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In the village of Grand-Pré, the are crickets chirping in the distance, and the early autumn air is brisk as it blows around her, carrying all the traces of a harsh Canadian winter, but all Clarke can focus on are the two warm arms wrapped around her and the man that sits behind her, her chin resting on her shoulder, and his dark curly hair tickling her neck.
“One more day,” she says excitedly in a hushed tone.
“Less than one day,” he replies, kissing her shoulder.
She looks up and takes in the countless stars that twinkle above them, the crescent moon that shines just bright enough for them to see. Bellamy holds Clarke to his chest as they sit under a large apple tree, cloaked at once by the darkness and the branches that droop with heavy fruit.
“I can’t believe we’re getting married tomorrow,” she says, turning her head to find his lips.
He kisses her, slow and sweet, and lies back, pulling her down with him. She’s half on top of him, her hands on his shoulders as he continues to move his mouth slowly over hers. His hand slides up her back, over the fabric of her dress, but under the light shawl she wears to shelter herself from the wind. His fingers massage the base of her neck lovingly.
“I love you,” he says, looking at her fondly.
Her chest feels so full with what she feels for this man. In all her seventeen years, she’s never felt as much love as she feels for Bellamy Blake. She runs her fingers through his messy hair, flicking away a long strand of grass that lodged itself in his inky curls.
“I love you, too,” Clarke says, and he kisses her nose. Clarke curls into his side, her head on his chest, and she listens to his rhythmic breathing, the steady beating of his heart. “Everything is going to be okay, right?” she asks, worrying her bottom lip.
He lifts her chin with his index so that he can look into her eyes.
“What are you talking about?” he asks, but he already knows.
“The ships,” she admits. “Daddy says that they’ve been anchored in the mouth of the river for four days.”
“Clarke,” he says, running his hand through her long blonde hair. “Don’t worry about the ships. I’m here, and I’ll protect you from whatever the English ships could bring. I will always be with you. I promise,” he vows solemnly.
“I should get home,” she says, making to stand. “It’s almost midnight, and it’s bad luck for a groom to see his bride before the wedding.”
The smile the spreads across his face could light up the night.
“Get some rest, my darling,” Bellamy says sweetly, hand still cradling her face. “Sleep, and don’t worry about the ships or the English men, or anything other than looking beautiful tomorrow.”
She hides her face against the crook of his neck.
“I’ve never been so happy, Bell.”
“Me neither,” he says, helping her to her feet. She brushes off her blue cotton dress and stepping forward to wipe his shirt clean.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she says.
“I’ll be the one waiting at the end of the aisle.”
Raven hands her a bouquet of pink and white flowers and fixes a loose strand of hair one last time. Clarke looks down at herself for the hundredth time that day and takes in her simple white dress. Her arms are bare, her sleeves simply capping over her shoulders, and though her dress is plain, she has never felt more beautiful in all of her life.
“You look gorgeous,” Raven says.
“Do you think Bellamy will like it?” Clarke asks as she feels herself blush.
“He loves you, Clarke,” Raven says soothingly. “Of course he’ll like it. Are you ready?”
Clarke has never felt surer of anything, and she nods to Raven who takes her arm and leads her up the church’s front steps. Her father waits by the door and beams with bride at his daughter. He kisses her cheek when she reaches him.
“I could never have asked for a more perfect daughter,” he says, and Clarke reaches up to wipe a stray tear off his cheek with her thumb.
“Please don’t cry, Daddy,” she says.
She wraps her in a crushing hug, his forehead against her shoulder. “I’m so proud of you, Clarke. I’m so thankful that you’re so happy.”
Raven enters the church first, and Clarke follows on her father’s arm. Tears start to well in the corner of her eyes the second she sees Bellamy standing at the altar, looking like the stars themselves picked him out and placed him right there for her to love. Octavia reaches for her hand as Clarke walks by her new sister-in-law, and she squeezes it as she passes, smiling when she sees Lincoln’s hand resting on his wife’s swollen belly.
After the wedding, Clarke and Bellamy sit at the head of a large table, his fingers woven through hers on his lap. They’re sitting nestled among the trees in Jake’s orchard and fiddle music washes over them. Clarke’s cheeks are sore from smiling, but she can’t keep the grin off of her face. Neither can Bellamy.
Before the meal comes to an end, the celebration is interrupted by the sound of horse hooves coming up the path towards them. The music stops. The general store owner’s son, Nathan, rides towards them and his horse comes to a stop at the foot of their table. Bellamy and Jake stand at the same time, Bellamy with Clarke’s hand still in his.
“Miller?” he asks. “What is it?”
The other boy pants with the exertion of his rapid ride. “The English,” he says. “They’re here. They want all the men in the church right now. They have a proclamation from the king.”
