At about one o'clock in the afternoon, they arrived in Richmond. After passing three small mountains with pine forests topped with large white rocks, they saw the fields and farms which became more frequent along the road. They crossed a covered wooden bridge over a wide, clear, shallow river surrounded by alders, birches, and black elms. Then they finally arrived in town. It was more of a small town than a city, below the surrounding hills, following the course of the river.
There were only three or four businesses, a doctor, a grocery store, a bank, and a grain market which was closed. None of the buildings were made of brick, except for the church which was built at the end of the central aisle.
There was something about this town that reminded us of the Wild West. It seemed to have been pitched there like one pitch tent, serving as a base camp for a few pioneers. The dirt floor was strewn with wood chips, indicating the sawmills which must have been a little higher, following the course of the river.
Louis stopped the car in front of a large white wooden building on which the starry flag floated proudly, announcing the town hall. Impatient, the mechanic almost jumped out of the car and strode towards the town hall, while Arlette had not yet left.
A man in a Canadian jacket opened the door and greeted him, glancing over his shoulder, searching for the newcomer. The young woman emerged timidly from the car. The street was almost deserted, there were three men in shirts sitting on the wooden planks at the corner of the street looking at her and a woman coming out of the shop displaying "doctor-dentist-funeral director".
It was her first moment in Richmond, Arlette tried to remember it as if she were writing the first words in a blank notebook. It was a sight of dull simplicity and uninteresting, but dizzyingly new to the eyes of an immigrant.
She turned towards the town hall and saw that now three men were waiting for her on the steps. Louis, the one dressed in a Canadian dress who had opened the door, and a third corpulent man with a long graying mustache, wearing a white outfit that would have been better suited to a Sunday baptism.
She approached to greet them. The one in Canadian was the mayor's agent, his name was Vernon Dumont. There was something sad in his eyes, a way of staring at people without looking away and with disdain that made the young woman uneasy.
The second was none other than the mayor himself, Gerald Elliot. He immediately gave Arlette the impression of a country aristocrat who took himself for the King of England, judging all that belonged to him by leaning down from the height of his title.
He immediately congratulated the young woman on her acquisition and began to talk about the exploitation of the forests, the sawmills in the area, and the fame of the region for its blueberry pie. She listened half-heartedly to his introductory speech to himself, discreetly scanning for signs of life on either side of the street.
Perhaps the inhabitants were all at home or in their meadows at this hour. She wanted to meet local people more than county politicians. All Elliot cared about was the hundreds of acres of land in his constituency that would now bring him taxes and bring in workers.
Luckily for her, the mayor had to leave for a moment to get the keys to the villa in Pinewood. He had it checked once a month to avoid squatters. Not wanting to make conversation with Louis any longer in front of Deputy Dumont's cold gaze, she turned towards the street. A young girl was coming out of the grocery store holding a paper bag in her arms. Arlette narrowed her eyes to observe him.
She had sleek black hair that fell in front of her face despite her bun. Her dress and blouse were very simple cotton but her walk gave the impression that she was dancing with it, giving grace to her modest outfit. She stopped in the middle of the street when she saw Arlette and changed direction to walk towards her with a sure step. She had a big smile, which raised her pale cheekbones. She placed one hand under her bag and held out the other towards the young woman, almost too soon before reaching her.
"Are you the Frenchwoman?" Betty Richter, delighted!
Her big eyes started to shine when she said the word "French". She couldn't have been more than sixteen. It carried in its wake a faint smell of hay, earth, and cigarettes. A farmer's daughter, no doubt. Her eyes and her black hair turning brown on the tips of the locks suggested that she must have a Native American parent.
She seemed animated by kindness and a quite candid naivete. Arlette smiled at him and took his hand to shake it. Was this the way people announced themselves in this country? It wasn't as difficult as she had imagined.
— Delighted Betty, I'm Arlette, Arlette Mangel. I just arrived.
The teenager's smile froze when she heard her last name and she had to pull herself together so as not to remain paralyzed.
"Ah, are you... going to take the land to the north?"
The mayor reappeared at the entrance, clutching a map of the area and other documents. Arlette barely turned to him. Something was wrong with this Betty, but she didn't have time to continue the conversation to learn more.
"Is that right, do you live here?"
"Yes, we have the farm just before your forests," she answered more timidly.
Quickly, Arlette shook her hand again, more vigorously, to show her affection and reassure her. This Betty looked uncomfortable. Maybe she had already made a misstep, said something inappropriate, or forgotten some part of the protocol for greeting someone in this country.
-So we are neighbors, I hope to have the opportunity to see you more often!
The discomfort that invaded Betty gave way to surprise, then a smile was born again on her lips. Seeing that his words affected the teenager, Arlette continued:
"Don't hesitate to drop by once I have arranged the place, you will be welcome." »
The young girl stammered a troubled word of thanks and turned around, unsteadily at first, then bouncing like a goat. Arlette watched her go, smiling.
Betty was overwhelmed with happiness. It was too good to be true. A great lady from France took her for her equal and invited her to her home. She was a girl who looked like an Indian. She had hardly heard of a new arrival at the grocery store before she met her and made a friend of hers. She went home convinced that it was the best day of her life.