” he replied as you turned back toward your reflection. “Now, focus on finishing getting ready, and meet me downstairs when you are,” he said easily with a playful swat of your ass. You yelped with a grin and rolled your eyes before finishing your makeup.
_____
Soon, you were pulling up to the Beauvillier house and being greeted loudly by his parents, Sylvain and Dominique, his brother, Francis, with many aunts, uncles, cousins, and friends close behind. The scene was a cacophony of francophones all greeting each other with unfamiliar phrases, and your throat began to tighten, your palms sweating as your anxiety crept back in.
You looked at Anthony and must have been wearing a pitiful, desperate expression, because he winked and offered a reassuring nod.
“Mom, Dad, Frank,” he spoke, switching back to English for your sake. He stepped back from his family’s huddle and slipped a hand around your waist, proudly holding you close. “I’d like you to meet my girlfriend,” he said, beaming as he introduced you.
You extended your hand, first to his mother.
“C'est un plaisir de vous rencontrer!” you exclaimed, because, thanks to your singular conversational French class in middle school, you were pretty sure that at least that part was correct. Then, with butterflies in your belly, you ventured ahead. “Uh, Anthony m'a dit tellement de choses merveilleuses sur toi.”
His parents raised their eyebrows, his brother letting out an impressed, good–natured, “oooh!” as you smiled nervously. His mother refused your handshake, though, and instead pulled you in for a hug so firm and sweet it rivaled even Anthony’s. She laughed lightheartedly.
“Listen to you – you’re a natural!” she said sincerely. “It is so lovely to meet you. I told Anthony that unless he was bringing you along, don’t even bother coming home!”
You laughed easily as Anthony’s dad pulled you in for a hug.
“She’s not kidding, either!” he exclaimed. As he pulled back he added, “Hello, mon cherie [my dear]. Thank you for coming to visit us.”
“Well, thank you for having me!” you replied. “I’m looking forward to spending time with all of you.”
And as Anthony watched his brother pull you in for yet another hug, he grinned to himself, knowing you meant it and watching your tension melt away.
_____
“Well, mon cherie, how was your first day in maison de [house of] Beauvillier?” Anthony asked as you lay snuggled on a chaise lounge by the fire together later that night, after his parents had gone to bed and the rest of the group had returned home.
You smiled lazily for where your head lay on his chest and tipped your head up to meet his eye.
“It was… how do you say… magnifique,” you replied with a sweeping gesture. Anthony chuckled warmly and kissed the top of your head.
“Now I wanna teach you a new French saying,” he said, squeezing your waist.
“Hmm? What is it?” you asked, eager to adopt it if it was important enough for him to bring up specifically.
He grasped your chin softly and pressed a long, unhurried kiss to your lips before answering, the adoration in his crystal blue eyes overwhelming.
“Je t’aime.”
A slow smile stretched fully across your features.
“I already know that one. I think it might be my favorite.”
#requests#anthony beauvillier#tito beauvillier#blurbs#anthony beauvillier fic#anthony beauvillier fanfic#anthony beauvillier fanfiction#anthony beauvillier blurb
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It was assumed that, as a woman and one not born to rule, (Anne de Pisseleu) was prey to passions and vengefulness, that she could have no consistent 'policy'. / *Anne’s political activity has often been described as incoherent and Anne herself as a flighty interloper in the male business of politics…whose “role in court politics under Francis I was essentially capricious, with changes of alignment according to the whim of the moment”.
*Contemporary reports are partly responsible for the interpretation. / For Benvenuto Cellini (1500–1571), who saw too much of her for his own peace of mind, she personified fortuna in all its caprice. For the papal nuncio Hieronimo Dandino (1509–1559), who saw a great deal of her and noted her dislike of gossiping Italians, the king in 1543 was more a prey than ever to his lasciviousness and under her sway. He thought the secret of her success was the spirit of contradiction, always saying the opposite of what others did. For the Imperial envoy Nicolas Villey de Marnol, Anne had been légière (unstable) all her life. This was the same view as that of the Venetian envoy Marino Cavalli (d. 1572), who reported in 1545 that, despite her previous preference for peace with England, she was pressing for further war, hoping that failure would undermine Admiral Annebault, her rival. Literary views were similar; for instance, Rondabilis, the protagonist of the 1546 Tiers Livre by François Rabelais (1494-1553), views all women as frail, variable, capricious, and inconstant.