Clarke’s eyes are filled with worry when Bellamy looks down at his young bride. “Stay here. I’ll be back. I promise.”
Clarke tugs on his hand. “Bellamy, no. Don’t go. Stay with me.”
“I have to,” he says, pulling her to her feet. “I’ll be back.” He takes her face in his hands and presses a firm kiss to his wife’s mouth. “I love you.”
“I love you, too,” she says.
All the men hurry to town, the women looking at each other worriedly, not knowing what to do. Clarke pulls Raven aside.
“This can mean nothing good,” Clarke says.
“It’s going to be okay,” Raven reassures her.
Octavia waddles over to them, her hand on her heavily pregnant stomach. “What do we do?” the younger girl asks.
“We wait. That’s all we can do,” Raven replies.
Clarke is pacing back and forth across her living room, a fire burning in the hearth, and the sun having long since gone down. Raven watches her friend, unsure of what to do or say. No one has heard anything, and Bellamy has not come home.
Both girls are startled when a heavy pounding at the door breaks the silence in the room. Raven gets up to answer the door, Clarke close behind her. A young girl from town, Harper, stands on Clarke’s front porch. She’s breathing heavily.
“They’re coming for us,” she says through gasps.
Clarke stops breathing, her mind running in all directions.
“Who, Harper?” Raven asks.
“The English. They’re here. They’ve locked them men in the church. Grab what you can.”
“No,” Clarke says, falling to her knees. “No. Not Daddy. Not Bellamy. No.”
“Clarke, come on. Let’s go,” Raven says. “We have to get to Octavia.”
This spurs Clarke into action, and she runs upstairs to her room to grab her mother’s necklace from her dresser. She clasps it around her neck and hurries back down to find Raven ready to go. Clarke grabs a shawl, slips on her boots, and both girls take off at a run for the stables. Bare back, unwilling to waste any time, they race to the small home that Octavia shares with Lincoln.
Clarke dismounts her mare and runs to the front door. “Octavia!” she yells, but there’s no answer. The door is off its hinges and rests on the living room floor. “Octavia!”
Raven comes up behind her, but Octavia is nowhere to be seen. They hear gruff voices, and before they have a chance to flee, a group of soldiers come into the house yelling at Clarke and Raven in a language that neither can understand. A soldier grabs Clarke’s upper arm, and Clarke screams out in pain. She looks to Raven, but the other girl is also fighting off a soldier to no avail. The men continue to shout in the foreign language, and Clarke is shoved out the front door. She smells the smoke before seeing the flames that lick up and engulf her sister-in-law’s home.
They’re herded towards the village, merging with other groups of soldiers and villagers. Raven finds a local seamstress named Luna and drags Clarke over to her.
“What’s happening?” Raven asks.
Luna makes quick work of translating the words of the soldiers all around them. “The king has taken control of all of Acadia,” she explains. “The English now own everything. We have to leave. The men will be taken to Britain in the morning.”
“Where are we to go?” Clarke asks.
“No one is saying,” Luna answers. “For now, they are taking us to the beach.”
Octavia is nowhere to be seen.
Clarke awakes some time around dawn, her dress humid and sandy. Raven sits beside her, talking with Luna. The beach is packed tight with bodies, women and children alike sobbing steadily. Clarke looks around and recognizes a few of the faces, but still cannot find her sister-in-law.
Before she’s even fully awake, a commotion draws her attention as ships draw nearer. Soldiers are marching the men towards the pier, and before Clarke can fully comprehend what’s happening, she takes off at a run, hoping to find Bellamy. She yells his name as she nears, but no one turns.
“Bellamy!” she calls again, but is instead met with an angry soldier who shouts something in the language that sounds so wrong to her ears before shoving her back, hard, so that she falls onto the wet sand. “Bellamy!” Clarke cries through her sobs, but her husband is gone.
A hand is tugging firmly at her elbow, and Clarke stands to face Raven.
“We have to run,” Raven says. “Luna heard the soldiers talking. We have to go now.”
“We have nowhere to go,” Clarke says. “This is the only home I have ever known!”
“Clarke, come,” Raven says, tucking her friend into her side as Luna joins them. The three take off at a run through the trees.
The years the follow are hard. Luna finds a place to stay with a distant relative once the girls cross the border into the Thirteen Colonies, and suddenly, Clarke and Raven are left alone in a country so different from their own. The girls work where they can, steal when they can’t afford food, and spend countless sleepless nights looking for their people. Along the way, through conversations at trading posts they come across, they pick up the language that had once been so foreign to them. By the time they reach the Carolinas, both girls are fluent enough that work becomes steadier.