*(However,) in her political actions nothing distinguishes (Anne) from her male counterparts. Court factions resembled neither modern political parties nor social cliques. Factions formed around a central dispute—in the case at hand, around the long-standing rivalry between Brion and Montmorency over their competing desires for supremacy, or, to put it slightly differently, over their incompatible strategies for dealing with the emperor. In 1540 Montmorency, himself on shaky ground, spearheaded an effort to get Brion investigated for fraud. Begun by the chancellor Poyet in August 1540, the investigation resulted in the admiral’s conviction in February 1541. In general, other quarrels then formed around the central one, with different players joining in when they thought that to do so might further a cause of their own. Factional players changed tactics with shifts in the situation— Marguerite of Navarre and Montmorency switched sides with noticeable frequency, as did François I, Henry VIII, and the emperor—leading to an impression of constant treachery. But such side-switching is quite simply the inevitable result of factional politics, which is, by definition, the spontaneous formation of groups to promote results in the absence of overarching institutions formally invested with the authority to arbitrate. Nothing like a political ideology of the type that unites members of a modern political party and determines their response to issues motivates members of factions. As for the perception of factions as social cliques, it is even more difficult to find evidence of friendship as a motivating factor. Despite the well-known language of love that marks exchanges of the period, decisions were in a strange way also fundamentally impersonal, motivated by family interest.
-David Potter, "The Life and After-Life of a Royal Mistress: Anne de Pisseleu, Duchess of Étampes" / *Tracy Adams and Christine Adams, "The Creation of the French Royal Mistress: From Agnès Sorel to Madame Du Barry"
#historicwomendaily#it's truly insane the way Anne has been criticized as capricious & inconsistent & duplicitous because she changed sides...in situations#that were inherently fluid and volatile which required people to change sides depending on the current context#like it really cannot get stupider than that lmao#anne de pisseleu#french history#16th century#my post#queue#also to be clear: I've merged two different books and the * symbol is put before the Adams' writing
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4 French Royal Mistresses Who Made Their Mark on History
From Madame de Pompadour to Jeanne du Barry, these women wielded power in pre-Revolutionary France as companion to the king.
— By Erin Blakemore | June 23, 2023
This painting of Louis XV and his last mistress Madame du Barry was finished almost a century after their deaths. Royal mistresses like du Barry had impressive power through their access to the king. PaintingBy Gyula Benczur Via Bridgeman Images
Who’s the most important woman in France? During the French monarchy, it may not have been the queen, but the king’s official mistress—the maîtresse-en-titre.
She often ruled both his heart and his political decisions. As a result, French royal mistresses reached heights of power unknown to most women of their day. Here are the stories of just four of the many mistresses who left their mark in history.
Why Were Mistresses So Powerful?
Many European royals had extramarital affairs, but in France, mistresses enjoyed both royal favor and official recognition. Many queens were foreign-born, and all royal marriages were carefully arranged alliances. This led to everything from distrust to downright animosity between kings and queens, and often kings sought affection and companionship outside royal marriages.
As historian Tracy Adams notes, women at the time were acknowledged as men’s intellectual equals, but couldn’t legally compete with kings for their thrones. Because of this inferiority, they made the best choice for political advisors, Adams says. Most French kings from Charles VI took counsel from their lovers.
French sculptor Jean Goujon made this sculpture of Diana the Huntress with Diane de Poitiers’ likeness. Photograph By Mark Fiennes/Bridgeman Images
Agnés Sorel (1422-1450)
Also known as the “lady of beauty,” Agnés Sorel is often considered the first officially recognized French royal mistress.
Born into minor nobility, she rose to lady-in-waiting to Marie d’Anjou, wife of Charles VII of France. Soon after moving into the queen’s household in 1444, Sorel began an affair with Charles, from whom she received gifts of jewels and fine clothing. Sorel and the king had three daughters who survived infancy; the king recognized all three and gave them dowries when they married.
Sorel is best known for her fashion sense—she was excoriated outside of court for her love of low-cut and even open-fronted dresses and is thought to have inspired at least one iconic “Nursing Madonna” painting—and possibly her untimely death.
A few years after her affair with Charles began, she developed a stomachache and died after great suffering. The cause of her death remained an mystery until 2005, when researchers found traces of mercury poisoning. That mercury might have been a treatment for roundworms, but others suggest she was assassinated, by political enemies or perhaps even Charles VII himself.
Agnès Sorel was interred in the Church of St. Ours, in Loches, France (seen here). Her heart was buried separately more than 200 miles away in the Benedictine Abbey of Jumièges. Photograph By Jean-Guillaume Goursat/Gamma-Rapho Via Getty Images
Diane de Poitiers (1499-1556)
de Poitiers was a young widow when she served in the court of King Francis I, impressing him with her savvy management of her late husband’s estate. Though Francis respected her, she made an even greater impression on his son, Henry. At seven years old, the prince was sent to live in Spain for more than four years as a result of his father’s loss at the Battle of Pavia. When Henry returned, de Poitiers, now in her thirties became the teenager’s lover.
Henry often wore Diane’s colors—black and white, representing both her widowhood and her namesake, the Roman moon goddess—and de Poitiers became his most trusted advisor and companion. Though banished briefly from court (accused of a plot to unseat King Francis), she returned to the court after Francis’s 1547 death.
This painting by Alexandre-Evariste Fragonard shows de Poitiers posing for sculptor Jean Goujon. Photograph Alexandre Evariste Fragonard, Via Fine Art Images/Bridgeman Images
Henry was named King Henry II, and though he had a long marriage to Catherine de’Medici that produced seven surviving children, his relationship with de Poitiers endured for decades. She arranged for the care of his children, looked after the crown jewels of France, and even wrote his letters, which she signed with the combined name “HenriDiane.”
In 1599, Henry was injured in a joust, again wearing black and white. As the king slowly died of sepsis, the queen forbade his mistress from visiting his bedside. After his death, de Poitiers lived in exile. She lived a comfortable life in her grand chateau until her death, possibly from poisoning from a gold concoction designed to maintain her youth.
Madame de Pompadour (1721-1764)
One of the most loved and most powerful royal mistresses was Jeanne Poisson, Marquise de Pompadour—often known as just “Madame de Pompadour.” She came from a family far removed from royal circles—her father was a government official who fled the country after a corruption scandal, leaving her with her now penniless mother. But after a fortune teller told her she would one day become mistress to a king, she was given a private education befitting the ultimate maîtresse thanks to a friend of her father’s, whom it is speculated was actually her biological father.
Composer Wolfang Amadeus Mozart meets Madame de Pompadour at Versailles in 1763. Painting By Vicente Garcia de Parades, Via Fine Art Images/Bridgeman Images
Known as “Reinette,” or “little queen,” she moved in the world of Paris salons, sharpening her conversational skills and gaining notice for her charm. She married Charles d’Étoilles, a financier, when she was 19. In 1744, she finally made her move, attracting Louis XV’s attention by promenading in a carriage near his hunting grounds. Intrigued and in want of a new mistress, he began meeting with her.
Soon, they took the affair public: At a lavish masked ball in the Hall of Mirrors, the king allowed himself to be seen unmasked, in intimate conversation with his new, still-married mistress. The king gave her the title of Marquise of Pompadour, dispatched her husband with a position as an ambassador at a far-off embassy, and gifted her a room with a secret staircase leading to his bedchamber and a variety of chateaus and royal gifts, including the building now known as the Petit Trianon.
Despite public condemnation of her influence, she encouraged the king’s excesses, promoting his support of the arts, staging private theatricals for his amusement, and even convincing him to support a variety of Enlightenment-era luminaries, including the authors of the first French encyclopedia. Her health was poor, and the king lovingly nursed her on her deathbed, where she died at just 43 years of age.
This bust of de Pompadour was completed in 1751 when she was thirty years old. It was likely meant for her residence château de Bellevue, which was finished the same year. Sculpture By Jean-Baptiste Pigalle, Via The Met
Jeanne du Barry (1743-1793)
Louis XV’s next mistress would play a part in both his reign and the downfall of the French Empire. After Pompadour’s death, Louis fell in love with Jeanne Bécu, a prostitute turned high-society courtesan who seduced him with her beauty and her reputed sexual charms despite a 33-year age difference. Refusing to have an official mistress who was not an aristocrat, the king arranged for her to marry Count Guillaume du Barry, then moved her into Versailles.
Louis’s reputed excesses on behalf of his mistress shocked all of France. He gave Madame du Barry magnificent jewels and clothing and refused her nothing, even gifting her a Bengali slave, Zamor, who acted as her personal servant. He also gifted a diamond necklace so massive the country could not afford to pay for it.