The fifth summer away from home brings the first good news in years. There is a rumor of a place where Acadians have gathered. Their people have found a new home. When Raven brings this work home late one evening, Clarke’s heart surges with the hope of finding Bellamy. The next morning, they find a merchant who is sailing south and bargain for passage on his ship. The girls join the crew, aiding where they can, but mostly staying tucked away in a far corner of the vessel to avoid the strange crew members. The water is rough, and the journey to Louisiana long and difficult, and Clarke is so happy to finally feel solid land beneath her feet when they disembark in the Spanish colony.
Walking through town, a voice calls Raven’s name. They turn around to find Harper standing behind a stall. As they approach, they see the she’s selling pastries. She explains to them that she’s been settled in Louisiana for two years now, and that she’s quite a well-known baker in the colony. She offers them a place to stay for as long as they need it.
One afternoon while Clarke is working in Harper’s bakery, the bell over the door chimes, and she looks up to see a little boy run into the shop. His skin is dark, but his eyes are familiar, as is his jet-black hair. A woman comes into the shop a moment later, and even with five more years of age on her, Clarke recognizes Octavia immediately. She pair shares a teary hug as the child looks on. Clarke cries when she picks up her nephew and wraps him into a tight hug. Octavia tells her that she’s been living in the Spanish settlement for four years, watching as their people steadily trickle in. She tells Clarke that Lincoln was killed during their expulsion from their land, and that she has not seen her brother since Clarke’s wedding night. Clarke sobs against her friend’s shoulder as her friend holds her up. She feels all the hope drain from her body.
She finds a home to share with Raven near the water when it becomes obvious that this is where they belong. Clarke begins working at the small hospital, and Raven stays to work for Harper. Every day, Clarke sits out in the town square after work until the sun goes down, hoping to find her husband. He never comes. She gets to know her nephew, makes friends, and is thrilled to finally be able to speak her own language again, to be with her people again.
It’s two years before news comes to Clarke at the hospital. Someone has seen Bellamy. Raven is happy in Louisiana, and though she wants Clarke to be happy, opts to stay in the south. Octavia can’t take her son through the wilderness, no matter how much she longs to see her brother again. Clarke promises to bring him home, and then begins the long trek north to a place called Oklahoma where Bellamy is said to be living in the Ozark Mountains. When she finally makes it to the mountains, Bellamy is not there. The locals, some French, some Spanish, tell her the Bellamy is on a hunting trip.
She stays at an inn and waits for him. She waits and waits and waits, and eventually, she can no longer afford her room. Clarke finds a place to live among a group of religious women, and she spends her days tending to and healing the sick and the injured. She works so hard that when she goes to bed at night, she falls asleep and does not dream of the husband she lost.
When a letter reaches her from Raven saying that Bellamy is living in Michigan, Clarke drops everything and makes the months-long journey to the northern colony. The days are long, the nights cold, and on most nights, she sleeps on the hard, uneven, forest floor, but it’s all worth it if it means finding Bellamy. But he’s not in Michigan. He’s not in the next colony she runs to either, or the next.
Twenty years after being forced from her home, Clarke finds herself in Philadelphia. Her hair is short now, fine lines spreading from the corners of her eyes. Her body aches in places that never ached when she was younger. Not a day goes by that she doesn’t search for a familiar smattering of freckles across a proud, beautiful face. In Philadelphia, Clarke continues her mission to help those who cannot help themselves, and she finds her home among the Sisters of Mercy, a charity that aids the sick and the dying.
She’s changing the bandages on one of her patients when a nurse, Maya, comes running in.
“Clarke! We need you! A hunting party just came in. One of their men is badly hurt.”
Clarke drops what she’s doing and runs after Maya, holding up her skirts to not get tangled in them. A group parts to let her through when she reaches the hospital foyer, and her breath dies in her throat when she sees him. Her hair is cropped close to his head, and where it used to be all black, there’s now white strands interspersed throughout. His eyes are the same; they still look like home. Clarke falls to her knees beside his stretcher.
“Bellamy,” she breathes, as she throws her body over his.
His hand finds hers, and she looks up to take in his blinding smile.
“I told you I’d come back,” he says, and Clarke cries.
She presses her lips to his, kissing him with all of the love and loss that she’s felt over the last twenty years. She’s crying steadily, her tears falling onto his cheeks. He cards his fingers through her hair.
“Clarke,” he says, and her voice is hoarse.
“I love you,” she says, and buries her face against his neck.
“I love you, too,” he exhales, and when the rise and fall of his chest stops, Clarke sobs as she holds the man she’s loved her whole life.
“Thank you,” she cries. “Thank you for coming back to me.”
To this day, the story of Clarke and Bellamy is still told. People all around still know their names, because the cold Atlantic Ocean still whispers their story; the southern wind still carries the sound of Clarke’s voice as she tells her husband that she loves him from the forest across the plains. Clarke’s name is more than a people’s hope, and it is not found written on maps. Clarke’s name is the name of all of those who, despite having lost everything, still believe in love, and continue to hope.