News of the necklace and other extravagances continued to rile France even after Louis XV’s death, after which du Barry was banished from court.
Revolutionaries eventually accused Marie Antoinette, wife of Louis XVI, of purchasing the necklace from a corrupt cardinal. du Barry was also swept up in the nation’s deadly revolutionary fervor when Zamor, who had endured years of her exploitative treatment, denounced her to revolutionaries for supposedly financially aiding counter-revolutionaries. She was arrested during the Reign of Terror and beheaded in front of a sneering crowd in 1793.
This bust depicts Marie-Jeanne Bécu. During her reign as official royal mistress, many portraits of du Barry were undertaken by leading artists, including French sculptor Augustin Pajou. Sculpture By Augustin Pajou, Mfah
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Marc-Andre Fleury’s humor, humbleness and infectious love for hockey run deep
Oct 11, 2022 (x)
VARENNES, Que. — The long driveway is filled to the brim with trucks. Landscapers are there, putting the finishing touches on the new house, and a dock is being put in on this refreshingly breezy July day about 40 minutes southwest of Montreal.
Knowing there’d be no room to squeeze another car into the driveway, Marc-Andre Fleury is outside at the edge of his garage to greet his guest with the friendliness that has long been the signature of the jovial, gregarious man affectionately known throughout the hockey world as “Flower.”
Fleury has a stick in his hand and is fiddling with a foam puck when he spots me zigzagging past the work trucks.
“Welcome,” Fleury says, smiling wide and flashing his perfectly white teeth.
Fleury extends his right hand, then opens the door to his home: “After you.”
“Have you eaten? Can I make you a sandwich?” Fleury, with a French-Canadian accent, asks.
When I politely decline, Fleury says, “How about some water? Natural or sparkling?”
Fleury pours two glasses of San Pellegrino and grabs a peanut butter CLIF bar for himself.
He has just gotten home from a workout. There are still six days remaining on his Minnesota Wild contract after he was acquired from the Chicago Blackhawks before last season’s trade deadline. But Fleury is wearing a black Vegas Golden Knights T-shirt, left over from his four-year career there that included a Vezina Trophy and an unexpected trip to the Stanley Cup Final in the organization’s inaugural year.
“Well, it was free,” Fleury, laughing hard, says when explaining the shirt.
He opens a glass door to a back patio, then sits on a wicker couch. He crisscrosses his legs and begins petting his Goldendoodle, Fiston.
“We lost our other Golden at Christmas,” Fleury says. “It was hard on the kids. You know … they’re always there. It’s hard to lose a dog.”
Fleury looks up, takes a deep breath, then a bite of the CLIF bar. He stares through a picture-perfect canopy of green trees and toward the St. Lawrence River 100 yards away. A cargo ship that says “DULUTH, MINNESOTA” is slowly cruising west to east past his property. The ship has navigated all the way from Lake Superior through the Great Lakes and is on its way to the Atlantic Ocean.
“Peaceful, isn’t it?” Fleury says as he massages the neck of a very content Fiston.
Fleury, even at 37 and after 19 NHL seasons, still loves every minute of being a hockey player and is excited about what lies ahead. But at this moment, this is his happy place and he’s contemplating all the possibilities of what’s on that ship, where it has come from and where it may be going.
Europe? Africa? Asia? South America?
“All day, every day, those ships go by,” Fleury says. “Cool, isn’t it?”
When the super-athletic, acrobatic eventual Hall of Famer and the man who kicks off The Athletic’s NHL99 project as the 100th-best player in the NHL’s modern era isn’t stopping pucks, winning games, playing practical jokes on his teammates, hanging with his wife and playing with his three children, this is a glimpse into his life.
On this day, hours before Fleury would decide to forgo free agency and re-sign with the Wild for two years, he is relaxed, downright hospitable and reflective about where he’s come from and what he thinks his NHL legacy will be.
When reminded about his three Stanley Cup championships with the Pittsburgh Penguins, his five All-Star Game appearances, his Vezina and Jennings trophies and the fact that in NHL history only Martin Brodeur and Patrick Roy have won more than his 520 regular-season and 92 playoff games, Fleury smiles, blushes and stares once more at the blue St. Lawrence River.
“It’s hard to believe,” he says. “It’s surreal. Those were my heroes.”
Fleury grew up in the small town of Sorel-Tracy, Que. — 50 kilometers from his current home.
Surrounded by cornfields and cattle farms, Fleury lived on one end of a long road. On the other end of the same road was the home of Veronique LaRose, who used to play hockey with Fleury’s younger sister, Marylene.
Fleury has known Veronique since they were in elementary school. At 14 years old, he was so shy he didn’t have the nerve to ask her to be his date at a school dance. He had his sister ask Veronique instead. They went to the dance and really began dating later in their teenage years.
This summer, Marc-Andre and Veronique celebrated their 10-year wedding anniversary after being together the 10 years before that.
Their two daughters, 9-year-old Estelle and 7-year-old Scarlett, learned to skate when Dad played in Vegas and are both hockey players. Their 3-year-old son, James, is starting to love hockey for different reasons.
“He loves going to the games because he likes popcorn and eating snacks,” Fleury says, laughing. “I’m like my dad was with me. I don’t push hockey on them. I never will. If they love it, they’ll play.”
Fleury’s dad, Andre, was a hard-working man, a carpenter who built a lot of homes in Sorel-Tracy.
“Every day, long hours,” Fleury says. “Sweating in the summer, freezing in the winter.”
Andre lost his right eye when he was 6 playing hockey. He took a stick to the face in a weekend tournament, “and back then, there was no doctor to treat him over the weekend.”
“But,” Fleury continues, “he loved hockey.”
Andre had a sense of humor about losing his eye. He’d always tell his son to keep his “eye” on the puck, pun intended. And he continued to play hockey, only he moved to right wing so he could see oncoming checkers with his left eye “so he wouldn’t get hammered,” Fleury says, laughing at the thought.
Andre died three years ago at 63 of lung cancer.
What’s so tragic about it, Fleury says, is that Andre “smoked — smoked a lot,” but when his own dad — Fleury’s grandfather — died of lung cancer, he quit cold turkey. Then years later, having not smoked all the while, Andre was diagnosed with the disease that killed his father.
“My dad took me to every practice, all the tournaments, but he never pushed me toward hockey,” Fleury says. “He always told me to just have fun and work hard. In the summer, he didn’t make me play hockey. Soccer, baseball — he was just as happy watching me play. It was good how he never pushed it on me. He just let me fall in love with it naturally.”
Allan Walsh, Fleury’s longtime agent and friend, witnessed how much the loss affected Fleury.
“His dad was very quiet and worked his ass off for his family,” Walsh says. “You could see in his eyes what Andre meant to Marc. When things weren’t going well in hockey, Marc would reach out to his dad and have a conversation, and his dad gave him advice. And it always, always made a difference.”
And then there’s Fleury’s mom, France, who has six siblings. She’s a dental hygienist, which may explain her boy’s great teeth.
“She’s on me all the time about them,” Fleury says. “One time, after I had braces, I did a flip on a trampoline, landed on my teeth and they all caved in. I had to get braces again and she was like, ‘What are you doing to your beautiful teeth?’”
Fleury is one of the friendliest, most affable athletes in hockey. Just watch him in pregame warmups and the way he waves at fans, poses for pictures and allows fans to throw jerseys at him for autographs as he stretches.
He gets all this from his mom, who has the exact same smile as her son.
“My mom is always in a light mood, always happy, smiling, helping people,” Fleury says. “Family is big in my life. Every summer, we have a big party with all my family we don’t get to see a lot during the season.”
Fleury’s sister is two years younger. He says they fought a lot growing up, but when he left at age 14 to play midget and then 15 to go to Cape Breton for major junior, the distance brought his sister and him closer than ever. They missed each other desperately and today are as close as can be.
In fact, any chance they get, Fleury and his sister will go on the ice to play hockey.
“It’s one of my favorite things to do,” Fleury says.
If you know anything about Fleury, you know he’s one of the NHL’s biggest practical jokers.
Nobody is safe.
Former Golden Knights teammate Jonathan Marchessault says the hardest thing is Fleury’s “sneaky about it” then “denies it till he dies.”
He’s been known for cutting laces on skates and hiding in equipment bags.
Dontcha know, payback is best served with 7 rolls of clear tape! 😈
🌸 pranks longtime friend, Sidney Crosby, during the #NHLMediaTour.#mnwild pic.twitter.com/CyPgfmBknI
— Minnesota Wild (@mnwild) September 20, 2022
At the 2022 NHL Media Tour, Fleury got old Penguins teammate Sidney Crosby good by taking seven rolls of tape and binding Crosby’s gear up into a ball. In 2011, Fleury was the ringleader of a famous scheme revealed on “Road to the Winter Classic” when a handful of Penguins veterans played a rookie prank on Mark Letestu and Ben Lovejoy by sneaking into their hotel room while at dinner and removing every piece of furniture and reconfiguring it in the hallway.
“I like hotel rooms,” Fleury says, smiling wryly. “You know, guys go out to dinner, you’ve got some time and you put everything in the hallway or just make a big tornado in there. I like getting in the room and messing with everything.”
Fleury has learned how to manipulate a toilet. He’ll sneak into a teammate’s hotel room, unplug the rubber refill tube in the tank, then just barely position the end of the hose so it’s resting under the lid. Inevitably, when a teammate goes to the bathroom and flushes, he’ll get pummeled with water directly to the stomach.
“And it’s not like a water pistol where it’s one spray,” Walsh says, laughing. “This lasts 20 seconds, and when you’re in an enclosed, tight hotel bathroom, there’s nowhere to go. You can’t go left, right. You can’t get out of the way. The water’s just coming at you and coming at you.”
Before Game 7 of the 2009 Stanley Cup Final, the game in which Fleury made the miraculous game-saving stop on Nicklas Lidstrom in the dying seconds, Fleury went back to the MGM Grand in Detroit after the morning skate. He was trying to take a pregame nap, but in the room next to him, several people were partying. They were loud, drinking and playing music, and the noise caused Fleury to toss and turn for two hours before the most important game of his life.
At 3:45, Fleury put on his suit, but before heading to the team bus, he took a waste basket, filled it with water, leaned it on the door of the room next to him, banged on the door, sprinted down the hallway and, just as he turned the corner, he heard the door open and somebody scream.
Yes, before Game 7 of the Stanley Cup Final, Fleury played an epic prank on a complete stranger in the next room.
“I remember once getting in his car and the entire car is full of giant bags of confetti,” Walsh says. “I had to sit with this massive bag of confetti on my lap that went all the way to the roof. I go, “I’ve got to ask you, what the f— is this?’ And he goes, ‘I have some plans,’ with that big Flower smile.”
In his early days in Pittsburgh, Fleury roomed with Marc Bergevin, one of the league’s biggest pranksters during his playing days. Bergevin once came back to the room at night and placed a book with an enticing title on the nightstand between their beds. The rookie threw the remote control to Bergevin, which was common in the old days. Bergevin went to the bathroom, kept the door ajar and laughed out loud when he heard his roomie scream. Fleury had picked up the book, looking at the front cover, then the back, then opened the book and got the shock of a lifetime.
Literally. Fleury was jolted by the prank book.
“Berge used to do little tricks all the time,” Fleury says. “He taught me well.”
It’s hard to believe the youthful Fleury is 37 years old and 32 victories from passing Roy for second all-time in the regular season.
Walsh remembers June 21, 2003, like it was yesterday.
The night before the draft, Walsh hosted a party with Fleury, his family and his other draft-eligible clients and family members. They had no idea what team would select Fleury.
But on draft day, Walsh received a call with a scoop. The Panthers, three years after acquiring Roberto Luongo at the 2000 draft, were planning to trade the No. 1 overall pick and another pick to the Penguins for the Nos. 3 and 55 picks and winger Mikael Samuelsson. The reason? The Penguins wanted Fleury.
Walsh was meeting Fleury in the lobby of their hotel four blocks from the arena.
“I took Flower aside and told him, ‘I have some information, but I don’t want to ruin in any way this experience for you. So if you want to be surprised, I know where you’re going and I know what team is taking you, but I don’t want to tell you unless you want to know,’” Walsh recalls. “He goes, ‘Tell me, tell me, tell me.’ I said, ‘You sure,” and he yells, ‘F—ing tell me!’
Walsh told him he was going No. 1 overall to the Penguins.
“He looked right through me, like I could actually see the different swirling thoughts going through his mind the whole time,” Walsh says. “He was speechless for 10 seconds. He finally goes, ‘Geeeeeezzzzz.’”
Fleury asked: “What do we do now?”
“I said, ‘For starters, I think we should get our ass to the rink,’” Walsh says.
During that four-block walk, Fleury got bombarded by autograph and photo seekers. It was boiling hot outside. Finally, Walsh put his hand on Fleury’s waist and ushered him along. They got to their seats 10 minutes before the draft started and were soaked with sweat from the sweltering Nashville heat.
“Marc literally had sweat dripping from his forehead and a drenched shirt when his name was called,” Walsh says.
Fleury made the Penguins as an 18-year-old, a huge jump going from major junior to the NHL. Of course, this is the same guy who jumped from bantam AA to major junior.
In his NHL debut, he stopped 46 of 48 shots in a 3-0 loss.
“Those were tough years,” says Ed Olczyk, Fleury’s first coach with the Penguins. “The plan was to rid ourselves of all of our assets — the Robert Langs and Marty Strakas — and build from the draft knowing that we had no goalies coming and no center-icemen. We knew Florida didn’t need a goalie, so Craig (Patrick) moved up to assure we got a guy we all thought we could build from the goal crease out.
“Flower was so infectious. His love of the game, his smile, his personality, his skill level, it was all there under one umbrella.”
But the Penguins were an unstable organization at that point, bleeding money and shuttling Fleury back and forth to the minors or to the 2004 world juniors, then permanently back to Cape Breton so they wouldn’t have to pay his bonuses.
“He was upset and emotional,” Olczyk remembers. “I remember him saying to me with tears in his eyes, ‘I don’t want my bonuses. You can keep them. Just let me stay.’ Those were hard conversations because I wanted him there, too.”
There was a lot of losing in those early years in Pittsburgh. But after drafting Fleury in 2003, the Penguins landed Evgeni Malkin, Crosby and Jordan Staal in the first rounds of the next three drafts.
“Those were three great players to build up the middle with, but at the beginning, we were losing a lot,” Fleury says. “That was hard because you see in the paper the No. 1 pick can’t stop a puck and is losing all the time. That’s when I learned to stop reading the paper, which was tough. All my life, my dad and me, we always got the newspaper and read all the sports in the news.”
But Fleury persevered, began winning games and helped backstop a very special Penguins team to the pinnacle.
Marc-Andre Fleury saved 4️⃣8️⃣ of 5️⃣0️⃣ shots in Games 6 & 7 of the 2009 Stanley Cup Final. 🧱 🌸 🏆#StanleyCupNBCSN | @penguins pic.twitter.com/pSpGurZo1c
— NBC Sports Hockey (@NBCSportsHockey) June 9, 2020
“At the end of the day, I just want to win,” Fleury says. “But what I’ve found out over time, when I smile, when I’m having fun, then I play better.”
Like his mom, Fleury may always be smiling, but he’s a fierce competitor. There are so many stories from Pittsburgh about his battles every practice with Crosby. But it’s his fun style on the ice and that off-ice demeanor that has allowed him to galvanize franchise bases — especially in Vegas after he willingly went there as the Golden Knights’ expansion goaltender — and why he’s so popular, so beloved, league-wide.
Just look at last season, when he won his 500th game and recorded his 69th shutout in Montreal. The Canadiens had such a bad season, it quite frankly may have been the highlight of their season when Canadiens fans serenaded Fleury in the final minute by chanting his name.
“I didn’t expect that,” Fleury says. “I mean, I grew up a Habs fan. They were always my favorite team. It was pretty amazing.”
Fleury simply loves playing hockey. It’s why he signed on for two more years with the Wild.
“When you win Cups, it’s something you always chase to do it again,” he says. “I’m just fortunate that I can still do it, to play for this long. Had some injuries, but nothing too devastating. I feel lucky. I feel like I got to do what I love for so long.”
Fleury then leads a tour of his house. In the basement, there are paintings on canvas of some of his proudest moments, as well as posters, years and years of pads and all of his masks — not just from the NHL but also from when he was a kid and in junior. There are also special ones that used to belong to Brodeur and Roy.
He also has keepsakes from his dad, who saved many pictures and newspaper articles highlighting the boy he was so proud of.
“Look at his numbers and the longevity and the success individually, the success of the teams he’s played on — part of three Stanley Cup champions. This is a slam-dunk, no-brainer Hall of Famer,” Olczyk says. “The young man that’s become a man and everything he’s been able to accomplish in the game and in his family speaks for itself. It’s hard not to like and love the guy.”
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